"The damask buirdclaith--the best in the aik napery-kist--sae braw wi' its champit figures, the very ane that His Highness the Duke (James VII. that is now) dined off wi' Lag, Lauderdale, and the auld Laird. Fie upon ye, Clermistonlee! sic wickedness and waste would hae driven your faither daft--wae's me!" "Art done with this cursed gabble?" "Indeed I'm no, my Lord." "When you are, fool, go and bring the foils." "Is that a' the breakfast you are for?" "Rascal, begone! or by----" Juden trotted off, napkin in hand, ere his passionate Lord could finish. He returned in a few minutes with foils, masks, and gloves. Clermistonlee then threw off his dressing-gown; and as he grasped one of the long heavy foils, his cheek reddened and his eye sparkled in anticipation of successful revenge and signal triumph. "Now, Juden, my trusty knave," he began, in a milder tone; "you know that in my affair with this young minx, Lilian Napier--though I have been foiled in divers ways--that it would ill become me to draw bridle when such game is in view." "Ay, my Lord; many a shy bird we have flown our hawks at, but never saw I ane that cost the trouble this pretty paroquet hath done." "She loves a young spark of Dunbarton's Musqueteers--a nameless and beggarly varlet, who in infancy was found among the covenanting rabble in the Greyfriars kirkyard----" "Aboot the time o' Bothwell--o'd I mind it weel." "And, forsooth," continued the Lord, stamping with impatience, "Dunbarton's baby-faced Countess, in imitation of proud old Anne of Monmouth, would needs have a pretty page to hold up her train when she walked, sit by her knee in coach and boudoir, carry her lap-dog to church when the Bishop preached; to kiss her dainty hand at all times, and God knows what more. "This fair lady's toy hath now become a man with a beard on his chin, and a sword at his side; and after trailing a pike for these three years past beneath our Scottish pennon, hath obtained a pair of colours in his patron's band, and presumes to ruffle it in scarlet, and lace among the best gentlemen in Scotland; and cocks his beaver _à la cavalier_ in the faces of the boldest and the best. But these are trifles. This misbegotten minion hath become my rival--_mine_. Ha, ha! Juden--and to be crossed in purpose by a cur like this! Zounds! I shall burst..... This very noon he will be flaunting his feathers with other triflers; and if it is in the power of mortal man to dash his rapier in a thousand pieces--to nail him to the pavement through steel and bone, and to drench his sark in his heart's best blood before her very face, by Jove! this right hand will do it. But ere venturing on so public a trial of my skill, I would fain have a bout with thee; so come on, my old boar-at-bay--have at thee."