By this time the Gorb had his sword at Latchie's throat, crying, "Rescue, or no rescue, I say? Yield, traitor, or die."
Latchie paid no regard to him. He only bit his lip, looked after his sword, and stood his ground firm without moving, showing a most unyielding and dauntless spirit.
The Gorb repeated his threat, but the yeoman paid no further attention to it than before.
"What an unlucky accident!" said he. "Had I not thrown away my sword, I would have humbled you."
"Do you regret the loss of your sword so much?" said the Gorb. "Will you promise, on the honour of a good yeoman, not to throw it away in like manner again?"
"Promise?" said the other: "I will swear on it, and by it, never to part with it in like manner again."
"Young man," said my master to me, "run and bring me this brave yeoman's sword."
I brought it, and he took it by the point, and delivered it back to the owner with all manner of courtesy. Latchie took it in his hand, and let the point of it slant towards the ground in token of submission.
"Nay, nay, I deliver it," cried my master. "I would not see such a man show fear or pusillanimity for any thing. Exchange me three times three, and no more; and God stand by the right. I counsel thee, moreover, to assume thy best defence, as I propose to do thee all manner of injury."
"So be it. I defy you still," said Latchie, and took his ground a second time. His wife and son spoke a great deal by way of interference, but were totally disregarded. The combat began again with more fury than ever; but at the second or third time of crossing their weapons, Daniel Maclatchie's sword betook itself again into the firmament, and after tracing nearly the same course as formerly, alighted on the same spot.