"One man is enough to right his own wrong," said the taller and older
personage; "we venture our lives for him in coming thus far on such an
errand."

"You are but a craven after all, Craigengelt," answered the younger,
"and that's what many folk have thought you before now." "But what none
has dared to tell me," said Craigengelt, laying his hand on the hilt of
his sword; "and, but that I hold a hasty man no better than a fool, I
would----" he paused for his companion's answer.

"WOULD you?" said the other, coolly; "and why do you not then?"

Craigengelt drew his cutlass an inch or two, and then returned it with
violence into the scabbard--"Because there is a deeper stake to be
played for than the lives of twenty harebrained gowks like you."

"You are right there," said his companion, "for it if were not that
these forfeitures, and that last fine that the old driveller Turntippet
is gaping for, and which, I dare say, is laid on by this time, have
fairly driven me out of house and home, I were a coxcomb and a cuckoo to
boot to trust your fair promises of getting me a commission in the
Irish brigade. What have I to do with the Irish brigade? I am a
plain Scotchman, as my father was before me; and my grand-aunt, Lady
Girnington, cannot live for ever."