pair of black eyes rested on his for a moment,--they were those of
Mistress Patricia Wyeth,--and he straightway fell a victim to their
charms, as what young man with warm heart and proper spirit would not?
Young Tom must himself have possessed unusual attractions, or a boldness
in wooing which his son does not inherit, for at the end of a week he
disturbed his father at his morning dram to inform him that he and
Mistress Patricia had decided to get married.

"Married!" cried the elder Stewart. "Why, damme, sir, do you know who the
Wyeths are?"

"I know who Patricia is," answered young Tom very proudly, his head
well up at this first sign of opposition. "I care naught about the
rest of them."

"But I care, sir!" shouted his father. "Why, the girl won't have a
shilling to bless herself with. Old Wyeth has gambled away every penny he
possesses, and a good many more than he possesses, too, so they tell me,
at his infernal horse-racing and cock-fighting, and God knows what else.
A gentleman may play, sir,--I throw the dice occasionally, myself, and
love to see a well-matched, race as well as any man,--but he ceases to be
a gentleman the moment he plays beyond his means,--a fact which you will
do well to remember. A pretty match for a Stewart 'pon my word!"

During this harangue young Tom would have interrupted more than once,
but his father silenced him with a passionate waving of his arm. At
last he was compelled to pause for want of breath to say more, and the
boy got in a word.

"All this is beside the point, father," he said hotly. "My word is given,