"_C´est fini_," he said lightly, as the troopers halted and turned to retrace their footsteps to where the conflict had commenced. Macpherson came up, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “I saw you go down,” he said to Gervase, “and feared it was all over with you. I should have been sorry to my dying day, for you have shown the right soldier spirit,--you have been touched?” “A mere scratch, but we have gained a great success.” “A pretty affair. What popinjay have we yonder?” and he pointed to De Laprade. “One of King James´s new French gentlemen,” said Gervase smiling, “who is the first captive of my bow and spear.” “One of the accursed race,” said Macpherson grimly. “And the message hath come to me; ‘no quarter,´ was our word this day. His blood be upon his own head.” He drew his pistol from the holster, and dismounted from his horse. Gervase saw the deep gloom gather on his brow. “What would you do?” Gervase cried, catching his arm and placing himself between his Captain and the Vicomte. “In God´s name, you do not mean to say that you would slay him in cold blood?” “In cold blood, no, but in righteous vengeance for the evil that hath been wrought upon our people. Do you forget Dixie and Charleton? I have taken a vow before the Lord this day that not one of them shall escape me. The blood of Abel is crying from the ground, and shall I, the least of his servants, suffer that cry to go unheard?” “While I live you shall not injure one hair of his head. The lessons that you have learned in the school of Turenne we will not practise here. No prisoner shall be slain in cold blood while Gervase Orme can wield a sword to defend him.” Macpherson turned away and replaced his pistol in the holster without a word, and stooping down began to examine the forelegs of his charger. While this scene was being enacted on which his life depended, the Vicomte continued sitting upon the fence, flicking the dust from his riding boots with his handkerchief and smiling an easy smile of apparent indifference. He seemed to be the only one who had no interest in the issue of the quarrel. Then he rose, and going over to Gervase held out his hand. “However you may yet decide this trivial affair,” he said, “I thank you for your courtesy. I declined to take your hand; I beg your pardon. You are a brave man and a gentleman. But it is a matter of regret that you should quarrel with your friend on my poor account.” “There is no quarrel, sir,” said Macpherson, who had overheard his words, raising himself to his full height, and looking steadily as he spoke. “This young gentleman was right, and I was wrong. He had given you quarter, which matter he may yet live to repent, and you were under his protection by the laws of war. I might have shot you down in the melee but I left him to deal with you. He hath seen good to spare your life, and in your presence, sir, I now ask his pardon, which will not be denied me.”