“That I will, right willingly,” replied the apprentice, rushing before the younger Bloundel, and flourishing his formidable cudgel.  “Out with you, sir!  Out with you!”

“Not at your bidding you, saucy knave,” rejoined Wyvil, laying his hand upon his sword:  “and if it were not for the presence of your mistress and her lovely daughter, I would crop your ears for your insolence.”

“Their presence shall not prevent me from making my cudgel and your shoulders acquainted, if you do not budge,” replied the apprentice, sturdily.

Enraged by the retort, Wyvil would have drawn his sword, but a blow on the arm disabled him.

“Plague on you, fellow!” he exclaimed; “you shall rue this to the last day of your existence.”

“Threaten those who heed you,” replied Leonard, about to repeat the blow.

“Do him no further injury!” cried Amabel, arresting his hand, and looking with the greatest commiseration at Wyvil.  “You have dealt with him far too rudely already.”

“Since I have your sympathy, sweet Amabel,” rejoined Wyvil, “I care not what rude treatment I experience from this churl.  We shall soon meet again.”  And bowing to her, he strode out of the room.

Leonard followed him to the shop-door, hoping some further pretext for quarrel would arise, but he was disappointed.  Wyvil took no notice of him, and proceeded at a slow pace towards Cheapside.

Half an hour afterwards, Stephen Bloundel came home.  On being informed of what had occurred, he was greatly annoyed, though he concealed his vexation, and highly applauded his daughter’s conduct.  Without further comment, he proceeded about his business, and remained in the shop till it was closed.  Wyvil did not return, and the grocer tried to persuade himself they should see nothing more of him.  Before Amabel retired to rest, he imprinted a kiss on her snowy brow, and said, in a tone of the utmost kindness, “You have never yet deceived me, child, and I hope never will.  Tell me truly, do you take any interest in this young gallant?”

Amabel blushed deeply.

“I should not speak the truth, father,” she rejoined, after a pause, “if I were to say I do not.”

“I am sorry for it,” replied Bloundel, gravely.  “But you would not be happy with him.  I am sure he is unprincipled and profligate:—­you must forget him.”

“I will try to do so,” sighed Amabel.  And the conversation dropped.

On the following day, Maurice Wyvil entered the grocer’s shop.  He was more richly attired than before, and there was a haughtiness in his manner which he had not hitherto assumed.  What passed between him and Bloundel was not known, for the latter never spoke of it; but the result may be gathered from the fact that the young gallant was not allowed an interview with the grocer’s daughter.