|Chapter Title||HENRY AND ISABEL BEHIND THE SCENES.-MR. ROUSAL'S HISTORY.|
|Newspaper Title||Launceston Examiner (Tas. : 1842 - 1899)|
|Trove Title||The Maxwells of Bremgarten|
THE MAXWELLS OF BREMGARTEN. A STORY OF TASMANIA. [Founded on Facts.] (ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.) (Continued from Saturday, 19th September.) CHAPTER LVII. HENRY AND ISABEL BEHIND THE SCENES.— MR. ROUSAL'S HISTORY. THE next morning was as bright and happy as the most ardent admirer of sun- shine and rural scenery could desire. Henry and Isabel, after being most kindly and hos- pitably entertained at Clifton Hall, prepared to return to their temporary home. Mr. Earlsley warned Henry against the dangers of travelling through just then, as a gang of desperate men had succeeded in making their escape from Port Arthur, whither all the desperadoes of Macquarie Harbor had been removed,—had taken up arms, and were now supposed to be in the neighborhood of the Salt Pan Plains. They might be, he said, on the banks of the South Esk in a day, as their motions were generally remarkably quick. It was arranged that the two young ladies, Caroline Earlsley and her sister Ada, should leave Clifton Hall in a roomy vehicle guarded by their brothers armed with loaded guns, call at Bremgarten on their way to Mr. Stapleton's, and being joined by Isabel and Griselda who would occupy seats in the same conveyance, proceed all together, the gentlemen armed and on horseback, to the scene of the approaching festivities. The recent rain had softened the ground so that the horse could not well be persuaded to accelerate his pace much above a walk, for the road was not then a good metalled one as it is now. It was lonely, and would have been if it were not for the sunshine a dismal one enough. The minds of the brother and sister were evidently too full for utterance, for they did not exchange a word until the first half of their journey was accomplished. Isabel betrayed by no perceptible sign that her thoughts were disagreeable to her, and remained perfectly unmoved ; while her brother seemed agitated by various conflicting emotions, and smoked incessantly at least a dozen cigars since they left the Hall. At length he got tired of smoking, and broke silence abruptly by saying :— " Isabel, you are the most excellent dis- sembler I ever knew." " A dissembler !" said Isabel with a start ; " I could see there was something rankling in your mind ; indeed, I ought to feel thank- ful, and I do feel thankful, that you do not turn round and give me a horse-whipping." " Take care you do not deserve one," said her brother. " You told me yesterday when I made you aware that Miss Maxwell had refused my hand in marriage, that you be- lieved she was in love with her beggar cousin Edwin Herbart, and I have good reason to suspect that you are, or imagine yourself to be, in love with that individual yourself." "O, la !" said Isabel with a forced and very uneasy laugh ; " what a rich and sprightly imagination it is. And pray, where does your excellent reason come from ? You need not look so dark and flog the poor horse in that way. A likely story ! that I am in love with a stranger who scarcely knows that I live and would not care were I to die to-morrow." " I don't profess to be supereminently intelligent or endowed with powers of dis- cernment above what commonly falls to in- dividuals of my age and education," said Henry, making very commendable attempts to restrain the impetuosity of his temper ; " if I were, perhaps I might have saved myself from the indignity of being superciliously refused by an empty, though cunning, piece of wax-work. But I have some idea how ladies should conduct themselves and order their conversation when in the presence of presuming persons of the opposite sex, who are by birth as well as fortune infinitely beneath them. It is not proper or delicate for a young lady of superior rank, education, and abilities to discourse familiarly and flippantly with a pitiful, penniless adven- turer about love in a cottage near the sea, listening to the mermaids singing and shepherds pining on the lonely beach, and all that sort of thing." " Well, how does all that apply to me, Sir?" said Miss Arnott. " You have a treacherous memory," said Henry ; " don't you remember the conversa- tion you yourself had with Griselda and that fellow Herbart in Maxwell's gardens in which I surprised you in the middle of a speech about poverty in a cottage ?" " I do not remember saying anything which a modest and delicate lady might not say," said Isabel. " I never talked flippantly or said anything about mermaids singing and shepherds pining on beaches. I defy you to rake up from the ashes of oblivion ever since I was born, since it constantly pleases your malicious humor to rake them up, any tan- gible charge of indelicacy against me—I dare and defy you to do it. I am indepen- dent of you, Henry, and will not allow you to crush me into the earth." " You need not fly into a passion," said Henry, still endeavoring to keep cool, " I only want just to tell you plainly what I think. You are independent of me in a pecuniary sense, it i true ; but you are not so in the sense of guardianship and pro- priety : you may be legally so, but you are not morally so ; and I now emphatically an- nounce to you that if you ever