Tom stood in the road, as I have said, his sword in his hand, his hat lying on the ground before him. If flaming cheeks and eyes as fiery as those of a bull brought to bay mean mischief, then Tom's intention was murderous.
"To thwart Tom in anything," the gentleman went on, "is dangerous; but to take away his girl—and such a girl—to rob him of that great fortune just at the moment of success—would madden the mildest of men. He looks like a madman. Should one warn his lordship? And he has got two chairmen with their poles in readiness. We should ride in upon them before they can do any mischief." So they whispered.
Said Captain Crowle: "Kill him, my lord; kill the villain. Kill him."
"Let me warn your lordship," said the gentleman who had last spoken, "his method will be a fierce attack; he will try to break down your guard."
"I know that method," Lord Fylingdale replied, coldly. Then he stepped forward and took off his hat. "Mr. Rising," he said, "this affair might very well be settled by two or three sailors or common porters. We are willing, however, to treat you as a gentleman, which, sir, you no longer deserve."
"Go on, go on," said Tom. "'Twill be all the same in five minutes."
"I am therefore going to do you the honour of fighting you."
"I shall show you how I appreciate that honour. Stop talking, man, and begin."
"I must, however, warn you that if you are to fight as a gentleman you must try to behave as one, for this occasion only. Should you attempt any kind of treachery my friends will interfere. In that case you will certainly not leave the field alive."
"What do you want then?"