"No; for I would not wittingly bring two unfortunate men to a public and infamous death, more especially he of whom I heard so much in France, the brave leader of the English Boulogners."
"'Tis well, sir," replied Shelly, in a voice that seemed to falter with honest emotion. "You act generously; though, had you resolved otherwise, you had got but two dead bodies for your pains."
"Dead bodies?" queried Master Patten anxiously.
"Yes," added Shelly firmly; "for I would have run you through the heart, my friend, to seal your lips for ever; and then I would have fought to the last—yea, to the very death-gasp; for never shall a pestilent Scot fix an iron fetter on this hand, which planted the red cross of England on the Tour de l'Ordre!"
"In this chamber you have more than once to-night mentioned the name of a lady," said Florence gravely.
"Exactly; the Countess of Yarrow—bonny Madeline Home," replied Shelly gaily, and with a most provoking smile. "But what then?"
"You actually aspire to her hand,—you, a stranger, a foreigner?"
"Cogsbones! yea, to more; and who shall dare to gainsay me?"
"I do," replied Florence, who felt himself growing alternately pale and red with the anger that gathered in his heart.
"You! On what pretence or principle?"