Dear me, how lamentable for his poor mother." "This will not do, Sir Francis Varney _alias_ Bannerworth." "Oh--oh! Be calm--be calm." "I defy you to your teeth, sir! No, God, no! Your teeth!" "Poor lad! Poor lad!" "You are a cowardly demon, and here I swear to devote myself to your destruction." Sir Francis Varney drew himself up to his full height, and that was immense, as he said to Henry,-- "I pray you, Mr.Bannerworth, since I am thus grievously insulted beneath your roof, to tell me if your friend here be mad or sane ?" "He's not mad." "Then--" "Hold, sir! The quarrel shall be mine.

In the name of my persecuted sister--in the name of Heaven.

Sir Francis Varney, I defy you." Sir Francis, in spite of his impenetrable calmness, appeared somewhat moved, as he said,-- "I have already endured insult sufficient--I will endure no more.

If there are weapons at hand--" "My young friend," interrupted Mr.Marchdale, stepping between the excited men, "is carried away by his feelings, and knows not what he says.

You will look upon it in that light, Sir Francis." "We need no interference," exclaimed Varney, his hitherto bland voice changing to one of fury.