"I beg pardon, my dear Sir," replied the young man, recovering all his own impudence at the sight of his father's agitation; "but it would not be quite convenient for me to go to-night. It is late, I am tired; my purse is very empty."
"Pray how did you get that cut upon your head?" demanded the magistrate, abruptly.
"Oh, a little accident," replied his son; "it is a mere scratch--nothing at all."
"It looks very much like a blow from the butt-end of a heavy horsewhip," said his father, sternly; "just such as a man who had stopped two ladies in a carriage, might receive from a strong arm come to their rescue. You do not propose to go then? Well, if that be the case, I must send for the constable and give you into his hands, for there is an information laid against you for felony, and witnesses ready to swear to your person. Shall I ring the bell, or do you go?"
The young man's face had turned deadly pale, and he crushed the two sides of his hat together between his hands. He uttered but one word, however, and that was, "Money."
"Not a penny," answered Mr. Wittingham, turning his shoulder, "not one penny, you have had too much already--you would make me bankrupt and yourself too." The next moment, however, he continued, "Stay; on one condition, I will give you twenty pounds."
"What is it?" asked the son, eagerly, but somewhat fiercely too, for he suspected that the condition would be hard.
"It is that you instantly go back to Oxford, and swear by all you hold sacred--if you hold any thing sacred at all--not to quit it for twelve months, or till Mary Clifford is married."
"You ask what I cannot do," said the son, in a tone of deep and bitter despondency, contrasting strangely with that which he had previously used; "I cannot go back to Oxford. You must know all in time, and may as well know it now--I am expelled from Oxford; and you had your share in it, for had you sent me what I asked, I should not have been driven to do what I have done. I cannot go back; and as to abandoning my pursuit of Mary Clifford, I will not do that either. I love her, and she shall be mine, sooner or later, let who will say no."
"Expelled from Oxford!" cried Mr. Wittingham, with his eyes almost starting from their sockets. "Get out of my sight, and out of my house; go where you will---do what you will--you are no son of mine any more. Away with you, or I will myself give you into custody, and sign the warrant for your committal. Not a word more, Sir, begone; you may take your clothes, if you will, but let me see no more of you. I cast you off; begone, I say."