"Git oot o' my hoose!" he cried; and seizing Henry by the shoulders, he thrust him into the street, flinging the preparations for the supper at his heels, and exclaiming, "I'll gar ye! ye greet gapping fiery-faced deevil! I'll gar ye!" Henry's countenance, at the time, flushed with intoxication, rage, and insolence, at once suggested and justified the epithet of 'fiery-faced deevil,' bestowed by honest David. The next time Henry found Betsy alone (though, fortunately for her, her father came in almost immediately) there was so much of ferocity in his manner; and the determined advances of the urchin, in despite of grave looks, partook so much more of revenge than of love, that Betsy was instinctively disgusted, and determined, though with tears, to think no more of him, and please fayther by marrying John Dixon. Dixon was a young farmer in the neighbourhood, who could not help showing a partiality for Betsy, though he did not much like her intimacy with the scholar lads, nor the thoughts of her having romped so often with Mr. Henry. He got over all this, however, being a gentle-tempered, kind-hearted, rather simple young man; and, since he first fancied Betsy, disposed to melancholy. The day was accordingly fixed for their wedding, when Henry, who had been forbid the house, contrived, by the mother's means, to get an interview with the bride elect. He affected repentance for his late rudeness, pleaded excessive love by way of an excuse, and, rather than be ousted by the farmer, proposed marriage. Betsy shed tears of reconciliation, and poor John Dixon was dismissed. CHAPTER XIII. "No green star trembles On its top, no moonbeam on its side." "The blast of the desert comes, It howls in thy empty courts." There happened to be a young man at this time expected in the village, who had received his early education at S-- B-- school, and who had been, for many years, the mate in mischief of Henry St. Aubin.