"Sir," I answered, fully as furious as he, "you have so lorded it over Frenchmen, panins and Indians, that you seem to have forgotten the respect due a comrade—your equal in all save military rank. Your challenge, Colonel Clark, I accept with pleasure!" I bowed to him, drew my sword and stood at guard.
Neither of us were practiced swordsmen, but both were lithe, active, and possessed of trained eyes, and arms. We fought with small science, yet with some skill, and in deadly earnest. Without doubt one or the other of us would have been killed or badly wounded, had not a startling interruption paralyzed the arm of each, just when both were wrought up to the killing frenzy. I was fighting desperately and so was Clark, when, suddenly, Ellen's voice rang above the clash of our swords, and the panting emission of our breath:
"Cousin Donald! Colonel Clark!" she called sharply, and each lowered his weapon and turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her eyes glowing, her face quite pale, and Father Gibault stood behind her, looking more perturbed than I had ever seen him.
"Cousin Donald! Colonel Clark!" She Called Sharply.
"I know not whose the fault," she added scornfully, "but each is less the knight and patriot, in my esteem, for this rash deed. You would kill each other and bring destruction upon your patriotic enterprise, and death to these men, whose lives are in your keeping? Bah! Men are children; their passions rule them! Father Gibault, will you stay with Colonel Clark and soothe his anger? You have hurt me grievously, Colonel Clark, and I thought you my friend—" and now was heard the break in Ellen's voice which tugged always at one's heartstrings.
"Forgive me, Miss Ellen!" stammered Clark; "I have no quarrel with your cousin; it was, as you say, foolish anger and rashness. But in justice I must confess that I forced this fight upon McElroy," and my generous comrade looked frankly at me.