“My reputation again—aye, to be sure!” murmured Sir John. “My reputation discredits me still, it seems—even with you!”
“An’ why for no’? I’ve seen much o’ life—plenty evil an’ little good! I’ve kenned men honourably born like ye’sel’ as hae lied—aye, tae their best frien’, an’ a’ tae come at a wumman!”
“And you believe that I am lying?”
“Aye, I dae that!” cried Sir Hector in sudden fury, clapping hand to sword.
Sir John rose.
“So you—you give me the lie?” he demanded, grim-lipped.
“In y’r teeth, sir—in y’r teeth!” cried Sir Hector. “I believe that ye’ve stolen the puir innocent lass awa’ for y’r ain base purposes!” And now, despite wounded arm, out flashed his ponderous blade, and with point advanced he stepped forward fierce and threatening; and so steel met steel. Then Sir John let fall his sword.
“My father’s friend and comrade ... God forbid!” quoth he. “Sir Hector, if you judge me rogue so vile—strike, man, and have done!” For a long moment Sir Hector stood irresolute, his great sword quivering in fierce-griping hand.
“Ye winna fecht?” he questioned hoarsely at last.