Scarcely had the Buccaneer finished the above pious ejaculation than Dogvane's stout right arm fell listlessly to his side. He drooped his head as he repeated, in a low tone of voice, the words of his master: "And may God defend the right! That sends a cold thrill through every vein in my body. Suppose," he said, addressing his master. "Suppose; I say suppose, my master, we are in the wrong, what a weight of blood-guiltiness will rest upon our heads? Suppose we are in the wrong, and being in the wrong we spill the blood of a fellow-creature? Good master, I have a qualm of conscience."
"Oh! damn your conscience!" cried the Buccaneer, whose blood was up. Of course such language is reprehensible in the extreme; no matter who uses it; but it is doubly so when it falls from the lips of a pious Christian gentleman. But, good people all, what is bred in the bone, will come out in the flesh. Dogvane recoiled from such language.
"Damn not my conscience, sir, nor that of any other man," he said, for his religion was unlike many a modern lady's beauty, it was even more than skin deep.
"Conscience," continued Dogvane, "is the guiding star by which we steer these frail barks of ours through life. Too many of us do not, consequently we find ourselves lost amidst shoals and quicksands. In a just cause, in a righteous cause I will fight."
"What!" cried the Buccaneer in amazement, "are you going to put your coat on again?"
"This, sir, is a matter that must receive our gravest consideration. Before we fight we must thoroughly sift the matter in the inmost recesses of the mind, until we are fully convinced of the sacredness of our cause. The man—"
"Stay, Master Dogvane! Not another word in that direction as you value the wholeness of your skin. Give me anything you like; but damme, don't try my temper with another sentiment."
"What I was going to say, most noble master, is this. If we have in any way offended the Bandit of the East, we must make what reparation we can by craving his pardon."
"What!" cried the Buccaneer, "are you going to humble me before all the world?"
"Nay, sir; call it not by such a name. It is a noble thing, and the act of a great and generous mind to own freely that it is in the wrong. I do not humble you. I exalt you and place you upon a high pinnacle of perfection. It requires more courage to own oneself in the wrong than it does to take up the sword. It stands to reason, sir, that we both cannot be in the right; this being conceded why should not the wrong be on our side, nay, what more likely than that it is? Let us then sheathe the bloody brutalizing sword until the merits of the case are fully shown."