"I know one man," he began: "but no--'tis impossible."

As I stood, waiting to hear more, he clapp'd his hand in mine, very
quick and friendly: "Jack," he cried;--"I'll call thee Jack--'twas
an honest good turn thou hadst in thy heart to do me, and I a surly
rogue to think of fighting--I that could make mincemeat of thee."

"I can fence a bit," answer'd I.

"Now, say no more, Jack: I love thee."

He look'd in my face, still holding my hand and smiling. Indeed,
there was something of the foreigner in his brisk graceful ways--yet
not unpleasing. I was going to say I had never seen the like--ah,
me! that both have seen and know the twin image so well.

"I think," said I, "you had better be considering what to do."

He laugh'd outright this time; and resting with his legs cross'd,
against the trunk of an elm, twirl'd an end of his long lovelocks,
and looked at me comically. Said he: "Tell me, Jack, is there aught
in me that offends thee?"

"Why, no," I answered. "I think you're a very proper young man--such
as I should loathe to see spoil'd by Master Settle's knife."

"Art not quick at friendship, Jack, but better at advising; only in
this case fortune has prevented thy good offices. Hark ye," he
lean'd forward and glanc'd to right and left, "if these twain intend