“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.”