"Ye're a dirty liar, Samoval, a muck-rake," said he.
Samoval stepped back, breathing hard, one cheek red, the other
white. Yet by a miracle he still preserved his self-control.
"I have proved my courage too often," he said, "to be under the
necessity of killing you for this blow. Since my honour is safe I
will not take advantage of your overwrought condition."
"Ye'll take advantage of it whether ye like it or not," blazed Sir
Terence at him. "I mean you to take advantage of it. D' ye think
I'll suffer any man to cast a slur upon Lady O'Moy? I'll be
sending my friends to wait on you to-day, Count; and - by God! -
Tremayne himself shall be one of them."
Thus did the hot-headed fellow deliver himself into the hands of
his enemy. Nor was he warned when he saw the sudden gleam in
Samoval's dark eyes.
"Ha!" said the Count. It was a little exclamation of wicked
satisfaction. "You are offering me a challenge, then?"
"If I may make so bold. And as I've a mind to shoot you dead - "
"Shoot, did you say?" Samoval interrupted gently.
"I said 'shoot' -and it shall be at ten paces, or across a
handkerchief, or any damned distance you please."
The Count shook his head. He sneered.
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