Box, with his knees a yard apart, and one palm over the other; but, as ill luck would have it, he missed it, and it alighted full on the shins of Father Mackworth, who had selected that time for coming out of the library; and so it lay sillily open at λαμ, λεμ, at his feet. Mackworth really thought that it was intentional, and was furious. He went back into the library; and Charles, seeing what must come, followed him, while Mary fled upstairs. There was no one in the room but Cuthbert and Father Tiernay. "I will be protected from insult in this house," began Mackworth; "twice to-day I have been insulted by Mr. Charles Ravenshoe, and I demand protection." "What have you been doing, Charley?" said Cuthbert; "I thought you two had given up quarrelling. You will wear my life out. Sometimes, what with one thing and another, I wish I were dead. Oh! if the great problem were solved! Surely my brother may avoid brawling with a priest, a man sacred by his office, though of another faith. Surely my brother has taste enough to see the propriety of that." "Your brother has no taste or sense, sir," said Father Mackworth. no decency. He has no gentlemanly "He has feeling. Within ten minutes he has dropped a book down stairs, and lamented, to my face, that it hadn't fallen on my head; and just now he has thrown the same book at me, and hit me with it." "I thank God, Charles," said poor weary Cuthbert, "that our father is spared this. It would kill him. Brother, brother, why do you vex me like this? I have always stood on your side, Charley. Don't let me be killed with these ceaseless brawls." "They will soon cease, sir," said Father Mackworth; "I leave this house to-morrow." "Cuthbert, hear me now. intended to insult him." I never "Why did you throw your book at him, Charley? It is not decorous. You must know when you wound him 19 such battles for you, Charley." And let him hear me. walked with Ellen there. I have "I?" said Cuthbert, scared; "I never walked with Mary there, brother. Why should I not?" "There, look at the lie that this man that he had found you and her walking has put into her mouth. She told me together there." woman's lies;" said Father Mackworth. this; but, seeing danger, and real danger And they both waited, and we shall see who waited the longest. said Charles, returning upstairs with "Has there been a scene?" I swore at him, and called him a villain." Why are you so violent? You are not is a villain." c2 The night after the terrible lexicon quarrel, which, you will observe, arose entirely from Charles's good resolution to set to work reading-whereby we should take warning not to be too sanguine of good resolutions, taken late, bringing forth good fruit-the very evening I say after this fracas, Charles, his father, and Mary, were sitting in the library together. Of course Densil had heard nothing of the disturbance, and was, good old gentleman, as happy as you please; all his elements of pleasure were there. Father Mackworth was absent. Father Tiernay was throwing his whole hearty soul into a splendid copy of Bewick's birds, date 1799. Cuthbert was before the upper fireplace, beyond the pillar, poring over goodness only knows what monkish lore; while close to him was bird Mary sewing, and Charles reading aloud a book, very often quoted in everyday life, unconsciously. Charles read how Mr. Quilp begged Mr. Brass would take particular care of himself, or he would never forgive him; how there was a dog in the lane who had killed a boy on Tuesday, and bitten a man on Friday; how the dog lived on the right hand side, but generally lurked on the left, ready for a spring: and they were laughing over Mr. Brass's horror, when there came a noise of wheels on the gravel. "That is Marston, father, for a thousand pounds," said Charles. He hurried into the hall, as the men were undoing the door; Mary, dropping her work, went after him; and Densil,. taking his stick, came too. Cuthbert looked up from the further end of the room, and then bent his head over his book again. Father Tiernay looked up, inquisitive and interested, but sat still. They who followed into the hall saw this. Charles stood in front of the hall door, and out of the winter's darkness came a man, with whom, as Mary once playfully said, she had fallen in love at once. It was Marston. Charles went up to him quickly with both hands out, and said"We are so glad." "It is very kind of you. God bless you; how did you know it?” "We know nothing, my dear Marston, except that you are welcome. Now put me out of my pain." "Why, well," said the other, "I don't know how it has happened; but I have got my double first." Charles gave a wild cheer, and the others were all on him directly-Densil, Tiernay, Cuthbert, and all. Never was such a welcome; not one of them, save Charles, had ever seen him before, yet they welcomed him as an old friend. "You have not been to Ranford then?" said Charles. "Why, no. I did not feel inclined for it after so much work. I must take it on my way back." Lord Saltire's gout was better tonight, and he was down stairs. He proceeded to remark that, having been in; well, he wouldn't shock Miss Corby by saying where for a day or so, he had suddenly, through no merit of his own, got promoted back into purgatory. That, having fought against the blue