nk," said Ian, "that I would have done as much as
that. But Alexander Jardine, of course, would not have taken one
erring step!"

"Have you done now?"

"Yes."

Glenfernie rose to his feet. He stood against the gulf of air and his
great frame seemed enlarged, like the figure of the Brocken. He was
like his father, the old laird, but there glowed an extremer dark
anger and power. The old laird had made himself the dream-avenger of
injuries adopted, not felt at first hand. The present laird knew the
wounding, the searing. "All his life my father dreamed of grappling
with Grierson of Lagg. My Grierson of Lagg stands before me in the
guise of a false friend and lover!... What do I care for your weighing
to a scruple how much the heap of wrong falls short of the uttermost?
The dire wrong is there, to me the direst! Had I deep affection for
you once? Now you speak to me of every treacherous morass, every
_ignis fatuus_, past and present! The traveler through life does right
to drain the bogs as they arise--put it out of their power to suck
down man, woman, and child! It is not his cause alone. It is the
general cause. If there be a God, He approves. Draw your sword and let
us fight!"

They fought. The platform of rock was smooth enough for good footing.
They had no seconds, unless the shadows upon the hills and the
mountain eagles answered for such. Ian was the highly trained fencer,
adept of the sword. Glenfernie's knowledge was lesser, more casual.
But he had his bleak wrath, a passion that did not blind nor overheat,
but burned white, that set him, as it were, in a tingling, crackling
arctic air, where the shadows were sharp-edged, the nerves braced and
the will steel-tipped. They fought with determination and long--Ian
now to save his own life, Alexander for Revenge, whose man he had
become. The clash of blade against blade, the shifting of foot upon
the rock floor, made the dominant sound upon the mountain-side. The
birds stayed silent in the birch-trees. Self-service, pride, anger,
jealousy, hatred--the inner vibrations were heavy.

The sword of Ian beat down his antagonist's guard, leaped, and gave a
deep wound. Alexander's sword fell from his hand. He staggered and
vision darkened. He came to his knees, then sank upon the ground. Ian
bent over him. He felt his anger ebb. A kind of compunction seized
him. He thought, "Are you so badly hurt, Old Steadfast?"

Alexander looked at him. His lips moved. "Lo, how the w