"And, forsooth," continued the Lord, stamping with impatience, "Dunbarton's baby-faced Countess, in imitation of proud old Anne of Monmouth, would needs have a pretty page to hold up her train when she walked, sit by her knee in coach and boudoir, carry her lap-dog to church when the Bishop preached; to kiss her dainty hand at all times, and God knows what more.
"This fair lady's toy hath now become a man with a beard on his chin, and a sword at his side; and after trailing a pike for these three years past beneath our Scottish pennon, hath obtained a pair of colours in his patron's band, and presumes to ruffle it in scarlet, and lace among the best gentlemen in Scotland; and cocks his beaver à la cavalier in the faces of the boldest and the best. But these are trifles. This misbegotten minion hath become my rival—mine. Ha, ha! Juden—and to be crossed in purpose by a cur like this! Zounds! I shall burst..... This very noon he will be flaunting his feathers with other triflers; and if it is in the power of mortal man to dash his rapier in a thousand pieces—to nail him to the pavement through steel and bone, and to drench his sark in his heart's best blood before her very face, by Jove! this right hand will do it. But ere venturing on so public a trial of my skill, I would fain have a bout with thee; so come on, my old boar-at-bay—have at thee."
Entering at once into the spirit of the anticipated conflict, he attacked Juden with as much ferocity as if he had actually been his foe and rival. He thrust and lunged forward with such fury and rapidity, that Juden, being stout, pursy, less agile, and older by twenty years, was sorely pressed; but being perfect master of the broad-sword, back-sword, and dagger, he stood his ground like a thoroughbred sword-player; and for a time nothing was heard but their suppressed breathing and the clash of the foils.
The cheek of Clermistonlee was crimsoned with passion, and his dark eyes flashed with the energy of every cut and thrust; for, in the excitement of the lesson, he seemed to forget that he was not engaged with Walter, waxing wroth when his most able thrusts were parried with such force that his sword-arm tingled up to the very shoulder. Under old General Lesly and the Duke of Hamilton, Juden had often hewn a passage, sword in hand; through the solid ranks of the English pikemen; and, though somewhat blown, he remained perfectly cool, and when he had breath to spare, assumed the part of an instructor.
"My Lord, my Lord—hoots, laddie! this will never do. You forget yoursel, and show owre mickle front."
"S'death! how so?"
"Mind ye—hand and arm, body and sword, should be dressed in one line; and inclining forward, ye should lunge so."
"Pest! fellow—dost take my bobin vest, for buff coat, or pyne doublet?"
Juden laughed as his master spoke.
"Rough lessons are suited to rough work. It was just sae at Dunbar; my whinger whistled through a fat Southron's brisket. Touts! my Lord—what na way was that to fient forward? I ken a wile worth twa o' it. Lurch forward sae—making an opening and pawkily inviting a lunge; when giving a riporte at him, ye may lock in, as the masters of fence say; that is, seize his sword-arm by twining your left round it—close your parade shell to shell, in order to disarm him, whilk ye sall do just so;" and suiting the action to the word, Juden suddenly closed up and wrenched away his Lordship's foil.