devils, and come down stairs, for the sole purpose of making himself disagreeable, he had been rewarded, for that display of personal energy and self-sacrifice, by most unexpectedly meeting a son of his old friend, Jackdaw Marston. He begged to welcome his old friend's son, and to say that, by Jove, he was proud of him. His young friend's father had not been a brilliant scholar, as his young friend was; but, had been one of the first whist-players in Europe. His young friend had turned his attention to scholastic honours, in preference to whist, which might or might not be a mistake: though he believed he was committing no breach of trust in saying that the position had been thrust on his young friend from pecuniary motives. Property had an infernal trick of deteriorating. His own property had not happened to deteriorate (none knew why, for he had given it every chance); but, the property of his young friend's father having deteriorated in a confounded rapid sort of way, he must say that it was exceedingly creditable in his young friend to have made such a decided step towards bringing matters right again as he had." "My father's son, my Lord, thanks you for your kind remembrance of his father. I have always desired to see and meet my father's old friends, of whom you, Mr. Ravenshoe, were among the kindest. We have given up the greater vices lately, my Lord, but we do our best among the smaller ones." There was a quiet supper, at which Lord Saltire consented to stay, provided no one used the expression "cheese;" in which case he said he should have to retire. There wasn't cheese on the table, but there was more than cheese; there was scolloped cockles, and Lord Saltire ate some. He said at the time that they would have the same effect on him as swallowing the fireshovel. But, to relieve your mind at once, I may tell you that they didn't do him any harm at all, and he was as well as ever next morning. Father Tierney said grace; and, when the meal was half over, in came Father Mackworth. Densil said "Father Mackworth, Mr. Marston;" and Marston said, after a moment's glance at him, "How do you do, sir?" Possibly a more courteous form of speaking to a new acquaintance might have been used. But Marston had his opinions about Father Mackworth, and had no objection that the holy father should know them. "We got, Mary," said Cuthbert suddenly, "more cocks than pheasants today. Charles killed five couple, and I four. I was very vexed at being beaten by Charles, because I am so much the better shot." Charles looked up and met his eyesa look he never forgot. Accompanying the apparent petulance of the remark was a look of intense love and pity and sorrow. It pleased him, above everything, during the events which were to come, to recall that look, and say, "Well, he liked me once." That evening Charles and Marston retired to Charles's study (a deal of study had been carried on there, you may depend), and had a long talk over future prospects. Charles began by telling him all about Madam Adelaide, and Marston said, "Oh, indeed! what are you going to do, Charley, boy, to keep her? She comes out of an extravagant house, you know." "I must get called to the bar." "Hard work for nothing, for many years, you know." "I know. But I won't go into the Church; and what else is there?" "Nothing I know of, except billiard marking and steeple-chace riding." "Then, you approve of it?" " I do, most heartily. The work will be good for you. You have worked before, and can do it again. Remember how well you got on at Shrewsbury." Then Charles told him about the relations between himself and Father Mackworth, and what had happened that day. "You and he have had disgraceful scenes like this before, haven't you?" "Yes, but never so bad as this. "He is a very passionate man, isn't he? You took utterly wrong grounds for what you did to-day. Don't you see that you have no earthly grounds for what you said, except your own suspicions? The girl's own account of the matter seems natural enough. That she was walking with your most saintlike brother, and the priest found them, and sent them to the right-about with fleas in their ears." "I believe that man to be a great villain," said Charles. "So may I," said the other, "but I shan't tell him so till I can prove it. As for that quarrel between William and his sister the night you came home, that proves nothing, except that she has been going too far with some one. But who? What have you been doing that empowers him to say that he will crush you like a moth." "Oh, bravado, I take it! You should have seen how mad he looked when he said it." "I am glad I did not. Let us talk no more about him." Is that sweet little bird Mary Corby?" "You know it is." "Well, so I do know, but I wanted an excuse for saying the name over again. Charles, you are a fool." "That is such a very novel discovery of yours," said Charles, laughing. "What have I been a-doing of now?" "Why didn't you fall in love with Mary Corby instead of Madam Adelaide?" "I am sure I don't know. Why, I never thought of such a thing as that." "Then you ought to have done so. Now, go to bed." CHAPTER XVIL. IN WHICH THERE IS ANOTHER SHIPWRECK. TIME jogged on very pleasantly to the party assembled at Ravenshoe that Christmas. There were woodcocks and pheasants in the