"By-and-by, by-and-by," said Lord Montagu, "we shall have plenty of time and plenty to talk of. Well, drink if you will not eat."
Edward Langdale advanced to the table, filled himself a goblet of wine, and returned with it to Lord Montagu's side. Before he could raise it to his lips, however, the stranger whom he had saved from drowning turned round his head, saying, with a polite smile, "Let me have the pleasure of drinking with you, young gentleman, in memory of the service you rendered me. I do not know your name, though your face is very familiar to me."
A dark cloud gathered upon Edward Langdale's brow, and he answered, not sharply, but with stern, cold bitterness, "I neither eat with you nor drink with you, sir."
The stranger started up with his face all on fire, and exclaimed, with his hand upon the hilt of his sword, "Do you mean to insult me, sir?"
"I mean to tell you, sir," said the youth, boldly, "that I am Edward Langdale,—your father's son; and that you have robbed me of that to which neither he nor you had any right,—my sweet mother's estates."
"Robbed? robbed?" cried Sir Richard Langdale, furiously drawing his sword.
"Ay, robbed,—swindled, if you like it better," said Edward. "Put up your sword, or sheathe it here," he continued, throwing his arms wide open and exposing his chest. "I do not fight with my brother."
The other rushed upon him like a madman.
"What is this? what is this?" cried the Abbé Scaglia, running forward.