"What? Be wary, sir,—what?"
"A false liar!"
Livingstone grew pale with rage. He drew back a pace, and pressing the hilt of his sword against his heart for a moment, relinquished it with a gasp of anger. On this, his fiery opponent, who was his junior by ten years, smiled scornfully, and said,—
"You know the sensation of a sword-blade entering your flesh?"
"Cogsbones! I should think so!" replied the captain, with a smile equally proud and scornful. "I have, in my time, had a dozen of good swords in me; seven in duels, two at Ancrumford, and three at the rout of Solway."
"Then what is it like?"
"Do you wish practical proof, damned jackfeather?"
"What is it like?" reiterated Florence furiously.
"Hot iron."
"Then you shall enjoy that warm sensation again!"