over his eyes ere he held it
out.

But the spirit of rebellion was strong in Mr. Warrington. He rose up
from his seat, never offering to take the hand which his senior held out
to him. "Give me leave to tell Colonel Lambert," he said, "that I have
had somewhat too much advice from him. You are for ever volunteering it,
sir, and when I don't ask it. You make it your business to inquire about
my gains at play, and about the company I keep. What right have you to
control my amusements or my companions? I strive to show my sense
of your former kindness by little presents to your family, and you
fling--you bring them back."

"I can't do otherwise, Mr. Warrington," says the Colonel, with a very
sad face.

"Such a slight may mean nothing here, sir, but in our country it means
war, sir!" cries Mr. Warrington. "God forbid I should talk of drawing a
sword against the father of ladies who have been as mother and sister
to me: but you have wounded my heart, Colonel Lambert--you have, I won't
say insulted, but humiliated me, and this is a treatment I will bear
from no man alive! My servants will attend you to the door, sir!" Saying
which, and rustling in his brocade dressing-gown, Mr. Warrington, with
much state, walked off to his bedroom.

CHAPTER XLIV. Contains what might, perhaps, have been expected

On the rejection of his peace-offerings, our warlike young American
chief chose to be in great wrath not only against Colonel Lambert, but
the whole of that gentleman's family. "He has humiliated me before
the girls!" thought the young man. "He and Mr. Wolfe, who were forever
preaching morality to me, and giving themselves airs of superiority and
protection, have again been holding me up to the family as a scapegrace
and prodigal. They are so virtuous that they won't shake me by the hand,
forsooth; and when I want to show them a little common gratitude, they
fling my presents in my face!"

"Why, sir, the things must be worth a little fortune!" says Parson
Sampson, casting an eye of covetousness on the two morocco boxes,
in which, on their white satin cushions, reposed Mr. Sparks's golden
gewgaws.

"They cost some money, Sampson," says the young man. "Not that I would
grudge ten times the amount to people who have been kind to me."

"No, faith, sir, not if I know your honour!" interjects Sampson, who
never lost a chance of praising his young patron to his face.

"The repeater, they told me, was a great bargain, and