“Will you ride against me, cross swords with me, come to grips with me any way? You dare not. I am well born, have seen things, done things ’twould make you shiver to hear of them. Come, I am in a fiend’s humor; come with your sword to the orchard and see which of us is the better man.”
Sir Blaise was in a fair panic at this raging fury he had conjured up and now was fain to pacify.
“Soft, soft, honest captain; why so choleric? I would not wrong you. But surely you do not think she favors this Puritan?”
“Oh, he’s a proper man, damn him!” Halfman admitted. “He has a right to a woman’s liking. And he must love her, God help him! as every man does that looks on her.”
Blaise looked pathetic.
“What is there to do?” he asked, helplessly. Halfman struck his right fist into his left palm.
“I would do something, I promise you. He is no immortal. But we shall be rid of him soon. If Colonel Cromwell do not surrender Cousin Randolph we are pledged to his killing, and if he do, then our friend rejoins his army; and I pray the devil my master that I may have the joy to pistol him on some stricken field.”
Sir Blaise thought it was time to change the conversation.
“Let us leave these ravings and vaporings,” he entreated, wheedling, “and return to the business of life. And ’tis a very unpleasant business I come on.”
Halfman drew his hand across his forehead as a man who seeks to dissipate ill dreams. Then, with a tranquil face, he gave Blaise the attention he petitioned.