I might easily have reached my sword, which lay at my feet, and run him through before he could face round; yet he did not even deign to notice me, and walked slowly to the fire, where he sat with his back to me.
I could stand it no longer, and crossed the room to face him.
"You have beaten me," said I--and the words were hard to say--"take my sword, for, by heaven, I will never wear it again, and fare you well." The cloud on his face broke into sunlight as he sprang to his feet, and, taking my arm, said-- "No.

Stay here and let us be friends.

I am too poor to offer thee supper, but here's my hand." I took his hand like one in a dream.

I could not help it, strange as it seemed.
"Sir," said I, "whoever you be, I strike hands on one condition only, that is, that you sup to-night with me.

I'm a London 'prentice, but I know when I meet my match." What that had to do with his supping with me, I know not; but I was so flurried with my late defeat and my enemy's sudden friendliness, that I scarcely knew what I said.
"If that be the price, I must even pay it," said he, solemnly, "so long as we be friends." So I called to the man of the house to bring us food quickly, and, while it was coming, set myself to know more of my new comrade.
Yet when I came to question him I felt abashed.