"Forgive me, Amabel," rejoined Wyvil, in a voice so penitent that it
instantly effaced her displeasure; "I meant not to offend. I spoke only
the language of distraction. Do not dismiss me thus, or my death will
lie at your door."

"I should be sorry for that," she replied; "but, inexperienced as I am,
I feel this is not the language of real regard, but of furious passion."

A dark shade passed over Wyvil's handsome features, and the almost
feminine beauty by which they were characterized gave place to a fierce
and forbidding expression. Controlling himself by a powerful effort, he
replied, with forced calmness, "Amabel, you know not what it is to love.
I will not stir hence till I have seen your father."

"We will see that, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bloundel, angrily. "What, ho!
son Stephen! Leonard Holt! I say. This gentleman _will_ stay here,
whether I like or not. Show him forth."

"That I will, right willingly," replied the apprentice, rushing before
the younger Bloundel, and flourishing his formidable cudgel. "Out with
you, sir! Out with you!"

"Not at your bidding you, saucy knave," rejoined Wyvil, laying his hand
upon his sword: "and if it were not for the presence of your mistress
and her lovely daughter, I would crop your ears for your insolence."

"Their presence shall not prevent me from making my cudgel and your
shoulders acquainted, if you do not budge," replied the apprentice,
sturdily.