half give the rest to yourself, Mr. Fleecebumpkin, for you pretend to
know a thing or two, and Robin had not art enough even to peel before
setting to, but fought with his plaid dangling about him.--Stand up,
Robin, my man! all friends now; and let me hear the man that will speak
a word against you, or your country, for your sake."

Robin Oig was still under the dominion of his passion, and eager to
renew the onset; but being withheld on the one side by the
peace-making Dame Heskett, and on the other, aware that Wakefield no
longer meant to renew the combat, his fury sunk into gloomy
sullenness.

"Come, come, never grudge so much at it, man," said the brave-spirited
Englishman, with the placability of his country; "shake hands, and we
will be better friends than ever."

"Friends!" exclaimed Robin Oig with strong emphasis--"friends!--Never.
Look to yourself, Harry Waakfelt."

"Then the curse of Cromwell on your proud Scots stomach, as the man
says in the play, and you may do your worst and be d----; for one man
can say nothing more to another after a tussel, than that he is sorry
for it."

On these terms the friends parted; Robin Oig drew out, in silence, a
piece of money, threw it on the table, and then left the alehouse. But
turning at the door, he shook his hand at Wakefield, pointing with his
fore-finger upwards, in a manner which might imply either a threat or
a caution. He then disappeared in the moonlight.