“It is my quarrel now, Mr. Carvel,” he cried.

“As you please, my Lord,” said I.

“It boots not who crosses with him,” Captain Collinson put in.  “His Lordship uses the sword better than any here.  But it boots not so that he is opposed by a loyal servant of the King.”

I wheeled on him for this.

“I would have you know that loyalty does not consist in outrage and murder, sir,” I answered, “nor in the ridiculing of them.  And brutes cannot be loyal save through interest.”

He was angered, as I had desired.  I had hopes then of shouldering the quarrel on to him, for I had near as soon drawn against my own brother as against Comyn.  I protest I loved him then as one with whom I had been reared.

“Let me deal with this young gamecock, Comyn,” cried the captain, with an oath.  “He seems to think his importance sufficient.”

But Comyn would brook no interference.  He swore that no man should strike him with impunity, and in this I could not but allow he was right.

“You shall hear from me, Mr. Carvel,” he said.

“Nay,” I answered, “and fighting is to be done, sir, let us be through with it at once.  A large room upstairs is at our disposal; and there is a hunt to-morrow which one of us may like to attend.”

There was a laugh at this, in which his Lordship joined.

“I would to God, Mr. Carvel,” he said, “that I had no quarrel with you!”

“Amen to that, my Lord,” I replied; “there are others here I would rather fight.”  And I gave a meaning look at Mr. Allen.  I was of two minds to announce the scurvy trick he had played, but saw that I would lose rather than gain by the attempt.  Up to that time the wretch had not spoken a word; now he pushed himself forward, though well clear of me.

“I think it my duty as Mr. Carvel’s tutor, gentlemen, to protest against this matter proceeding,” he said, a sneer creeping into his voice.  “Nor can I be present at it.  Mr. Carvel is young and, besides, is not himself with liquor.  And, in the choice of politics, he knows not which leg he stands upon.  My Lord and gentlemen, your most humble and devoted.”

He made a bow and, before the retort on my lips could be spoken, left the tavern.  My cousin Philip left with him.  Tom Swain had fallen asleep in his chair.

Captain Collinson and Mr. Furness, of the Thunderer, offered to serve his Lordship, which made me bethink that I, too, would have need of some one.  ’Twas then I remembered Singleton, who had passed from my mind.

He was standing close behind me, and nodded simply when I asked him.  And Will Fotheringay came forward.

“I will act, Richard, if you allow me,” he said.  “I would have you know I am in no wise hostile to you, my Lord, and I am of the King’s party.  But I admire Mr. Carvel, and I may say I am not wholly out of sympathy with that which prompted his act.”

It was a noble speech, and changed Will in my eyes; and I thanked him with warmth.  He of all that company had the courage to oppose his Lordship!