'
"Dalcastle drew his sword, without changing his attitude; but
he spoke with more warmth, for we heard his words, 'Think you
that I fear you, Tom? Be assured, Sir, I would not fear ten of the
best of your name, at each other's backs: all that I want is to have
friends with us to see fair play, for, if you close with me, you are
a dead man.'
"The other stormed at these words. 'You are a braggart, Sir,'
cried he, 'a wretch--a blot on the cheek of nature--a blight on
the Christian world--a reprobate--I'll have your soul, Sir. You
must play at tennis, and put down elect brethren in another world
to-morrow.' As he said this, he brandished his rapier, exciting
Dalcastle to offence. He gained his point. The latter, who had
previously drawn, advanced upon his vapouring and licentious
antagonist, and a fierce combat ensued. My companion was
delighted beyond measure, and I could not keep him from
exclaiming, loud enough to have been heard, 'That's grand! That's
excellent!' For me, my heart quaked like an aspen. Young
Dalcastle either had a decided advantage over his adversary, or
else the other thought proper to let him have it; for he shifted, and
swore, and flitted from Dalcastle's thrusts like a shadow, uttering
ofttimes a sarcastic laugh, that seemed to provoke the other
beyond all bearing.
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