Involuntarily, he stepped backward until there was a space between them,
casting at the same moment a glance toward the wall where hung axe and
knife and hatchet.

The man intercepted the look, and broke into a laugh. The sound was harsh
and gibing, but not menacing. "You need not be afraid," he said. "I do not
want the feel of a rope around my neck,--though God knows why I should
care! Here is no clansman of mine, and no cursed Campbell either, to see
my end!"

"I am not afraid," Haward answered calmly. Walking to the shelf that held
an array of drinking vessels, he took two cups, filled them with wine, and
going back to his former station, set one upon the cask beside the
storekeeper. "The wine is good," he said. "Will you drink?"

The other loosened the clasp of his hand upon the wood and drew himself
upright. "I eat the bread and drink the water which you give your
servants," he answered, speaking with the thickness of hardly restrained
passion. "The wine cup goes from equal to equal."

As he spoke he took up the peace offering, eyed it for a moment with a
bitter smile, then flung it with force over his shoulder. The earthen
floor drank the wine; the china shivered into a thousand fragments. "I
have neither silver nor tobacco with which to pay for my pleasure,"
continued the still smiling storekeeper. "When I am come to the end of my
term, then, an it please you, I will serve out the damage."

Haward sat down upon a keg of powder, crossed his knees, and, with his
chin upon his hand, looked from between the curled lengths of his periwig
at the figure opposite. "I am glad to find that in Virginia, at least,