“Willingly,” answered Edward, taking one
of the weapons. “Choose your distance.”
The angler stepped back a pace; but before their deadly
intentions, so suddenly conceived, could be executed,
Hugh Crombie interposed himself between them.
“Do you take my best parlor for the cabin of
the Black Andrew, where a pistol-shot was a nightly
pastime?” he inquired of his comrade. “And
you, Master Edward, with what sort of a face will
you walk into the chapel to morning prayers, after
putting a ball through this man’s head, or receiving
one through your own? Though, in this last case,
you will be past praying for, or praying either.”
“Stand aside: I will take the risk.
Make way, or I will put the ball through your own
head,” exclaimed Edward, fiercely: for the
interval of rationality that circumstances had produced
was again giving way to intoxication.
“You see how it is,” said Hugh to his
companion, unheard by Edward. “You shall
take a shot at me, sooner than at the poor lad in his
present state. You have done him harm enough
already, and intend him more. I propose,”
he continued aloud, and with a peculiar glance towards
the angler, “that this affair be decided to-morrow,
at nine o’clock, under the old oak, on the bank
of the stream. In the mean time, I will take charge
of these popguns, for fear of accidents.”
“Well, mine host, be it as you wish,”
said his comrade. “A shot more or less
is of little consequence to me.” He accordingly
delivered his weapon to Hugh Crombie and walked carelessly
away.
“Come, Master Walcott, the enemy has retreated.
Victoria! And now, I see, the sooner I get you
to your chamber, the better,” added he aside;
for the wine was at last beginning to produce its
legitimate effect, in stupefying the young man’s
mental and bodily faculties.
Hugh Crombie’s assistance, though not, perhaps,
quite indispensable, was certainly very convenient
to our unfortunate hero, in the course of the short
walk that brought him to his chamber. When arrived
there, and in bed, he was soon locked in a sleep scarcely
less deep than that of death.
The weather, during the last hour, had appeared to
be on the point of changing: indeed, there were,
every few minutes, most rapid changes. A strong
breeze sometimes drove the clouds from the brow of
heaven, so as to disclose a few of the stars; but,
immediately after, the darkness would again become
Egyptian, and the rain rush like a torrent from the
sky.
“About her neck a packet-mail
Fraught with advice, some fresh,
some stale,
Of men that walked when they were
dead.”
HUDIBRAS.
