"Does that entitle you to occupy the whole doorway of the King's Horn?"
"We are not equally armed—you see my coat of mail."
"Oh, that matters little—behold!" said Kincavil, as he opened the collar of his doublet, and displayed below it a mail shirt of exquisite workmanship. "We are quite equal, my friend," he added, clapping Leslie with easy familiarity on the shoulder, while a number of armed men, who, by their badges, seemed to be his followers, crowded ominously round them.
"Kincavil!" said Leslie, scornfully, "the next time thou touchest me, pray do so with a hand that is gloved."
"A thousand pardons," sneered Kincavil, whose insolence was as proverbial as his deadly skill and admirable swordmanship, "I forgot thou wert Falkland bred."
This was a phrase of the time to signify foppery, affectation, and refined manner. Leslie's eyes flashed with rage, but he leaped on his horse, saying—
"I know your object well, villain, to involve me in a brawl; but you will fail. Taunt me as you please, I will not draw my sword unless I am molested; and woe unto them who do so. To-morrow I will be a free man, and at noon will await you, braggart, on the sands of Leith, near the chapel of St. Nicholas, where seek me if you dare."
A shout of derisive laughter followed him; but, stifling his rage, he heard without heeding it, and in ten minutes more was on board the ferry-boat, which he endeavoured to beat across the river against a strong head-wind.