"Zounds and fury!" cried Blaize, transported with rage. "If I am only a porter, while you pretend to be a major, I will let you see I am the better man of the two." And taking the goose by the neck, he swung it round his head like a flail, and began to batter Pillichody about the face with it.

"S'death!" cried the bully, endeavouring to draw his sword, "if you do not instantly desist, I will treat you like that accursed bird -- cut your throat, pluck, stuff, roast, and eat you afterwards." He was, however, so confounded by the attack, that he could offer no resistance, and in retreating, caught his foot against the leg of a table, and fell backwards on the floor. Being now completely at the porter's mercy, and seeing that the latter was preparing to pursue his advantage with a rolling-pin which he had snatched from the dresser, he besought him piteously to spare him.

"Recant all you have said," cried Blaize, brandishing the rolling-pin over him. "Confess that you have calumniated Patience. Confess that she rejected your advances, if you ever dared to make any to her. Confess that she is a model of purity and constancy. Confess all this, villain, or I will break every bone in your body."

"I do confess it," replied Pillichody, abjectly. "She is all you describe. She never allowed me greater freedom than a squeeze of the hand."

"That was too much," replied the porter, belabouring him with the rolling-pin. "Swear that you will never attempt such a liberty again, or I will pummel you to death. Swear it."

"I swear," replied Pillichody.

"Before I allow you to rise, I must disarm you to prevent mischief," cried Blaize. And kneeling down upon the prostrate bully, who groaned aloud, he drew his long blade from his side. "There, now you may get up," he added.

So elated was Blaize with his conquest, that he could do nothing for some time but strut up and down the kitchen with the sword over his shoulder, to the infinite diversion of the other domestics, and especially of John Lutcombe, who chanced to make his appearance at the time, laden with a fresh supply of game.

"Why, Blaize, man," cried the keeper, approvingly, "I did not give you credit for half so much spirit."

"No man's courage is duly appreciated until it has been tried," rejoined Blaize. "I would combat with you, gigantic John, if Patience's fidelity were called in question."

Pillichody, meanwhile, had retired with a discomfited air into a corner, where he seated himself on a stool, and eyed the porter askance, as if meditating some terrible retaliation. Secretly apprehensive of this, and thinking it becoming to act with generosity towards his foe, Blaize marched up to him, and extended his hand in token of reconciliation. To the surprise of all, Pillichody did not reject his overtures.

"I have a great regard for you, friend Blaize," he said, "otherwise I should never rest till I had been repaid with terrible interest for the indignities I have endured."

"Nay, heed them not," replied Blaize. "You must make allowances for the jealous feelings you excited. I love Patience better than my life."

"Since you put it in that light," rejoined Pillichody, "I am willing to overlook the offence. Snakes and scorpions! no man can be a greater martyr to jealousy than myself. I killed three of my most intimate friends for merely presuming to ogle the widow of Watling-street, who would have been mine, if she had not died of the plague."

"Don't talk of the plague, I beseech you," replied Blaize, with a shudder. "It is a subject never mentioned here."

"I am sorry I alluded to it, then," rejoined Pillichody. "Give me back my sword. Nay, fear nothing. I entirely forgive you, and am willing to drown the remembrance of our quarrel in a bottle of sack."

Readily assenting to the proposition, Blaize obtained the key of the cellar from the butler, and adjourning thither with Pillichody, they seated themselves on a cask with a bottle of sack and a couple of large glasses on a stool between them.

"I suppose you know why I am come hither?" observed the major, smacking his lips after his second bumper.

"Not precisely," replied Blaize. "But I presume your visit has some reference to Mistress Amabel."

"A shrewd guess," rejoined Pillichody. "And this reminds me that we have omitted to drink her health."

"Her better health," returned Blaize, emptying his glass. "Heaven be praised! she has plucked up a little since we came here."

"She would soon be herself again if she were united to the Earl of Rochester," said Pillichody.

"There you are wrong," replied Blaize. "She declares she has no longer any regard for him."

"Mere caprice, believe me," rejoined Pillichody. "She loves him better than ever."

"It may be so," returned Blaize; "for Patience, who ought to know something of the matter, assured me she was dying for the earl; and if she had not told me the contrary herself, I should not have believed it."

"Did she tell you so in the presence of Leonard?" asked Pillichody.

"Why, now I bethink me, he "was" present," replied Blaize, involuntarily putting his hand to his shoulder, as he recalled the horsewhipping he had received on that occasion.

"I knew it!" cried Pillichody. "She is afraid to confess her attachment to the earl. Is Leonard as much devoted to her as ever?"

"I fancy so," replied Blaize, "but she certainly gives "him" no encouragement."

"Confirmation!" exclaimed Pillichody. "But fill your glass. We will drink to the earl's speedy union with Amabel."

"Not so loud," cried Blaize, looking uneasily round the cellar. "I should not like Leonard to overhear us."

"Neither should I," returned Pillichody, "for I have something to say to you respecting him."

"You need not propose any more plans for carrying off Amabel," cried Blaize, "for I won't take any part in them."

"I have no such intention," rejoined Pillichody. "The truth is," he added, mysteriously, "I am inclined to side with you and Leonard. But as we have finished our bottle, suppose we take a turn in the court-yard."