Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

246                                    KIDNAPPED.
"I never asked you to," said I. "I am as ready as
yourself."
"Ready?" said he.
"Ready," I repeated. "I am no blower and boaster
like some that I could name. Come on!" And draw-
ing my sword, I fell on guard as Alan himself had
taught me.
"David!" he cried. "Are ye daft? I cannae draw
upon ye, David. It's fair murder."
"That was your look-out when you insulted me,"
said I.
"It's the truth!" cried Alan, and he stood for a
moment, wringing his mouth in his hand like a man in
sore perplexity. "It's the bare truth," he said, and
drew his sword. But before I could touch his blade
with mine, ha had thrown it from him and fallen to the
ground. "Na, na," he kept saying, "na, na�I
cannae, I cannae."
At this the last of my anger oozed all out of me;
and I found myself only sick, and sorry, and blank, and
wondering at myself. I would have given the world to
take back what I had said; but a word once spoken,
who can re-capture it? I minded me of all Alan's
kindness and courage in the past, how he had helped
and cheered and borne with me in our evil days;
and then recalled my own insults, and saw that I
had lost for ever that doughty friend. At the same
time, the sickness that hung upon me seemed to re-
double, and the pang in my side was like a sword