will be all that is needful," says Hugh with a bow; "there's a
yard outside, and maybe McKelvie will be giving us a couple of
lanthorns."

Never a word said Bryde, but the breath whistled through his nostrils,
and we made our way through the kitchen, for it was easier to stop the
big burn in spate than these two. There were cutlasses on the wall
crossed like the sign of a battle on a map, and Hugh had them down.

"I think they are marrows," says he, trying to be calm, but his very
voice shook with rage.

"Outside," said Bryde.

There was a puddly yard, squelched with the feet of cow beasts. The
scad of light from the door and the two lanterns lit up the yellow
trampled glaur, and both the boys stripped in silence and stood on
guard, and then started.

McGilp and McKinnon and the McKelvies were there only, and if these had
not been my own boys I could have enjoyed the business, for they were
matched to a hair, and tireless as tigers.

The blue blades sprang from cut to parry like live things, and in the
light I saw the same cruel smile, line for line, in both faces. The
snow was falling in big wet flakes, and the fight went on, neither
giving an inch, and then from behind came a thin voice--

"The McBrides are at it, hammer and tongs--the Laird and the bastard,
te-he," cried Dol Beag from the dark.

At that word Bryde's blade seemed to waver an instant, and Hugh's bit
into his thigh, but like a flash I saw Bryde recover, and a lightning
stroke and Hugh's cutlass was clattering on the cobbles, and then I saw
Bryde whirl his sword round his head, and raise himself uplifted for a
dreadful blow that would have cleft his cousin to the chest, and the
cruel smile was still on both faces, and then Bryde stopped.

"It's no' true, Hughie," said he, and lowered his hand and walked back
to the kitchen, swayed a minute, and thrust his arms out blindly, and
fell on the flagstones.

"Have I killed him, Hamish?" cried Hugh--"have I killed Bryde? God,
what will Margaret say to this?"

"I do not know what you have done," said I. "It would be maybe better
if he is dead, for I think you will have killed his spirit."

We would have had him to bed in the inn, but he came to himself.

"Hamish," said he, "take me home to my"--and in a brave voice--"to my
mother."

And Hugh went out of the room, and I knew he would never be a boy again.

McKelvie's wife was at the doctoring of the wound with her concoctions,
and I made wh