you gave us, good sir, on Sunday:  viii.  Rom. 12 and 13 verses:  it is graven upon my memory, but I have made a note of it in my diary.  I come to you, cousin, I come.  I pray you walk on to the Abbey, good Mr. Dewhurst, where you will be right welcome, and call for any refreshment you may desire—­a glass of good sack, and a slice of venison pasty, on which we have just dined—­and there is some famous old ale, which I would commend to you, but that I know you care not, any more than myself, for creature comforts.  Farewell, reverend sir.  I will join you ere long, for these scenes have little attraction for me.  But I must take care that my young cousin falleth not into harm.”

And as the divine took his way to the Abbey, he added, laughingly, to Richard,—­“A good riddance, Dick.  I would not have the old fellow play the spy upon us.—­Ah, Giles Mercer,” he added, stopping again,—­“and Jeff Rushton—­well met, lads! what, are you come to the wake?  I shall be at John Lawe’s in the evening, and we’ll have a glass together—­John brews sack rarely, and spareth not the eggs.”

“Boh yo’n be at th’ dawncing at th’ Abbey, squoire,” said one of the farmers.

“Curse the dancing!” cried Nicholas—­“I hope the parson didn’t hear me,” he added, turning round quickly.  “Well, well, I’ll come down when the dancing’s over, and we’ll make a night of it.”  And he ran on to overtake Richard Assheton.

By this time the respective parties from the Abbey and the Vicarage having united, they walked on together, Sir Ralph Assheton, after courteously exchanging salutations with Dr. Ormerod’s guests, still keeping a little in advance of the company.  Sir Thomas Metcalfe comported himself with more than his wonted haughtiness, and bowed so superciliously to Mistress Robinson, that her two sons glanced angrily at each other, as if in doubt whether they should not instantly resent the affront.  Observing this, as well as what had previously taken place, Nicholas Assheton stepped quickly up to them, and said—­

“Keep quiet, lads.  Leave this dunghill cock to me, and I’ll lower his crest.”

With this he pushed forward, and elbowing Sir Thomas rudely out of the way, turned round, and, instead of apologising, eyed him coolly and contemptuously from head to foot.

“Are you drunk, sir, that you forget your manners?” asked Sir Thomas, laying his hand upon his sword.

“Not so drunk but that I know how to conduct myself like a gentleman, Sir Thomas,” rejoined Nicholas, “which is more than can be said for a certain person of my acquaintance, who, for aught I know, has only taken his morning pint.”

“You wish to pick a quarrel with me, Master Nicholas Assheton, I perceive,” said Sir Thomas, stepping close up to him, “and I will not disappoint you.  You shall render me good reason for this affront before I leave Whalley.”

“When and where you please, Sir Thomas,” rejoined Nicholas, laughing.  “At any hour, and at any weapon, I am your man.”