order, I do assure you."

"You?--you come between?" I scoffed. "You are all kinds of a knave, Sir
Francis, but your worst enemy never accused you of being a fool!"

There was a look in his eyes that I could never fathom.

"You are bitter hard, John Ireton--bitter and savage and unforgiving.
You knew the wild blade of a half-score years ago, and now you'd make
the grown man pay scot and lot for that same youngster's misdeeds. Have
you never a touch of human kindliness in you?"

To know how this affected me you must turn back to that place where I
have tried to picture out this man for you. I said he had a gift to turn
a woman's head or touch her heart. I should have said that he could use
this gift at will on any one. For the moment I forgot his cool disposal
of me in the talk with Captain Stuart; forgot how he had lied to make me
out a spy and so had brought me to this pass.

So I could only say: "You killed my friend, Frank Falconnet, and--"

"Tush!" said he. "That quarrel died nine years ago. Your reviving of it
now is but a mask."

"For what?" I asked.

"For your just resentment in sweet Margery's behalf. Believe it or not,
as you like, but I could love you for that blow you gave me, John
Ireton. I had been losing cursedly at cards that day, and mine host's
wine had a dash of usquebaugh in it, I dare swear. At any rate, I knew