CHAPTER XII.
THE TIME OF PERIL.
Of what use to stay in Salem now, that my love had come to such a sorry end? Yet I did not like that he should triumph over me, nor would I purchase my freedom at the price he offered.
To stay? To go?
“I will remain here,” I said, after a moment’s pause. He made a gesture that showed his displeasure. “But mistake me not, Sir George, Mistress Keith shall see no more of me. I stay, not on her account, but my own. Now, enough of womenkind. With you it seems I have a score to settle yet.”
Sir George nodded his head.
“You have made threats,” I went on. “You feel aggrieved; you consider me your enemy, and I, no less, you mine. The Danes are not accustomed to shun danger; to permit old scores to be unsatisfied; to leave an enemy behind them. Therefore I stay, Sir George.”
He made as if he would go, but I stood before him. He was looking beyond me with a curious glint in his eyes, and, though I was directly in his path, he did not seem to notice me.
“Draw, sir,” I commanded, gently. “Let us see who of us shall go or stay; who of us shall die? There have been enough of threats. Draw, sir; I pray you.”
Still he looked beyond me as if at some vision behind the oak walls, until stung by his indifference I came so close up against him that his arm touched mine.
“Will you not fight?” I cried, peering into his eyes that refused to see me.