“I don’t want any allowance; d—­n you and your allowance, too; nothing but allowance of grog, and a pretty good allowance, too, will do for me, and tell you, Sir Francis Varney,” said the admiral, with much wrath, “that you are a d——­d lubberly hound, and I’ll fight you; yes, I’m ready to hammer away, or with anything from a pop-gun to a ship’s gun; you don’t come over me with your gammon, I tell you.  You’ve murdered Charles Holland because you couldn’t face him—­that’s the truth of it.”

“With the other part of your speech, Admiral Bell, allow me to say, you have mixed up a serious accusation—­one I cannot permit to pass lightly.”

“Will you or not fight?”

“Oh, yes; I shall be happy to serve you any way that I can.  I hope this will be an answer to your accusation, also.”

“That’s settled, then.”

“Why, I am not captious, Admiral Bell, but it is not generally usual for the principals to settle the preliminaries themselves; doubtless you, in your career of fame and glory, know something of the manner in which gentlemen demean themselves on these occasions.”

“Oh, d—­n you!  Yes, I’ll send some one to do all this.  Yes, yes, Jack Pringle will be the man, though Jack ain’t a holiday, shore-going, smooth-spoken swab, but as good a seaman as ever trod deck or handled a boarding-pike.”

“Any friend of yours,” said Varney, blandly, “will be received and treated as such upon an errand of such consequence; and now our conference has, I presume, concluded.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve done—­d——­e, no—­yes—­no.  I will keel-haul you but I’ll know something of my neavy, Charles Holland.”

“Good day, Admiral Bell.”  As Varney spoke, he placed his hand upon the bell which he had near him, to summon an attendant to conduct the admiral out.  The latter, who had said a vast deal more than he ever intended, left the room in a great rage, protesting to himself that he would amply avenge his nephew, Charles Holland.

He proceeded homeward, considerably vexed and annoyed that he had been treated with so much calmness, and all knowledge of his nephew denied.

When he got back, he quarrelled heartily with Jack Pringle—­made it up—­drank grog—­quarrelled—­made it up, and finished with grog again—­until he went to bed swearing he should like to fire a broadside at the whole of the French army, and annihilate it at once.

With this wish, he fell asleep.

Early next morning, Henry Bannerworth sought Mr. Chillingworth, and having found him, he said in a serious tone,—­

“Mr. Chillingworth, I have rather a serious favour to ask you, and one which you may hesitate in granting.”

“It must be very serious indeed,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “that I should hesitate to grant it to you; but pray inform me what it is that you deem so serious?”

“Sir Francis Varney and I must have a meeting,” said Henry.

“Have you really determined upon such a course?” said Mr. Chillingworth; “you know the character of your adversary?”