"Well," said he, "we'll spend the next two days fighting each other. And you bang away with your pistols. How do they carry?"
"I can hit a card five times out of six at twenty paces."
"I've got twice the nerve since I've seen her to-day."
"Confound you, I used to be just the same."
In the cool of the evening these two spent an hour in fencing together on the lawn by the cedars. The great black shadows of the trees lay in dark capes and promontories upon the green sea of the grass. The standard roses were in bloom, and the scent of the clover pinks in the borders filled the air. Swallows glided in and out, threading their way among the cedars, and circling round the tall chimneys of the house.
Parson Goffin hobbled up the drive, and sat down on a bench to watch Jeremy Winter and Jasper fencing. He had watched them at swordplay years ago, and there was nothing new in it to awaken curiosity.
Goffin was in one of his growling moods. He had a sore tongue from too much smoking, and England was going to the dogs.
"They say that we may have Villeneuve in the Channel any day during the next month. They don't know where he is; they expect him to swoop out of the blue. Boney will get across, and we shall be licking his shoes."
"A pretty angel of hope you are, Goffin!"
"Sir, we have been drinking too much these fifty years. The Almighty may be sending something to sober us."