"But a truce with this bantering, Gabriel.

Can you imagine that I will permit you any longer to remain with that vagabond Varney and yon crew of vauriens?
You will come home with me; and if you must be a painter, I will look out for a more trustworthy master." "I shall stay where I am," answered Gabriel, firmly, and compressing his lips with a force that left them bloodless.
"What, boy?
Do I hear right?
Dare you disobey me?
Dare you defy ?" "Not in your house, so I will not enter it again." Dalibard laughed mockingly.
"Peste! but this is modest! You are not of age yet, Mr.Varney; you are not free from a father's tyrannical control." "The law does not own you as my father, I am told, sir.

You have said my name rightly,--it is Varney, not Dalibard.

We have no rights over each other; so at least says Tom Passmore, and his father's a lawyer!" Dalibard's hand griped his son's arm fiercely.

Despite his pain, which was acute, the child uttered no cry; but he growled beneath his teeth, "Beware! beware! or my mother's son may avenge her death!" Dalibard removed his hand, and staggered as if struck.