“So you shall: the night’s young. Meanwhile, I had better not delay matters. You want to have Trevyllian out,—is not that so?”
“Of course; you are aware how it happened?”
“I know everything. Go on with your supper, and don’t mind me; I’ll be back in twenty minutes or less.”
Without waiting for any reply, he threw his cloak around him, and strode out of the room. Once more I was alone; but already my frame of mind was altered,—the cheering tone of my reckless, gallant countryman had raised my spirits, and I felt animated by his very manner.
An hour elapsed before the major returned; and when he did come, his appearance and gestures bespoke anger and disappointment. He threw himself hurriedly into a seat, and for some minutes never spoke.
“The world’s beautifully changed, anyhow, since I began it, O’Malley,—when you thanked a man civilly that asked you to fight him! The Devil take the cowards, say I.”
“What has happened? Tell me, I beseech you?”
“He won’t fight,” said the major, blurting out the words as if they would choke him.
“He’ll not fight! And why?”
The major was silent. He seemed confused and embarrassed. He turned from the fire to the table, from the table to the fire, poured out a glass of wine, drank it hastily off, and springing from his chair, paced the room with long, impatient strides.