The faint flush deepened a little, as he grew indignant at his enemy coming to triumph over him in his helplessness; and then he thought of how he had triumphed when it was his day, and how he had humbled his old companion to the dust.
“And what a mean, contemptible triumph it was, and how it stung me far more than it did him! But he shan’t humble me. I can be as defiant as he is, and I’ll die before I’ll show him that he has gained the day.”
But as Fred defiantly returned Scarlett’s calm, stern look, a thick mist seemed to gather slowly between them, making the face of the young Cavalier grow faint and distant, a singing noise came in his ears, and slowly and painfully everything seemed to pass away till all was dark once more.
Meanwhile, Nat Dee had crept close to his brother’s head, and, kneeling in the straw, allowed a grin to overspread his rustic countenance.
“You’ve got it, then, this time?” he whispered.
Samson had “got it this time,” indeed, for his bandages wanted changing, and his wounds were hot and painful; but, in spite of his anguish, he echoed, so to speak—visibly echoed his brother’s broad grin, and acknowledged the fact, fully resolved that, as Nat had come to triumph over him, he should be disappointed.
“Yes,” he said in a cheerful whisper; “I’ve got it this time, Natty.”
“Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself?”
“Not a bit.”
“Then you ought to. Suppose your poor mother saw you now, what do you think she would say?”