At the sudden increase of their speed, and the noise with which it was necessarily attended, Chiffinch looked around, but had time to do no more, for Lance, who had pricked his pony (which was much more speedy than Julian’s horse) into full gallop, pushed, without ceremony, betwixt the courtier and his attendant; and ere Chaubert had time for more than one exclamation, he upset both horse and Frenchman,—morbleu! thrilling from his tongue as he rolled on the ground amongst the various articles of his occupation, which, escaping from the budget in which he bore them, lay tumbled upon the highway in strange disorder; while Lance, springing from his palfrey, commanded his foeman to be still, under no less a penalty than that of death, if he attempted to rise.
Before Chiffinch could avenge his trusty follower’s downfall, his own bridle was seized by Julian, who presented a pistol with the other hand, and commanded him to stand or die.
Chiffinch, though effeminate, was no coward. He stood still as commanded, and said, with firmness, “Rogue, you have taken me at surprise. If you are highwaymen, there is my purse. Do us no bodily harm, and spare the budget of spices and sauces.”
“Look you, Master Chiffinch,” said Peveril, “this is no time for dallying. I am no highwayman, but a man of honour. Give me back that packet which you stole from me the other night; or, by all that is good, I will send a brace of balls through you, and search for it at leisure.”
“What night?—What packet?” answered Chiffinch, confused; yet willing to protract the time for the chance of assistance, or to put Peveril off his guard. “I know nothing of what you mean. If you are a man of honour, let me draw my sword, and I will do you right, as a gentleman should do to another.”
“Dishonourable rascal!” said Peveril, “you escape not in this manner. You plundered me when you had me at odds; and I am not the fool to let my advantage escape, now that my turn is come. Yield up the packet; and then, if you will, I will fight you on equal terms. But first,” he reiterated, “yield up the packet, or I will instantly send you where the tenor of your life will be hard to answer for.”
The tone of Peveril’s voice, the fierceness of his eye, and the manner in which he held the loaded weapon, within a hand’s-breadth of Chiffinch’s head, convinced the last there was neither room for compromise, nor time for trifling. He thrust his hand into a side pocket of his cloak, and with visible reluctance, produced those papers and despatches with which Julian had been entrusted by the Countess of Derby.
“They are five in number,” said Julian; “and you have given me only four. Your life depends on full restitution.”
“It escaped from my hand,” said Chiffinch, producing the missing document—“There it is. Now, sir, your pleasure is fulfilled, unless,” he added sulkily, “you design either murder or farther robbery.”
“Base wretch!” said Peveril, withdrawing his pistol, yet keeping a watchful eye on Chiffinch’s motions, “thou art unworthy any honest man’s sword; and yet, if you dare draw your own, as you proposed but now, I am willing to give you a chance upon fair equality of terms.”