accept as your husband, or think of accepting, that contemptible pauper Herbart, I will blot you out from my memory—I will never speak to you or correspond with you, or with any of your hated offspring ; and never presume to call me your brother again." "Brother !" said Isabel in a tone of the most ineffable contempt; and may I ask you what sort of a brother have you been ? Did you ever sacrifice one hundredth part of an iota of you own darling self to please or gratify me ? How many kind words have you said to me in the course of our youthful companionship ? How many little presents that would have cost you next to nothing did you give me, to sow the seed of even one grateful remembrance in the decline of life ? Oh, you have been an affectionate brother to your only sister ! I met with ten times more affection from Frederick, my half-brother, than I ever did from you. On the banks of the Hooghly, where we were both born, we walked together when children, and when I collected flowers and showed them to you, you flung them away on the water. You in- introduced me to your playmates, and when I flew from their rudeness you joined with them in hooting and pursuing me. You put a horrid caterpillar into my mouth one after protesting it was a lozenge ; and at Sydney you hated my birds because I loved them, and wearied out my life with your constant
faultfinding. Will it give me pain, do you suppose, when you think proper to command me never to call you brother again ?" Isabel paused, "Go on," said Henry, " what do you stop for ?" " I have said enough" she answered, " to remind you what a good brother you have been ; you need not tempt me to say more. Pay attention to your own affairs, Henry, and leave mine alone. Our lives are too short to be lightly embittered by troubles which will not come near us if we seek them not. I never interfered between you and Griselda except to advance your suit, and I sincerely wish you would trouble yourself us little about her cousin Edwin Herbart as I do." " It is very little you trouble yourself about him, indeed," said Henry with a sneer. "If you troubled yourself as little about him," said Isabel, " you would not let him rise up a bone of contention between us. What end is it likely to serve bringing him up to me in this manner—he is far removed from both of us, and I was not thinking about him ?" " And do you never think about him, my very amiable sister ?" "What are you sneering at me in that cruel manner for ? Am I made of marble or granite that I cannot feel your cutting irony, or that I must not think of people ? Try to chain up a woman's thoughts, and you do what Caligula, in all his tyrannical folly, never attempted. You must have a hard heart, Henry, to take such an unmanly ad- vantage of my isolation, and wreak your fury upon me when I cannot escape, and have no protector to appeal to. O that my dear papa were alive, for then I would be safe from your violence." " If he was alive," said Henry, " he would spurn you from him for daring to think of disgracing the name you bear by contracting a marriage through which a washerwoman would not feel elevated above her wash- tub." " What in the name of Heaven do you mean ?" said Isabel ; " who can accuse me of thinking about marriage at all ? Prove to me that I have ever thought about contracting a marriage of which my dear papa, if he were alive, would be ashamed." " Did you never tell Edwin Herbart in plain terms that you would marry him ?" " He never asked me, and I do not think papa would have been ashamed of him for a son-in-law. I am my own mistress." " But have you not told him so when he was not asking you. Recollect yourself : you may be clever, but I am no fool." " I dispute your right to catechise me in this manner. I will not answer you. I have not said anything or done anything that is vile, or base, or wicked. Let well alone, Henry, if you are wise, and torture me no more." " Nay, I have another word to say to you. You asked me what I meant, and I will tell you, and prove to you that I am better ac- quainted with these matters than you pretend to be." As he spoke he drew from his waist- coat pocket a folded paper, and opening it before his sister's eyes, said—" There, false minion, do you know that letter ?" When the unhappy Miss Arnott saw her own letter, the one she had written and sent to Edwin, in the hands of her angry brother, the color totally forsook her face, and she felt as if that dreadful moment was going to be her last in the world. Recovering, however, in a moment, and aroused to the necessity of defending herself in this fearful extremity, she suddenly snapped the paper out of Henry's hand, leaped from her seat to the ground, and screamed as she tore the letter into ribbons —" You base and dishonorable brother, you have opened a letter addressed to me ; you can go on, I will stay here—I despise you ! I was anxious to have an honorable husband of my own choosing, who would release me and protect me from your despotism. I hate you !