"I didna say the like o' that, Neil. I am an auld man, and Van Vorst is
an aulder one. We'd be a bonnie picture wi' drawn swords in oor shaking
hands; though, for mysel', I may say that there wasna a better fencer in
Ayrshire, and that the houses o' Lockerby and Lanark hae reason to
remember. And I wouldna hae the honour o' the Semples doubted; I'd fight
myself first. But I'm in a sair strait, Neil; and oh, my dear lad, what
will I say, when it's the Word o' the Lord on one hand, and the scaith
and scorn of a' men on the other? But I'll trust to your prudence, Neil,
and no begin to feel the weight o' a misery that may ne'er come my way.
All my life lang, when evils hae threatened me, I hae sought God's help;
and He has either averted them or turned them to my advantage."
"That is a good consolation, father."
"It is that; and I ken nae better plan for life than, when I rise up, to
gie mysel' to His direction, and, when I lay me down to sleep, to gie
mysel' to His care."
"In such comfortable assurance, sir, I think we may say good-night. I
have business early in the morning, and may not wait for your company,
if you will excuse me so far."
"Right; vera right, Neil. The dawn has gold in its hand. I used to be
an early worker mysel'; but I'm an auld man noo, and may claim some
privileges. Good-night, Neil, and a good-morning to follow it."
Neil then lit his candle; and, not forgetting that courteous salute
which the young then always rendered to honourable age, he went slowly
upstairs, feeling suddenly a great weariness and despair. If Katherine
had only been true to him! He was sure, then, that he could have fought
almost joyfully any pretender to her favour. But he was deserted by the
girl whom he had loved all her sweet life. He was betrayed by the man
who had shared the hospitality of his home, and in the cause of such
loss, compelled to hazard a life opening up with fair hopes of honour
and distinction.
In the calm of his own chamber, through the silent, solemn hours, when
the world was shut out of his life, Neil reviewed his position; but he
could find no honourable way out of his predicament. Physically, he was
as brave as brave could be; morally, he had none of that grander courage
which made Joris Van Heemskirk laugh to scorn the idea of yielding God's
gift of life at the demand of a passionate fool. He was quite sensible
that his first words to Captain Hyde that night had been intended to
provoke a quarrel, and he knew that he would be expected to redeem them
by a formal defiance. However, as the idea became familiar, it became
imperative; and at length it was with a fierce satisfaction that he
opened his desk and without hesitation wrote the decisive words: To CAPTAIN RICHARD HYDE OF HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE: SIR: A person of the
character I bear cannot allow the treachery and dishonourable conduct of
which you have been guilty to pass without punishment. Convince me that
you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by meeting me
to-night as the sun drops in the wood on the Kalchhook Hill. Our seconds
can locate the spot; and that you may have no pretence to delay, I send
by bearer two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make choice.