As John was saying this, David Owen, who was making for the door, put him aside, rather roughly, with his hand, and walked out of the room in that kind of strutting style, which a braggart finds it convenient to assume on his departure, when he feels the time is come, that counterfeited courage will no longer serve his purpose.
Was not that a blow, cried John, eagerly arresting Wilson, as he was about to follow? Has not that Jew-born miscreant given me a blow?
What ails you? Are you mad? It was no blow.
It makes my flesh burn where his hand was on me. Indeed, indeed! I feel it as a blow. I’m sure he struck me. Why should you deny it? I thought you had been my friend.
I am your friend, said Wilson, looking him stedfastly in the face, and if you do not consider me as such because I did not suffer you to disgrace the hospitality of your grandfather by a fray with one of his guests, you do not judge of me with truth and candour, but in the heat of passion and resentment.
Disarmed, and brought to instant recollection by this temperate remonstrance, the brave youth cried out—I’m wrong, I’m wrong! I pray you to forgive me. You are my friend, and I depend upon you: but call it what you will—a push, a touch—the spite and malice of the action gives it the cast and character of a blow; and to put up with a blow from David Owen, what could there be in life so disgraceful, what in death so dreadful as that?
John, John, said Wilson gravely and authoritatively, I must remind you in what charge I stand towards you, and by what duty you are bound to me: I tell you once again, it was no blow. You put yourself between him and the door; he could not pass you otherwise than he did. Come, come, you must reform this angry spirit; it savours of revenge; and to carry such an inmate in your bosom, would be neither for your reputation, nor repose. There is however one species of revenge, in which I will assist you, I mean the revenge of virtue, the triumph of a good and noble character over an ignoble and an evil one: that victory if you can obtain (and it shall be my study to point out the road to it) you will then establish a fair title to that superiority over David Owen, which he now vainly arrogates over you. Come then, my dear John, let us henceforward set about that honourable task in earnest, and in the mean time treat his insolence only with contempt.
CHAPTER VIII.
Our Hero goes to Glen-Morgan, and pays a Visit to Mrs. Jennings at Denbigh.
Lawyer Davis (universally so called) was an active honourable little fellow in great request, and would ride further for a few shillings in the prosecution of his business, than some physicians will for as many pounds. He was a light weight, was always well-mounted, and travelled by the compass with extraordinary expedition. In the early morning of the day, immediately following the festival at Kray Castle, he called upon our hero John with an invitation from his grandfather at Glen-Morgan to come over to him upon particular business, and Davis did not disguise from him that it was for the purpose of communicating to him the disposal of his effects by will.
To a summons so important there was neither prohibition nor delay. John however in a short interview with his mother suggested to her the opportunity, that now offered for presenting to Amelia the miniature of her father, with which he was entrusted. Mrs. De Lancaster had no objection to his making an excursion to Denbigh, and allowed him to use her name for his introduction to Miss Jones, but the proposal of writing to Mrs. Jennings had been laid aside. Lawyer Davis was to go with him, and John under such a swift-sailing convoy soon found himself safe moored by the side of his grandfather.