None had seen what Ewan had affirmed. The eyes of every one had been on the two stragglers in the distance pursued by Dan and Laddie.
Now, when Ewan saw that Dan distrusted him, and appealed to strangers as witness to his word, his face flushed deep, and his delicate nostrils quivered.
"A pretty tale," Dan repeated, and he was twisting on his heel, when up came Derry again, his muzzle on his snout, whisking his tail, and frisking about Dan's feet with an expression of quite lamb-like simplicity.
At that sight Ewan's livid face turned to a great pallor, and Dan broke into a hard laugh.
"We've heard of a dog slipping his muzzle," he said, "but who ever heard of a dog putting a muzzle on again?"
Then Ewan stepped from beside his girl-wife, who stood there with heaving breast. His eyes were aflame, but for an instant he conquered his emotions and said, with a constrained quietness, but with a deep pathos in his tone, "Dan, do you think I've told you the truth?"
Dan wheeled about. "I think you've told me a lie," he said, and his voice came thick from his throat.
All heard the word, and all held their breath. Ewan stood a moment as if rooted to the spot, and his pallid face whitened every instant. Then he fell back, and took the girl-wife by the hand and turned away with her, his head down, his very heart surging itself out of his choking breast. And, as he passed through the throng, to carry away from that scene the madness that was working in his brain, he overheard the mocking comments of the people. "Aw, well, well, did ye hear that now?—called him a liar, and not a word to say agen it." "A liar! Och, a liar? and him a parzon, too!" "Middling chicken-hearted, anyways—a liar! Aw, well, well, well!"
At that Ewan flung away the hand of his wife, and, quivering from head to foot, he strode toward Dan.
"You've called me a liar," he said, in a shrill voice that was like a cry. "Now, you shall prove your word—you shall fight me—you shall, by God."