No sooner had the fight for the gate come to an end, than I became greatly disturbed in my mind as to the debt I felt myself to be owing to de Vilela, for, had it not been for that marvellous sword-play of his I had never come out of the fray alive.
That was the kind of debt in payment of which a man might almost give his all, even life itself. In what way was I to discharge it? I consoled myself with the thought that the chances of warfare might provide me with the opportunity, but if not—what then?
The matter lay heavy upon me, and that Don Francisco was my rival for Eva’s love, and, as I was more than half disposed to imagine, my successful rival did not make the burden of it the lighter to bear. But one thing I could do, and that, the business of the perfidious knaves being despatched, I did. I sought him out, and, offering him my hand, thanked him with such words as flowed from a full, if troubled breast, for the great service he had done me.
“Señor,” said I impulsively, “I believe that I am indebted to you for the greatest service one man can render another.”
His attitude was that of protest, nay, of entreaty, that I should say no more.
Now I have written to little purpose if I have not made it evident that de Vilela was my superior in every way save with respect to my strength of body, which was the one special gift God had given me. I had acknowledged the fact to myself, although, being human, not perhaps ungrudgingly. As I looked into his face, whatever poor, paltry feeling I had nourished against him was swept away by a wave of strong emotion.
“Yes, señor,” said I, “how am I to thank you? But for you—I would have perished. What am I to say? What can I do?”
“Señor Ruari,” cried he, in that soft, quiet way of his, “between soldiers, brothers-in-arms, there is no debt.”
“Señor,” said I——
“Be generous, Señor Ruari,” exclaimed he, “and say not a word more,” and he smiled somewhat wistfully and sadly. “We are friends, at any rate, whate’er befall, are we not?”