"There goes no pockmantie out of this place except with me," says Alan.
"Sir!" cries James.
"James More," says Alan, "this lady daughter of yours is to marry my friend Davie, upon the which account I let you pack with a hale carcase. But take you my advice of it and get that carcase out of harm's way or ower late. Little as you suppose it, there are leemits to my temper."
"Be damned, sir, but my money's there!" said James.
"I'm vexed about that, too," says Alan, with his funny face, "but now, ye see, it's mines." And then with more gravity, "Be you advised, James More, you leave this house."
|
KEEP BACK, DAVIE! ARE YE DAFT? |
James seemed to cast about for a moment in his mind; but it's to be thought he had enough of Alan's swordsmanship, for he suddenly put off his hat to us and (with a face like one of the damned) bade us farewell in a series. With which he was gone.
At the same time a spell was lifted from me.
"Catriona," I cried, "it was me--it was my sword. O, are ye much hurt?"