woods; there were hares, snipes, and rabbits on the moor. In the sea there were fish; and many a long excursion they had in the herring boats-sometimes standing boldly out to sea towards the distant blue island in the main, sometimes crawling lazily along under the lofty shoreless cliffs which towered above their heads from 200 to 1,100 feet high. It was three days before Christmas day, and they were returning from fishing along the coast, and were about ten miles or so from home. I say returning, though in fact there was not a breath of wind, and the boat was drifting idly along on the tide. Two handsome simple-looking young men were lolling by the useless tiller; an old man, hale and strong as a lion, with a courteous highbred look about him, was splicing a rope; and a tall, pale, black-haired man was looking steadily seaward, with his arms in his pockets, while Charles and Marston were standing in the bows smoking. "What a curious, dreamy, dosy, delicious kind of winter you have down here," said Marston. "I am very fond of it," said Charles; "it keeps you in continual hope for the spring that is coming. In the middle of frost and snow and ice one is apt to lose one's faith in waving boughs and shady pools." "I have had such a peaceful happy time with you down here, Charley. I am so pleased with the way in which you are going on. You are quite an altered man. I think we shall both look back to the last few quiet weeks as a happy time." Here the tall dark man, who was looking out to sea, suddenly said "Rain and hail, snow and tempest, stormy wind fulfilling his word." "Ay, ay," said the old man; “going to blow to-night, I expect." "We shall go home pretty fast, may be." "Not us, Master Charles dear," said the tall man. "We are going to have it from south and by west, and so through west round to north. Before which time there'll be souls in glory, praise be to God." The old man took off his hat reverently. "There won't be amuch surf on when we beaches she," said one of the young men. "it won't get up afore the wind be full round west for an hour." "You're a spaking like a printed buke, Jan," said the old man. "I'm a thinking differently, Master Evans," said the dark man. "It will chop round very sudden, and be west before we know where we are. I speak with humility to a man who has seen the Lord's wonders in the deep so many years longer nor me. But I think, under God, I am right." "You most in general be right. They as converses with the Lord night and day, day and night, like as you do, knows likely more of his works nor we, as ain't your gifts," "The Lord has vouchsafed me nothing in the way of a vision, about this afternoon, Master Evans." "Didn't 'ee dream never at all last night?" said one of the young men, "Think 'ee now." "Nought to bear on wind or weather, Jan. I judges from the glass. It's a dropping fast." Jan would have had more faith in one of Mathews's dreams, and didn't seem to think much of the barometer. Meanwhile Marston had whispered Charles"Who is Mathews? What sect is he?" "Oh, he's a Brianite." "What is that?" "A sort of Ranter, I believe." Marston looked up, and saw the two great black eyes under the lofty forehead fixed full upon him. With the instinct of a gentleman, he said at once "I was asking Mr. Charles what sect you were of; that was all. He tells me you are a Brianite, and I had never heard of that sect before. I hope you will let me talk to you about your matters of belief some day." Mathews took off his hat, and said"That with the Lord's will he would speak to his honour. Will your honour bear with a poor fisherman, ignorant of the world's learning, but who has had matters revealed to him by the Lord in dreams and visions of the night. Peter was only a fisherman, your honour, and, oh, if we could only hear him speak now." He paused, and looked again to seaward. Charles had gone again into the bow, and Marston was standing among the men right aft. Suddenly Mathews turned again upon him, and said "In the beaching of this here boat to-night, your honour, there may be danger. In such case my place will be alongside of him," pointing to Charles. "There'd be a many kind hearts aching, if aught happened to him. You stick close to these young men. They'll see after you, sir." "You keep close alongside of we, sir. You hold on of we, sir. We'll see you all right, sir," said the two young men. "But, my dear good souls, I am as good a swimmer as any in England, and as active as a cat. Pray, don't mind me." "You keep hold of we and run, sir," said one of the young men, "that's all you're a'got to do, sir." "I shall most certainly run," said Marston laughing, but I decline drowning any one but myself." Charles said at this moment, "Do come here, and look at this." It was worth looking at, indeed. They were about a mile from shore, floating about anyhow on an oily smooth sea; for the tide had changed, and they were making no headway. Before them one of the noblest headlands on the coast, an abrupt cone of slate, nigh a thousand feet high, covered almost entirely with grass, sloped suddenly into the water; and in advance of it, but slightly on one side, a rugged mound of black rock, nearly six hundred feet, stood out into the sea, and contrasted its horrid jagged lines with the smooth green of the peak |