"Ha ha! You call me 'friend.' You think that word a safeguard! I tell you, no! There are no friends now; the world is a great field of battle,--each man fights the other.

There is no peace,--none anywhere! The wind fights with the forests; you can hear them slashing and slaying all night long--when it _is_ night--the long, long night! The sun fights with the sky, the light with the dark, and life with death.

It is all a bitter quarrel; none are satisfied, none shall know friendship any more; it is too late! We cannot be friends!" "Well, have it your own way," said Philip good-naturedly, wishing that Lorimer were awake to interview this strange specimen of human wit gone astray; "we'll fight if you like.

Anything to please you!" "We _are_ fighting," said Sigurd with intense passion in his voice.

"You may not know it; but I know it! I have felt the thrust of your sword; it has crossed mine.