Though Sidi may have failed to comprehend his words, he could not misunderstand his menacing attitude, yet he faced him with an unmoved countenance, not a muscle of his body betraying the slightest fear, his stoic calm doing more than any argument of words to overthrow Dawson's mad suspicion. But his passion unabated, Dawson turns again upon Don Sanchez, crying:
"Han't you won enough by your villany, but you must rob me of my daughter? Are you not satisfied with bringing us to shame and ruin, but this poor girl of mine must be cast to the Turk? Speak, rascal!" adds he, advancing a step, and seeking to provoke a conflict. "Speak, if you have any reason to show why I shouldn't strangle you."
"You'll not strangle me," answers the Don, calmly, "and here's my reason if you would see it." And with that he tilts his elbow, and with a turn of the wrist displays a long knife that lay concealed under his forearm. "I know no other defence against the attack of a madman."
"If I be mad," says Dawson, "and mad indeed I may be, and no wonder,--why, then, put your knife to merciful use and end my misery here."
"Nay, take it in your own hand," answers the Don, offering the knife. "And use it as you will--on yourself if you are a fool, or on me if, being not a fool, you can hold me guilty of such villany as you charged me with in your passion."
Dawson looks upon the offered knife an instant with distraction in his eyes, and the Don (not to carry this risky business too far), taking his hesitation for refusal, claps up the blade in his waist-cloth, where it lay mighty convenient to his hand.
"You are wise," says he, "for if that noble woman is to be served, 'tis not by spilling the blood of her best friends."
"You, her friend!" says Dawson.
"Aye, her best friend!" replies the other, with dignity, "for he is best who can best serve her."
"Then must I be her worst," says Jack, humbly, "having no power to undo the mischief I have wrought."