"Ask that question of yourself, sir,—ask of your own false heart!' replied Louis, proudly and indignantly.
"Fury! Were you not the brother—"
"Stay, Mr. Stuart; I am not accustomed to be addressed in these thundering tones."
"Diaoul, Mr. Lisle! I am at a loss to understand what you mean," exclaimed Ronald, his wrath increasing. "Did you not, during the retreat into Portugal, and the advance again from Castello Branca into Spanish Estremadura, treat me with singular hauteur and coldness? so much so, that it has been remarked by the whole regiment,—ay, even the brigade?'"
"I acknowledge that I have, Mr. Stuart," said Lisle, drawing himself up to his full height, and setting his bonnet haughtily on one side.
"Death and fury, Louis!" exclaimed Stuart, regardless of awakening a thousand echoes; "and for what has this been the cause?"
"I repeat to you again—search your own heart; the cause lies there."
"Blasted be my heart if I ask it of any but yourself!" replied Ronald, his hot Highland blood fully roused. "As I hope to live, but one consideration—one remembrance alone stays my hand from seeking the usual satisfaction ay, even in this cathedral. Ha! surely this marked change of conduct and manner towards an old companion and brother-soldier, cannot be in consequence of Sir Allan Lisle's obtaining the peerage, so long dormant?"
"Ronald Stuart," exclaimed the other, with a scornful smile, "you might know me better than to imagine I could be swayed by ideas so very childish and extremely silly. I have been forbearing towards you as mortal man could be; but permit me now to tell you, that you, Ronald Stuart, have behaved most cruelly, faithlessly, and basely to one, whose name my lips shall never utter in your presence and hearing."
"Basely! Louis—Louis—"