‘I called you a liar,’ he said, advancing up the room, ‘and for that mistake I crave your pardon; you spoke truth, and now I am come to fight you for the truth you spoke.’
‘Fight with you, you damned surgeon! you son of a village leech! I fight with gentlemen!’ said Meadowes scornfully.
‘And I with men, so if you are one you had best show it,’ retorted Shepley; and he drew the sword that hung at his side with a drawing rattle from its sheath.
There was not much question then between them of rank. They fought with savage hatred on either side; but from the first the fortunes of the fight followed Sebastian.
The whole had been ended, and ended with it there would also have been the larger half of this story, if an unaccountable impulse had not moved Sebastian Shepley to mercy. Something, perhaps, of the futility of revenge, now that Anne was dead and could never know of it, came to him of a sudden, and stayed his hand.
‘There,’ he said. ‘You have your life at my hand, for all it may be worth.’ And he turned away as if to leave the house.
Meadowes leant against the wall, breathing hard after the struggle.
‘Stop—one moment, Shepley,’ he said, ‘I—I would speak with you; Anne Champion, if I can find her, shall want for naught.’
‘She wants for naught now,’ said Shepley shortly.
‘But,’ interposed Meadowes, ‘I should be the man to provide for her, I looked to do that always, I had indeed no intention——’