"Draw, Menteith, and defend yourself like a man, or die like a dog!" "You are mad, Allan!" answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden appearance, and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour.

His cheeks were livid--his eyes started from their sockets--his lips were covered with foam, and his gestures were those of a demoniac.
"You lie, traitor!" was his frantic reply--"you lie in that, as you lie in all you have said to me.

Your life is a lie!" "Did I not speak my thoughts when I called you mad," said Menteith, indignantly, "your own life were a brief one.

In what do you charge me with deceiving you ?" "You told me," answered M'Aulay, "that you would not marry Annot Lyle!--False traitor!--she now waits you at the altar." "It is you who speak false," retorted Menteith.

"I told you the obscurity of her birth was the only bar to our union--that is now removed; and whom do you think yourself, that I should yield up my pretensions in your favour ?" "Draw then," said M'Aulay; "we understand each other." "Not now," said Menteith, "and not here.