“He’s a fairly good hand with his weapon, they tell me.” “If he was a wizard, with the sword of Great Donald, I would touch him to the vitals. Have I not learned a little, if you’ll give me the credit, from Alasdair Mor?” “I forgot that,” said M’lver; “you’ll come through it all right And here’s our man coming up the lane. No anger now; nothing to be said on your side till I give you a sign, and then I can leave the rest to your wisdom.” MacLachlan came staving up the cobbles in a great hurry, flailing the air, as he went, with a short rattan, for he affected some of the foppish customs the old officers brought back from the Continent. He was for passing us with no more than a jerk of the head, but M’Iver and I between us took up the mouth of the lane, and as John seemed to smile on him like one with gossip to exchange, he was bound to stop. “Always on the going foot, MacLachlan,” said John, airily. “I never see a young gentleman of your age and mettle but I wish he could see the wisdom of putting both to the best purpose on the field.” “With your cursed foreigners, I suppose you mean,” said the young fellow. “I could scarcely go as a private pikeman like yourself.” “I daresay not, I daresay not,” answered M’Iver, pricked at his heart (I could tell by his eye) by this reflection upon his humble office, but keeping a marvellously cool front to his cockerel. “And now when I think of it, I am afraid you have neither the height nor width for even so ornamental a post as an ensign’s.” MacLachlan restrained himself too, unwilling, no doubt, as I thought, to postpone his chase of the lady by so much time as a wrangle with John M’Iver would take up. He affected to laugh at Splendid’s rejoinder, turned the conversation upon the disjasket condition of the town, and edged round to get as polite a passage as possible between us, without betraying any haste to sever himself from our company. But both John Splendid and I had our knees pretty close together, and the very topic he started seemed to be the short cut to the quarrel we sought. “A poor town indeed,” admitted M’Iver, readily, “but it might be worse. It can be built anew. There’s nothing in nature, from a pigsty to a name for valour and honour, that a wise man may not patch up somehow.” MacLachlan’s retort to this opening was on the tip of his tongue; but his haste made him surrender a taunt as likely to cause trouble. “You’re very much in the proverb way to-day,” was all he said. “I’m sure I wish I saw Inneraora as hale and complete as ever it was: it never had a more honest friend than myself.” “That one has missed,” thought I, standing by in a silent part of this three-cornered convention. M’Iver smiled mildly, half, I should think, at the manner in which his thrust had been foiled, half to keep MacLachlan still with us. His next attack was more adroit though roundabout, and it effected its purpose.