Sir Toby went off in search of Sir Andrew, to whom he proceeded to give the most glowing account of the young page’s furious disposition, and his marvellous skill in fencing. Sir Andrew was in a perfect agony of fear.
“If I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I would have seen him hanged before I would have challenged him!” he cried miserably. “Let him let the matter slip, and will give him my horse, Gray Capilet.”
“I will suggest it to him,” said Sir Toby. “Stand here, make a good show of it; this shall end without loss of life.” Then, with a chuckle to himself: “Marry, I’ll ride your horse, as well as I ride you!... I have his horse to take up the quarrel,” he added in a low voice to Fabian. “I have persuaded him the youth is a fury.”
“He thinks just as horribly of Sir Andrew,” laughed back Fabian, “and pants and looks pale as if a bear were at his heels.”
“There is no remedy, sir; he will fight with you, because of his oath,” announced Sir Toby to Viola. “He has thought better of his quarrel, and finds now that is scarcely worth talking of; therefore draw, for the sake of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.”
“Pray heaven defend me,” murmured Viola aside. “A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.”
“Give ground, if you see him furious,” advised Fabian apart to Viola.
“Come, Sir Andrew, there is no remedy,” said Sir Toby aside to the other trembling combatant. “The gentleman will, for his honour’s sake, have one bout with you; he cannot, by the laws of duelling, avoid it; but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; begin!”
“Pray heaven he keep his oath!” murmured Sir Andrew.
“I do assure you it is against my will,” said Viola piteously.