“Faith, scarcely,” said Ravenswood, “unless you show me better reason for thinking myself mistaken than you are now producing.”

“Then, Master,” said Bucklaw, “though I should be sorry to offer it to a man of your quality, if you will not justify your incivility, or retract it, or name a place of meeting, you must here undergo the hard word and the hard blow.”

“Neither will be necessary,” said Ravenswood; “I am satisfied with what I have done to avoid an affair with you.  If you are serious, this place will serve as well as another.”

“Dismount then, and draw,” said Bucklaw, setting him an example.  “I always thought and said you were a pretty man; I should be sorry to report you otherwise.”

“You shall have no reason, sir,” said Ravenswood, alighting, and putting himself into a posture of defence.

Their swords crossed, and the combat commenced with great spirit on the part of Bucklaw, who was well accustomed to affairs of the kind, and distinguished by address and dexterity at his weapon.  In the present case, however, he did not use his skill to advantage; for, having lost temper at the cool and contemptuous manner in which the Master of Ravenswood had long refused, and at length granted, him satisfaction, and urged by his impatience, he adopted the part of an assailant with inconsiderate eagerness.  The Master, with equal skill, and much greater composure, remained chiefly on the defensive, and even declined to avail himself of one or two advantages afforded him by the eagerness of his adversary.  At length, in a desperate lunge, which he followed with an attempt to close, Bucklaw’s foot slipped, and he fell on the short grassy turf on which they were fighting.  “Take your life, sir,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “and mend it if you can.”

“It would be but a cobbled piece of work, I fear,” said Bucklaw, rising slowly and gathering up his sword, much less disconcerted with the issue of the combat than could have been expected from the impetuosity of his temper.  “I thank you for my life, Master,” he pursued.  “There is my hand; I bear no ill-will to you, either for my bad luck or your better swordsmanship.”

The Master looked steadily at him for an instant, then extended his hand to him.  “Bucklaw,” he said, “you are a generous fellow, and I have done you wrong.  I heartily ask your pardon for the expression which offended you; it was hastily and incautiously uttered, and I am convinced it is totally misapplied.”

“Are you indeed, Master?” said Bucklaw, his face resuming at once its natural expression of light-hearted carelessness and audacity; “that is more than I expected of you; for, Master, men say you are not ready to retract your opinion and your language.”

“Not when I have well considered them,” said the Master.

“Then you are a little wiser than I am, for I always give my friend satisfaction first, and explanation afterwards.  If one of us falls, all accounts are settled; if not, men are never so ready for peace as after war.  But what does that bawling brat of a boy want?” said Bucklaw.  “I wish to Heaven he had come a few minutes sooner! and yet it must have been ended some time, and perhaps this way is as well as any other.”