I am a daughter of Alpin! Shame of the sons of
Alpin, begone!"
It was said with so much passion as awoke me from the horror of my
own bloodied sword. The two stood facing, she with the red stain
on her kerchief, he white as a rag. I knew him well enough--I knew
it must have pierced him in the quick place of his soul; but he
betook himself to a bravado air.
"Why," says he, sheathing his sword, though still with a bright eye
on Alan, "if this brawl is over I will but get my portmanteau--"
"There goes no pockmantie out of this place except with me," says
Alan.
"Sir!" cries James.
"James More," says Alan, "this lady daughter of yours is to marry
my friend Davie, upon the which account I let you pack with a hale
carcase. But take you my advice of it and get that carcase out of
harm's way or ower late. Little as you suppose it, there are
leemits to my temper."
"Be damned, sir, but my money's there!" said James.
"I'm vexed about that, too," says Alan, with his funny face, "but
now, ye see, it's mines." And then with more gravity, "Be you
advised, James More, you leave this house.
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