"Strike!" and he panted rather than breathed as he spoke; "Strike! life would be less than worthless if given as a boon by Dunbarton's beggarly brat. O, a thousand devils!—is it come to this with me?"
"Peace, fool!" exclaimed Walter, "peace, lest your words tempt me to destroy you. Accept life at my hands; they spared the blood of a better man upon the field of Sedgemoor."
"Be it so," replied the discomfitted captain, sullenly receiving his rapier; "I accept it only that I may, at some future time, avenge in blood the stain thou hast this night cast upon the best cavalier of the Scottish Brigade." He ground his teeth. "D—nation! my throat is burning—any wine here?" He drank some Rhenish from a flask, and then continued, "Ho, ho, and now, since you know my hiding-place, doubtless for the sake of the thousand marks this poor brain-pan is worth, ye will deliver me unto our Scottish Phillistines—those Lords of Council, who are steeped to the lips in infamy and blood!"
"Perish the thought!" replied Walter, sheathing his rapier with a jerk. "You are safe for me—and here is my thumb on't."
"Gad so, young fellow, I love thy spirit, and at another's expense could admire your skill in the noble science of defence. You fought at Sedgemoor—so did I."
"For the King?"
"Why—not exactly."
"For James of Monmouth?"
"Humph!"
"Then doubly are you a branded rebel."