your saying anything that may impinge upon the honourable feelings of a gentleman under my roof.  Sir, if you have no respect for the laws of urbanity, do ye not respect the military oath, the sacramentum militare, by which every officer is bound to the standards under which he is enrolled?  Look at Titus Livius, what he says of those Roman soldiers who were so unhappy as exuere sacramentum, to renounce their legionary oath; but you are ignorant, sir, alike of ancient history and modern courtesy.’

‘Not so ignorant as ye would pronounce me,’ roared Balmawhapple.  ’I ken weel that you mean the Solemn League and Covenant; but if a’ the Whigs in hell had taken the—­’

Here the Baron and Waverley both spoke at once, the former calling out, ’Be silent, sir! ye not only show your ignorance, but disgrace your native country before a stranger and an Englishman’; and Waverley, at the same moment, entreating Mr. Bradwardine to permit him to reply to an affront which seemed levelled at him personally.  But the Baron was exalted by wine, wrath, and scorn above all sublunary considerations.

’I crave you to be hushed, Captain Waverley; you are elsewhere, peradventure, sui juris,—­foris-familiated, that is, and entitled, it may be, to think and resent for yourself; but in my domain, in this poor Barony of Bradwardine, and under this roof, which is quasi mine, being held by tacit relocation by a tenant at will, I am in loco parentis to you, and bound to see you scathless.  And for you, Mr. Falconer of Balmawhapple, I warn ye, let me see no more aberrations from the paths of good manners.’

’And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan,’ retorted the sportsman in huge disdain, ’that I’ll make a moor-cock of the man that refuses my toast, whether it be a crop-eared English Whig wi’ a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha deserts his ain friends to claw favour wi’ the rats of Hanover.’

In an instant both rapiers were brandished, and some desperate passes exchanged.  Balmawhapple was young, stout, and active; but the Baron, infinitely more master of his weapon, would, like Sir Toby Belch, have tickled his opponent other gates than he did had he not been under the influence of Ursa Major.

Edward rushed forward to interfere between the combatants, but the prostrate bulk of the Laird of Killancureit, over which he stumbled, intercepted his passage.  How Killancureit happened to be in this recumbent posture at so interesting a moment was never accurately known.  Some thought he was about to insconce himself under the table; he himself alleged that he stumbled in the act of lifting a joint-stool, to prevent mischief, by knocking down Balmawhapple.  Be that as it may, if readier aid than either his or Waverley’s had not interposed, there would certainly have been bloodshed.  But the well-known clash of swords, which was no stranger to her dwelling, aroused Luckie Macleary as she sat quietly beyond the hallan, or