Sir John stood in hesitation for a moment or two, and then said:-- "Sir Malcolm, may we not declare a truce for to-night?
There is nothing personal in the enmity between us." "Nothing," I answered, staring at the fire, half regretful that we bore each other enmity at all.
"You hate me, or believe you do," said Manners, "because your father's cousin hates my father; and I try to make myself believe that I hate you because my father hates your father's cousin.

Are we not both mistaken ?" I was quick to anger and to fight, but no man's heart was more sensitive than mine to the fair touch of a kind word.
"I am not mistaken, Sir John, when I say that I do not hate you," I answered.
"Nor do I hate you, Sir Malcolm.

Will you give me your hand ?" "Gladly," I responded, and I offered my hand to the enemy of my house.
"Landlord," I cried, "bring us two bottles of your best sack.

The best in the house, mind you." After our amicable understanding, Sir John and myself were very comfortable together, and when the sack and roast beef, for which the Royal Arms was justly famous, were brought in, we sat down to an enjoyable meal.
After supper Sir John lighted a small roll or stick made from the leaves of tobacco.

The stick was called a cigarro, and I, proud not to be behind him in new-fashioned, gentlemanly accomplishments, called to the landlord for a pipe.