“Go where you please, sir,” said Sir Morton.
“Ah, you drive me to it, when I would have been your friend. There, it must be so; but don’t blame me when you are humbled in the dust.”
“Why, if you go there,” cried Ralph, “Sir Edward Eden will make his men disarm your crew of ragged Jacks, and set you all to work in his mine.”
“What! Never. Now, Darley, once more—friends or foes?”
“Neither, I tell you, man. Now leave my place at once, you and yours. I will neither help you nor have any further dealings with you. Go.”
“What!” roared Purlrose; and this time he drew his sword fully, and Ralph’s bright blade followed suit, glittering, while the captain’s looked rusty and dull.
“Pooh! put up your sword, Ralph,” said Sir Morton, advancing toward their visitor, who began to shrink back. “Sheathe your blade, sir,” he said sternly, and without paying the least attention to the man’s bullying looks, he threw open the door, and pointed to the entrance.
He passed out, giving the door behind him a heavy slam, and marched out to the group standing about the broad steps and road, where father and son could hear him haranguing his men, who immediately burst into an angry yell, and for the most part turned menacingly toward the house.