neighbours." I say, he wearied me, for I had only the one word to

say in answer: twenty times I must have said it: "Give up your

present purpose and return with me to Durrisdeer; then I will

believe you."

Thereupon he would shake his head at me. "Ah! Mackellar, you might

live a thousand years and never understand my nature," he would

say. "This battle is now committed, the hour of reflection quite

past, the hour for mercy not yet come. It began between us when we

span a coin in the hall of Durrisdeer, now twenty years ago; we

have had our ups and downs, but never either of us dreamed of

giving in; and as for me, when my glove is cast, life and honour go

with it."

"A fig for your honour!" I would say. "And by your leave, these

warlike similitudes are something too high-sounding for the matter

in hand. You want some dirty money; there is the bottom of your

contention; and as for your means, what are they? to stir up sorrow

in a family that never harmed you, to debauch (if you can) your own

nephew, and to wring the heart of your born brother! A footpad

that kills an old granny in a woollen mutch with a dirty bludgeon,

and that for a shilling-piece and a paper of snuff - there is all

the warrior that you are."

When I would attack him thus (or somewhat thus) he would smile, and

sigh like a man misunderstood. Once, I remember, he defended

himself more at large, and had some curious sophistries, worth

repeating, for a light upon his character.

"You are very like a civilian to think war consists in drums and

banners," said he. "War (as the ancients said very wisely) is

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