"Peste! but this is modest! You are not of age yet, Mr. Varney; you are
not free from a father's tyrannical control."

"The law does not own you as my father, I am told, sir. You have said my
name rightly,--it is Varney, not Dalibard. We have no rights over each
other; so at least says Tom Passmore, and his father's a lawyer!"

Dalibard's hand griped his son's arm fiercely. Despite his pain, which
was acute, the child uttered no cry; but he growled beneath his teeth,
"Beware! beware! or my mother's son may avenge her death!"

Dalibard removed his hand, and staggered as if struck. Gliding from his
side, Gabriel seized the occasion to escape; he paused, however, midway
in the dull, lamp-lit kennel when he saw himself out of reach, and then
approaching cautiously, said: "I know. I am a boy, but you have made me
man enough to take care of myself. Mr. Varney, my uncle, will maintain
me; when of age, old Sir Miles has provided for me. Leave me in peace,
treat me as free, and I will visit you, help you when you want me, obey
you still,--yes, follow your instructions; for I know you are," he
paused, "you are wise. But if you seek again to make me your slave, you
will only find your foe. Good-night; and remember that a bastard has no
father!"

With these words he moved on, and hurrying down the street, turned the
corner and vanished.

Dalibard remained motionless for some minutes; at length he muttered:
"Ay, let him go, he is dangerous! What son ever revolted even from the
worst father, and throve in life? Food for the gibbet! What matters?"