They said nothing of death nor
life--no word of the Kelpie's Pool. They carried, tersely, a direct
challenge, the ground Ian Rullock's conception of friendship, a
conception tallying nicely with Alexander Jardine's idea of a mortal
enmity. Such a fishing-town, known of both, back of such a sea beach
in Holland--such a tavern in this place. Meet there--wait there, the
one who should reach it first for the other, and--to give all possible
ground to delays of letters, travel, arrangements generally--in so
late a month as April. "Find me there, or await me there, my one-time
friend, henceforth my foe! I--or Justice herself above me--would teach
you certain things!"
The cartel bore date the 1st of January--later by a month than the
Black Hill letter. It dropped from Ian's hand; he sat with blankness
of mind in the sunlight. Presently he shivered slightly. He leaned
his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands and sat still.
Alexander! He felt no hot straining toward meeting, toward fighting,
Alexander. Perversely enough, after a year of impatient, contemptuous
thought in that direction, he had lately felt liking and an ancient
strong respect returning like a tide that was due. And he could not
meet Alexander in April--that was impossible! No private affair could
be attended to now.
... Elspeth, of whom the letter carried no word, Elspeth from whom he
had not heard since in August he left that countryside, Elspeth who
had agreed with him that love of man and woman was nobody's business
but their own, Elspeth who, when he would go, had let him go with a
fine pale refusal to deal in women's tears and talk of injury, who had
said, indeed, that she did not repent, much bliss being worth some
bale--Elspeth whom he could not be sure that he would see again, but
whom at times before his eyes at night he saw.
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