“Glengarry!” cried LeNoir, raising the battle cry he had cause to remember so well; and flinging off his coat upon the floor, he patted Ranald on the back, yelling, “Go in, bully boy!”
“Shut the door, LeNoir,” said Ranald, quickly, “and keep it shut.”
“De Lacy,” cried Harry, “this must not go on! Ranald, think what you are doing!”
“You didn't notice his remark, apparently, St. Clair,” said the lieutenant, calmly.
“Never mind,” cried Harry, “he was excited, and anyway the thing must end here.”
“There is only one way. Does he retract?” said De Lacy, quietly.
“Ranald,” Harry cried, beseechingly, “you know he is no coward; you did not mean that.”
By this time Ranald had himself in hand.
“No,” he said, regretfully, forcing himself to speak the truth. “I know he is no coward; I have seen him where no coward would be, but,” he added, “he struck a man unguarded, and that was a coward's blow.”
“Macdonald,” said De Lacy deliberately, “you are right. True, he called me a cheat, but I should have given him time. Still,” he added, rolling up his sleeves, “I hope you will not deprive yourself or me of the privilege of settling this little business.”