"Me?"
It is utterly impossible to convey in words any idea of the fierce, savage, almost demoniac glare of hatred and defiance with which that single monosyllable was uttered. But it was lost upon the tipsy master, who replied, nodding and chuckling:
"Yes, you, my little fellow! and I think it will have to be done, too, to bring you to a sense of your condition. Sit down, sir! What the devil do you mean by standing up and looking at me in that way?"
Valentine had risen to his feet, still unconsciously holding the reins, but no longer guiding the horses, who went on their own way, while he stood and glared at his master, with an almost maniacal light blazing from those pale-gray eyes.
"Sit down, sir, I say! What the h—ll do you mean? Sit down, I say, or, by the Lord Harry! I'll do as I've threatened!"
This is not a proper scene to go on with. Both were mad with wine, and one also with rage. The master, though not angry, nor by any means disposed to punish, grew every moment, from very wantonness, more taunting in his manner—the man became each instant more insolent; words rose higher between them; Valentine grew frenzied, dashed his clenched fist with all his strength into his master's face, and sprang from the buggy, leaving him to his fate.
CHAPTER IV.
AN HUMBLE WEDDING.
Habitual evils change not on a sudden,
But many days must pass, and many sorrows;
Conscious remorse and anguish must be felt,
To curb desire, to break the stubborn will,
And work a second nature in the soul,
Ere virtue can resume the place she lost.—Rowe's Ulysses.