—it was to escape from your hateful and jealous tyranny that I wrote to Mr. Herbart, and I will write to him again. You have struck me with your whip ! O my dear father, could you see me now—beaten— trodden upon—insulted—goaded—lashed by the unmanly being who bears your thrice- honored name, what would you say or do ?" Henry seemed taken by surprise by this decided movement on the part of his sister. He pulled up the horse suddenly, and in so doing the lash of his whip fell upon Isabel's neck. He looked at her with calmness as she tore the letter, and almost smiled when in her impotent, yet terrible wrath, she shook her clenched hand (it was a pretty little hand, too) it his face. Taking ad- vantage of the first pause in her passionate outburst, he said in more soothing accents than he had hitherto used—"Get up into your seat, and stop this nonsense : I did not strike you." " You did strike me—I will not stop this nonsense ; I will not get up into my seat ; I will not do anything you bid me. I cordially despise and detest you. A mean villain to open a letter addressed to me, and to call me a false minion! Strike me again, and I will fly all the way before your horse, and throw myself on Mr. Maxwell's protection. You expect me to dissolve in tears, and sink upon my knees at your feet, and say—O, dear Henry ! O, kind Henry ! O,my most affectionate brother, forgive me, and I'll never do it again ! If you were to stay there until the Pacific Ocean washes with its billows the foot of Ben Lomond I would not humble myself to you. Let the thunders of yesterday come back again and play upon my forehead ; let the lightning pierce my bosom, and read my heart ; let all the vile and wicked creatures in the world congregate together, and pursue me to the grave with their spiteful scorn ; I will suffer all sooner than submit to you." While she uttered this frenzied language the excited young lady walked up and down, stamping on the ground, and clapping her hands together. Henry gazed upon the tempest he had raised in open-mouthed astonishment, and when she paused again to take breath he said—" For Heaven's sake, Isabel, stop this folly, and get into the gig. What an exposure it will be if any one dis- covers you in that condition." Instead of answering she stared at him a moment with her eyes, large, dark, and fiery, and then deliberately walked away from the gig about a dozen, and sat down on a fallen tree." " Will you get up into your place, and let us leave for ever this plebeian family, and their cursed country," said Henry. Isabel did not speak a word. " Will you come out of that, you perverse, unmanageable creature, or shall I use force, and treat you as a lunatic ?" The maiden did not move, and was silent. " Come into your seat, Isabel, and I'll say nothing more about it. I'll forgive and
forget it all. I'll promise to love you, and I'll tell you why I opened your letter—or if if you don't—" here he invoked God's vengeance upon his head in the most blasphemous manner if he ever forgave her. Isabel started up and said wildly "Oh, Henry, recall those dreadful words—recall them with a prayer for forgiveness and I will obey you. Are you not a weak mortal, de- pending upon God for life land light ? Are you not my brother, and why should I see you destroyed for ever ? Recall them ! " I do recall them—let us be going on." Miss Arnott got up to her seat, and now for the first time since the commencement of the quarrel shed a copious flood of tears. Henry drove on and took an opportunity of requesting his sister to dry her tears, and not gratify the idle curiosity of that " plebeian family" by letting them perceive that there had been a misunderstanding. He excused himself for opening her letter by stating that he had seen the words ' I love Griselda, but I love not Henry,' through the envelope before he opened it. He made her promise that she would not again write to Mr. Herbart or answer his letters if he wrote to her : and for his own part he promised to turn over a new leaf, govern his temper, and depart peaceably from the island, and glad to got out of it, without seeking to pick a quarrel with anyone in it especially with the person styling himself Edwin Herbart. " Nevertheless," he added, " I have an appointment with Mr. Rousal of Toppleton Cottage, Longford, to see a horse- race on Tuesday, and I must go for I have something depending upon the winner ; you need not be alarmed at my absence. I shall be back in time to escort you to the ball." And they drew up at Maxwell's door after all traces of the recent storm were obliterated. But no sooner did Isabel find herself safe within the house that she told Griselda in a whisper to follow her upstairs and they both ascended to the chamber which they occupied in common. When the door was shut she threw herself into Griselda's arms, kissed her again and again, and said— " O Griselda ! my dearest, sweetest, kindest friend, how fearfully wretched I am. Will you ever, ever forgive me ?" " Forgive you !" said Griselda, returning.- Miss Arnott's caress, " for what should I forgive you, dear Isabel ? What is the matter ?" " O what shall I do ?" said Isabel, wringing her hands. " I know you will forgive me, my most excellent friend, but how can I forgive myself ? Oh, Griselda, when I think of it my heart is nearly broken." " Think of what ? For Heaven's sake ex- plain yourself, Isabel—what has happened ?" " And when I think of the escape you have had I am ready to go out of my wits with joy," said Isabel. " I !