"A very disagreeable business this, Macdonald," whispered Chisholm, as he took the arm of the other, and led him aside to the parapet of the bridge, where they communed for a few seconds, leaving the principals, awkwardly enough, to stare at each other or admire the scenery, which ever they chose.
Another attempt at an amicable arrangement was made, but without success; both parties were too much exasperated to yield in the least degree. "Once more I ask you, Stuart," said Chisholm, coming forward, "cannot this unhappy affair be adjusted without recourse to arms?"
"You are a good-hearted fellow, Chisholm, and I fully appreciate your good intentions, but your words are lost upon me; I refer you to Mr. Lisle for an answer. Mine was the insult, and any apology should therefore come from him."
"It shall not!" exclaimed Lisle bitterly; "I will rather die than apologize. Stuart, you shall fight me; and if not—"
"Lisle,—Lisle! your behaviour is very violent and most unjustifiable."
"I am the best judge, Mr. Macdonald. I fight in the cause of another, and not for myself," said Louis; and he turned haughtily on his heel, and again walked to the parapet.
"I am perfectly disposed to accept of an apology," observed Ronald to the seconds in a subdued voice; "but as one will not be given, on Lisle's own head will rest the guilt of the blood shed this morning. This quarrel has been of his own seeking, not mine. Heaven knows how loath I am to fight with him, but there is no alternative now. Measure the ground, and give us our weapons."
"Then, Macdonald," said Chisholm, "all hopes of an accommodation are at an end?"
"Quite: your principal is much to blame. But we must be expeditious,—see how red the horizon is; the drums will beat in ten minutes."
During the measuring of the ground and the loading of the pistols, Ronald fixed his eyes on the saffron east, where the sun was about to rise in all its splendour above the mountains of Castile. Appearing black between him and the glowing sky rose the grassy height, crowned by the black old ruins of the castle of San Servan, that fortress so famous in romance, where "Ruy, the Cid Campeador," was wont to spend the night in prayer and vigil. The sky was seen through its embrasured towers and empty windows, brightening in a blaze of glory all around, and giving promise of another day. Ronald gazed eastward wistfully. In ten minutes more the sun would be up, but by that time the eyes of either Lisle or himself might be sealed for ever. Ronald pictured what would be the emotions of Alice if her brother was slain, because she loved him well. He thought of his father, too; and remembered painfully that he would almost exult, if young Lisle was slain in this contest.