.
It's not the first time I've met it."

Asgill had no wish to precipitate a quarrel. On the contrary, he had
made up his mind to gain time if he could; at any rate, to put off the
_ultima ratio_ until evening, or until the next morning. Only in
the last resort had he determined to fling off the mask. But at that
word "coward," though he knew it to be well deserved, his temper,
sapped by the knowledge that love was forcing him into a position which
reason repudiated, gave way, and he spoke his true thoughts.

"What a d--d bully you are, Payton!" he said, in his slowest tone.
"Sure, and you insult the man's sister in your drink----"

"What's that to you?"

"You insult the man's sister," Asgill persisted coolly, "and because he
treats you like the tipsy creature you are, you'd kill him like a dog."

Payton turned white. "And you, too," he said, "if you say another word!
What in Heaven's name is amiss with you, man, this morning? Are you
mad?"

"I'll not hear the word 'coward' used of the family--I'll soon be one
of!" Asgill returned, speaking on the spur of the moment, and wondering
at himself the moment he had made the statement. "That's what I'm
meaning! Do you see? And if you are for repeating the word, more by
token, it'll be all the breakfast you'll have, for I'll cram it down
your ugly throat!"

Payton stared dumbfounded, divided between rage and astonishment. But
the former was not slow to get the upper hand, and "Enough said," he
replied, in a voice that trembled, but not with fear. "If you are
willing to make it good, you'll be coming this way."

"Willingly!" Asgill answered.

"I'll have one of my men for witness. Ay, that I will! I don't trust
you, Mr. Asgill, and that's flat. Get you whom you please! In five
minutes, in the garden, then?"

Asgill nodded. The Englishman looked once more at him to make sure that
he was sober; then he turned on his heel and went back through the
courtyard. Asgill remained alone.

He had taken the step there was no retracing. He had cast the dice, and
the next few minutes would decide whether it was for life or death. He
had done it deliberately; yet at the last he had been so carried away
by impulse that, as he stood there, looking after the man he had
insulted, looking on the placid water glittering in the early sunshine,
looking along the lake-side road, by which he had come, he could hardly
credit what had happened, or that in a moment he had thrown for a stake
s