“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: 

[Illustration:  “In the interim, at your service”]

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.