ngth, lifted
up the comparatively slight form of Whitaker, and laid him on his back
on the floor.

"Be grateful, sir," said he, pressing the prostrate youth firmly down
with one hand; "be grateful to the laws of hospitality, which, though
you may think it a slight matter to violate, prevent me from striking
you in my own house, or pitching you out of the window. Rise, sir, and
begone."

Harry rose slowly; and it was almost fearful to see the change which
passion had wrought in a few moments on his features. The red flush of
drunken rage was entirely gone, and the livid cheek, the pale quivering
lip, and collected eye, which had usurped its place, showed that the
degradation he had just undergone had completely sobered him, and given
his passion a new but more malignant character. He stood for a brief
period in moody silence, whilst the rest of the young men closed round
him and Frank, with the intention of reconciling them. At length he
moved away towards the door, pushing his friends rudely aside; but
turning, before he left the room, he said, in a voice trembling with
suppressed emotion--

"I hope to meet Mr. Elliot where his mere brute strength will be laid
aside for more honourable and equitable weapons."

"I shall be happy, at any place or time, to show my sense of Mr.
Whitaker's late courtesy," replied Frank, bowing slightly, and then
drawing up his magnificent figure to its utmost height.

"Let it be _now_, then, sir," said the young sailor, stepping back into
the centre of the room, and pointing to a brace of sharps, which, among
foils and masks, hung on one of the walls.

"Oh, no, no!--for God's sake, not now!" burst from every one except
Frank.

"It can neither be now nor here, sir," replied he, firmly, motioning
Whitaker haughtily to the door.

"Gentlemen," said Harry, turning round to his friends with a loud laugh
of derision, "you see that vanity is stronger than valour. Pompey's
troops were beaten at the battle of Pharsalia, only because they were
afraid of their pretty faces. Upon my soul, I believe Mr. Elliot's
handsome features stand in the way of his gallantry."

"Begone, trifler!" cried Frank, relapsing into fury.

"Coward!" shouted the young sailor at the top of his voice.

"Ha!" exclaimed Elliot, starting, as if an adder had stung him; then,
with a convulsive effort controlling his rage, he took down the swords,
threw one of them upon the table, and putting his arm into Rhimeson's,
be