—escape ! Really if you cannot be more explicit I shall think that your wits have made their escape out of your head," said Griselda. " No, I thank my stars that my wits are not quite gone yet, Griselda," said Isabel, half inclined to be offended, as indeed she ever was after extraordinary displays of affec- tion, " and you may thank yours that you are not Henry's wife. His temper is dreadful, frightful, horrible ; and I, foolish creature that I am, urged you to have him, and threatened you with my hatred if you did not. Why, if you want to be dead in six months, marry him—that's all. And now can you forgive me for my treatment of you yesterday ?" " Yes I can, and do most joyfully and sincerely," said Griselda, " and as we love one another, let us say nothing more about Henry except in terms of proper respect." We will leave these young ladies to make their arrangements and preparations for the ball, at which they had signified their inten- tion to be present, and return to Henry. He and Maxwell had sat together in the study for nearly three hours on the same afternoon, engaged in a warm and somewhat unsatisfac- tory discussion. The reader will kindly excuse us for not setting down the conversa- tion verbatim in this place, as, indeed, it was rather long, and amounted, in, fact, to little more than what he knows already, added to a little which his own fertile imagination can readily supply. After reviewing his position with respect to Maxwell's family, now so much altered by Miss Maxwell's sudden reso- lution and candid explanation, he declared his intention was to leave Tasmania immediately, taking his sister with him, and never return to the colony again ; and he had already given instructions to his sister to hold herself in readiness to take leave of Bremgarten when she returned from Mr. Stapleton's ball. As, however, that would not take place for a week, he would ride over to Longford to spend a day with Mr. Thomas Rousal, and be present at a horse-race, a private match, which was to take place on Tuesday, intending to be back in time to assist in escorting the ladies on their journey to Camden Hall. Maxwell, as the father of the young lady who had declined to become Henry Arnott's wife, was obliged to speak on the subject with great delicacy and circumspection. He saw that Henry's self-love had received a deep wound, which rankled far more severely than the mere disappointment in a matter of affection ever could in such a nature ; and in order to allay in some measure the young man's pain, he stooped—let us hope in a par- donable sense—to address Henry through the medium of his vanity. He reminded him of his youth, his great wealth, and his good appearance—qualities which would make the choosing of some other lady more accomplished and more amiable to be his wife than his own humble and unambitious daughter a matter of little difficulty. He regretted that matters had not taken that satisfactory turn which he had desired, and to promote which he had promised his late friend the Colonel to use all the influence he possessed ; but his daughter had taken her resolution as a consequence of a solemn con- viction, and he would regard himself as a tyrant, not a father, if he attempted to force her inclinations with undue severity. He had spoken to her and found her firm, and as a Christian and with a sincere desire to promote his daughter's happiness in the world, could not say any more on the now unpleasant subject. He felt greatly tempted to speak to Henry on his reported tendency to habits of convivial dissipation, but on reflection thought it would be labor lost, and his pretending to a knowledge of such matters would compromise Eugene, through whom Henry would naturally sup- pose the evil reports had percolated. The subject, therefore, was not renewed, and Henry set out on his solitary journey to Longford. He found his way pretty well considering that he was still but a stranger in Tasmania, but he had a good guide in the river, which he knew he was to keep upon his right, until, crossing it at Perth, he would have to pursue
his course along the opposite bank. Arrived at the picturesque town of Longford, rendered more picturesque than most other Tasmanian villages by the rich green corn fields by which it is surrounded, by the meeting of two fine rivers, and by the splendid array of mountain scenery in the distance, he lost no time in en- quiring for the whereabouts of Toppleton Cottage, the residence of Thomas W. Rousal, Esq, and alighted at that polite gentleman's door late in the evening, after a rapid ride of fifty miles or more. Mr. Rousal was still a young man, but his hair was getting grey. He was a bachelor, and spent his time principally in the society of two or three gay companions, who, with praiseworthy abnegation of self, would deny themselves the pleasures of their own fire- sides and the society of their amiable wives in order to spend their evenings with him, smoke their pipes, listen to his comic and amorous songs, for he had a first-rate voice, and drink, merely to give pleasure to the hospitable heart of their host, his rum punch, at brewing which he was reputed of a high order of talent. He had arrived in Tasmania under the auspices of a paternal uncle, who secured a grant of of thousand acres, upon which he had erected the cottage called Top- pleton, in honor of his first wife ; for he had been a jolly fellow in his time, and had buried three wives and fourteen children. And still (at the time of his lamented decease) he was a jolly old boy at the age of seventy-four, for he cocked his hat fiercely at the young and gay widow of a rich publican, and swore to his nephew and presumptive heir that he would marry the widow, and leave her every acre and every shilling he possessed. But relentless destiny willed it otherwise. One dark night he and his nephew were enter- tained by the widow, until the influence of her cheerful cup and conversation stole pretty freely over both their intellects, and in this state they proceeded home, armed by the careful soul with mufflers and a lantern. The night was very gloomy, for the wind was high, and drove the large cold drops of rain into the faces of the uncle and nephew as they trudged on arm in arm, now scrambling over a tough fence, now down heels uppermost into a muddy watercourse. The waters of the South Esk, the Lake River, the Macquarie, and the Elizabeth, were here mingled together, and they roared through the fertile vale, telling wonderful stories of melted snow and heavy falls of rain upon the distant hills. Many and many a streamlet had the Rousals to scramble out of as they went on still hoping to grasp the fence which surrounded their cottage, but still it seemed to recede from their grasp. Their intellects became more confused, and their lantern had been long extinguished. While groping in the darkness for the fence, and just in the act of saying " here 'tis, Tommy," the old gentleman felt the earth give way beneath his feet, and he fell (having let go his hold upon his nephew's arm, who had most fortunately caught hold of a bough which had swept his hat off) over the river's bank into a still deep pool, from which he immediately struck out manfully into the middle of the torrent, whence he never emerged alive. Thus Mr. Thomas Wellesly Rousal came into possession of Toppleton Cottage. He was a hospitable man, but he did not thrive very well in his farming. His neighbors drank his punch freely, and foretold amongst themselves his speedy insolvency and ruin. They criticised his management circumstan- tially behind his back, but before his face the quality of his liquor was loudly extolled, and his songs and conversation were received with laughter and applause. A sentiment to which he often tossed off a bumper was al- ways greeted with several rounds of cheers, and his delighted guests knew well what was coming when he would get on his legs at the close of a carouse, and call upon them with tottering gravity to fill their glasses— " Gentlemen, let us drink ' Confusion to the hospitality and darkness to the lanterns of widows ; for if it had not been for them, my affectionate old uncle might still be alive— the husband of a virtuous wife, and the father — of an interesting family.' " Henry Arnott knocked at the door of Toppleton Cottage, in such an authoritative and unfamiliar manner that Rousal himself, who was preparing for a pleasant evening with two boon companions, came forth and opened it. When the visitor announced himself Rousal appeared surprised and mystified for awhile, but he soon recollected his former ac- quaintance upon being reminded of the sudden death of Colonel Arnott, and the visit of Colonel Arthur to Bremgarten, in whose retinue he rode at the time. He invited Henry into his parlor after ordering his ser- vant to take his horse to the stable. In the parlor Henry found two queer indi- viduals smoking short clay-pipes, while a black bottle, a punchbowl, and glasses stood on the table ; the queer individuals looked at the bottle and glasses as if they thought the new comer was likely to gulp them down as they were, and they then looked at the new comer himself with as much mute wonder as if they had a shrewd suspicion that he had just tumbled down from the moon. " Very glad to see you, 'pon honor, Mr. A-A-Arnott," said Rousal. " Thank you—it is rather an unexpected pleasure," said Henry " but the fact is I want to speak to you on most particular and important business, which will admit of no delay." Rousal turned round to the two queer in- dividuals and said —"Do you hear, Metzon and Kingsberry ? this gentleman wants to speak to me on particular and important business which will admit of no delay." The queer individuals nodded an expres- sive " All right—all right," emitted a quantity of smoke, but said nothing what- ever, and showed not a shadow of an inclina- tion to cut their sticks. " This gentleman, Metzon and Kingsberry, wishes to speak to me on private—I per- sume it is private, Sir?" said Rousal, turning to Henry. " Strictly private," said Henry. " Strictly private and important business," continued Rousal, " and therefore Metzon and Kingsberry, such being the case, I will be glad to see you, any other evening next week —but you can have a nip before you go : Mr. Arnott, will you be good enough to help your- self." Henry did as he was requested, and the queer individuals rose from their seats and followed his example : before they tossed off their respective bumpers they eyed Henry with a kind of savage desperation, and said— " Good health, Sir," and turned to their host and said—" Capital stuff, Mr. Rousal ; good health, Sir," and then nodded to each other and emptied their glasses. The door closed upon Messrs. Metzon and Kingsberry—for veer ? O ! don't believe it.
