At the table Mr. Buckstone was introduced to another member of the family--Ross Kingman, the only son of the captain. There were four girls, all younger than Mary. The inebriate brought out a black bottle from his chamber, adjoining the kitchen, and the artist, though evidently for the sole purpose of keeping the peace, partook very sparingly with his host. Captain Kingman drank, and the effect of this additional dram was soon apparent in his manners. He was belligerent to a degree which made peace almost impossible; and poor Mary and her mother endured tortures too keen for description during the dinner hour. “Mary,” said her father, sharply and sternly, as the family rose from the table. She looked at him, but she made no reply. “Mary, that Hung’ford is a fool,” he continued, spicing the remarks, as he did most of his conversation, with many oaths. “He’s a bad man. Don’t you speak to him again. Mary, d’ye hear me?” “I hear, sir,” she replied, as she conducted Mr. Buckstone to the parlor, hoping to escape her father’s presence. The artist had behaved in the most conciliatory manner, and by his tact had several times appeased the anger of the inebriate; but it was plain to him that home to Mary Kingman was little better than a hell upon earth. He pitied the poor girl, and with admiration, love, and pity, his interest in her was hourly increasing. Captain Kingman followed them into the parlor. He was even more stormy and violent than at dinner, and Mr. Buckstone, in spite of the peace policy he pursued, found it utterly impossible to prevent the drunkard from pouring out the vials of his causeless wrath upon him. “You pop’jays from the city think a sight of yourselves,” he added, after he had broken with the artist because he declined to drink a second time. “You ain’t no better ’n the law ’lows. You’ve been here long ’nough.” “I’m going presently, Captain Kingman.” “Want you to go now,” roared the inebriate. “And if you ain’t gone ’fore I get my bitters, I’ll help you out.” He left the room, and Mary wept like an infant. It was the artist’s duty to comfort her, and he did so in the most tender and respectful manner. While he was thus engaged, a scream from the kitchen startled both of them. It was twice repeated, and Mary rushed out of the room, followed by Mr. Buckstone. It appeared that Mrs. Kingman, fearful of the consequences of further drains upon the bottle while there was company in the house, had taken the liquor from the chamber and concealed it. She had attempted to do this before, and her husband, promptly comprehending the trick, flew at the poor woman with a ferocity which threatened her life.