He brought up on all occasions the story of the challenge which Ravenswood had declined to accept, and endeavoured, by every possible insinuation, to make his patron believe that his honour was concerned in bringing that matter to an issue by a present discussion with Ravenswood. But respecting this subject Bucklaw imposed on him, at length, a peremptory command of silence. “I think,” he said, “the Master has treated me unlike a gentleman, and I see no right he had to send me back a cavalier answer when I demanded the satisfaction of one. But he gave me my life once; and, in looking the matter over at present, I put myself but on equal terms with him. Should he cross me again, I shall consider the old accompt as balanced, and his Mastership will do well to look to himself.” “That he should,” re-echoed Craigengelt; “for when you are in practice, Bucklaw, I would bet a magnum you are through him before the third pass.” “Then you know nothing of the matter,” said Bucklaw, “and you never saw him fence.” “And I know nothing of the matter?” said the dependant—“a good jest, I promise you! And though I never saw Ravenswood fence, have I not been at Monsieur Sagoon’s school, who was the first _maître d’armes_ at Paris; and have I not been at Signor Poco’s at Florence, and Meinheer Durchstossen’s at Vienna, and have I not seen all their play?” “I don’t know whether you have or not,” said Bucklaw; “but what about it, though you had?” “Only that I will be d—d if ever I saw French, Italian, or High-Dutchman ever make foot, hand, and eye keep time half so well as you, Bucklaw.” “I believe you lie, Craigie,” said Bucklaw; “however, I can hold my own, both with single rapier, backsword, sword and dagger, broadsword, or case of falchions—and that’s as much as any gentleman need know of the matter.” “And the double of what ninety-nine out of a hundred know,” said Craigengelt; “they learn to change a few thrusts with the small sword, and then, forsooth, they understand the noble art of defence! Now, when I was at Rouen in the year 1695, there was a Chevalier de Chapon and I went to the opera, where we found three bits of English birkies——” “Is it a long story you are going to tell?” said Bucklaw, interrupting him without ceremony. “Just as you like,” answered the parasite, “for we made short work of it.” “Then I like it short,” said Bucklaw. “Is it serious or merry?” “Devilish serious, I assure you, and so they found it; for the Chevalier and I——” “Then I don’t like it at all,” said Bucklaw; “so fill a brimmer of my auld auntie’s claret, rest her heart! And, as the Hielandman says, _Skioch doch na skiaill_.” “That was what tough old Sir Even Dhu used to say to me when I was out with the metall’d lads in 1689. ‘Craigengelt,’ he used to say, ‘you are as pretty a fellow as ever held steel in his grip, but you have one fault.’”