" Will you take tea ?'" said Rousal, " I ex- pect you must be pretty hungry—here, Wil- liam !" and he knocked on the table with a tumbler. " Well," said Henry, " I think I would be the better for a feed." " William," said Rousal, " make tea—and cook a steak in your best style, do you hear ? and be quick. " Yes, Sir," said William. " It is cold weather for the month of April," said Rousal poking the fire ; " how have you been, Mr. Arnott, since I saw you last ?" " Very well thank you," said Henry, " but I have been troubled and annoyed by a set of low people. And the business in fact which brings me here, and in which I stand in need of your assistance, though a little perhaps out of your usual course of business, is an affair of honor arising out of certain circumstances." " An affair of honor !" said Rousal turning round sharply, " with whom in the name of Mars ?" " You shall hear anon," said Henry, " but do you know Miss Maxwell of Bremgarten ?" " I do," said Rousal, " and there's not a finer girl in the country. Will she be at Stapleton's ball? I intend to go." " I believe she will be at the ball," said Henry. " She is a fine girl to look at, but she's a light headed and capricious flirt. I have so far forgotten my birth and station as to honor her by making a proposal of mar- riage, but hang me if she has not had the im- pudence to refuse me for the sake of a sixty- third cousin of hers, a low ignorant beggar of the name of Herbart, who lives up some- where near the western mountains." " That cannot be Herbart of Belle Park," said Rousal ; " I know him very well, and should take him to be the reverse of all you say. He is evidently a well bred, well edu- cated young man, with as little of the beggar about him as I ever saw about any one—but perhaps there is another." " No," said Henry, " I allude to Herbart of Belle Park." " Then," said Rousal, " you must excuse me for saying that unless you have some other cause of complaint I think you cannot well proceed farther with the business. Women, you know, have the right of choos- ing for themselves, and it's not always they get the chance of choosing the right man, poor things. Confound me if I don't think that if I went courting I would first say to the lady--' If you don't like me don't have me, and if you say no to me faith I wish him joy that gets you, that's all.'" " Yes, that's very true," said Henry, " but I do happen to have another cause of complaint—the fellow has been writing to my sister, and in such an offensive and con- temptuous manner that I would despise myself for ever if I did not chastise his inso- lence." " Ah ! there I grant you have some grounds," said Rousal, " his conduct to your sister is, as I take it, quite a different thing from Miss Maxwell's conduct to you, for which I argue he's not at all accountable unless you can prove that he interfered clan- destinely, sub rosa, by malice prepense, or otherwise, to do you deadly prejudice in the eyes of the fickle fair one : but for the other matter no man with half an ounce of true blood in his arteries will deny that he is responsible to all intents and purposes, and should be called to a very strict account. By the heart of Achilles, Sir, if a man wrote an impertinent letter to my sister, which is a piece of furniture I'm not bothered with, thank Heaven, I would lay him as flat as a Cleopatra's Needle, and sit upon him for a week." " And to call him to this strict account," said Henry, " is the precise object of my pre- sent journey. I hope you will not refuse me the favor of acting as my friend in the matter, and riding over with me to his resi- dence to-morrow." " Well, I don't see that I have any particu- lar objection—I suppose you mean to treat him as a gentleman ?" " I mean, in plain terms, to place myself on an equal footing with him and call him out," replied Henry. " Precisely so,—well, we will talk the matter over by and by ; here comes William with the supper." (To be continued.)