ange procession of
thoughts was passing swiftly through the back of his mind. He was
somehow standing aside and seeing himself as he was at that moment,
seeing, indeed, every detail of the scene before him like a picture,
every tree and leaf, the carpet of leaves and bracken, seeing Fergus
moving about. Yes, and he was laughing, away back there, at the picture
he saw, and wondering at it, and thrilling over it, at the very moment
that he was so horribly afraid. He was even speculating, back there, a
little cynically, whether he, Nort, would finally stay to fight or run
away. He actually did not know!

Fergus's dull, direct, geologic mind could not possibly have imagined
what was passing nimbly behind those frightened, boyish blue eyes.
Fergus was moving straight ahead in the path he had planned, and, on the
whole, placidly. What a blessing in this world is a reasonable amount of
dulness!

Having prepared himself, Fergus now stepped forward. Nort stood
perfectly still, his arms hanging slack at his sides, his face as pale
as marble, his eyes widening as Fergus approached.

"I can't see any reason for fighting," he was saying. "Why should you
fight me?"

"Wull, we needna fight--if ye'll go away."

For one immense moment Nort saw himself running away, and with an
incredible inner sense of relief and comfort. He wanted to run, intended
to run, but somehow he could not. He was afraid to fight, but somehow he
was still more afraid to run. And then, with a blinding flash he thought
of Anthy. What would she say if she saw him running?

At that moment Fergus struck him lightly on the cheek.

It was like an electric shock to Nort. He stiffened in every muscle, red
flashes passed before his eyes, his throat twisted hard and dry, and the
tears came up to his eyes. In another moment he was grappling with
Fergus, striking wildly, blindly. And he was, curiously, no longer
confused. An incredible clearness of purpose swept over him. This
purpose was to _kill_ Fergus. There was to be no longer any foolery
about it; he was going to kill him.

If Fergus had known what Nort was thinking at that moment he would have
been horrified and shocked beyond measure. Fergus had not the most
distant intent of injuring Nort seriously. He did not even hate him,
but, I fully believe, really loved him, and was going through this
disagreeable business quite coldly. As he received Nort's impetuous
assault, he smiled with a sort of high exultation