Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.Lord Howe’s Victory.Harry got back at luncheon time to Texford, where the family were assembled in the dining-hall. Sir Reginald—a fine-looking old man, the whiteness of whose silvery locks, secured behind a well-tied pig-tail, was increased by the hair-powder which besprinkled them—sat at the foot of the table in the wheel-chair used by him to move from room to room. His once tall and strongly-built figure was slightly bent, though, unwilling to show his weakness, he endeavoured to sit as upright as possible while he did the honours of his hospitable board. Still it was evident that age and sickness were making rapid inroads on his strength.He had deputed his niece, Mrs Castleton, to take the head of his table. She had been singularly handsome, and still retained much of the beauty of her younger days; with a soft and feminine expression of countenance which truly portrayed her gentle, and perhaps somewhat too yielding, character—yielding, at least, as far as her husband, Ralph Castleton, was concerned, to whose stern and imperious temper she had ever been accustomed to give way.“My dear Harry, we were afraid that you must have lost your way,” she said, when the young midshipman entered the room.“I rode over to the post-office at Morbury for letters, and had to wait while the bag was made up. I slung it over my back, and I fancy was taken for a government courier as I rode along. I have brought despatches for every one in the house, I believe; a prodigious big one for you, Uncle Fancourt, from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, I suspect, for I saw the seal when it was put into the bag,” he said, addressing a sunburnt, fine-looking man, with the unmistakable air of a naval officer, seated by his mother’s side. “Mr Groocock, to whom I gave the bag, will send them up as soon as he has opened it. There is something in the wind, I suspect, for I heard shouting and trumpeting just as I rode out of the town. Knowing that I had got whatever news there is at my back, I came on with it rather than return to learn more about the matter.”“Probably another enemy’s ship taken,” observed Captain Fancourt.“Are the Admiralty going to send you to sea again, Fancourt?” asked Sir Reginald, who had overheard Harry’s remark.“They are not likely, during these stirring times, Sir Reginald, to allow any of us to remain idle on shore if they think us worth our salt, and I hope to deserve that, at least,” answered Captain Fancourt.“You are worth tons of that article, or the admiral’s despatches greatly overpraise you,” observed Sir Reginald, laughing at his own joke. “I remember reading with great delight the gallant way in which, after your captain was wounded, you fought theHectoron your voyage home from the West Indies, when she was attacked by two 40-gun French frigates. You had not, I fancy, half as many men, or as many guns mounted, as either one of them, while, in addition to their crews, they were full of troops, yet you beat them off when they attempted to board; and though they had pretty well knocked your ship to pieces, you compelled them to make sail away from you, leaving you to your fate. If I recollect rightly, you bore up for Halifax with more than half your crew killed and wounded.”“You give me more credit than is my due, Sir Reginald,” observed Captain Fancourt, “I was but a young lieutenant, though I did my duty. Captain Drury fought the ship, and we should all have lost our lives had not we fallen in with theHawkbrig, which rescued us just as the oldHectorsank under our feet.”“Well, well, when our enemies find out that it is the fashion of English sailors to fight till their ship goes down, they will be chary of attacking them with much hopes of victory.”While the baronet was speaking, Harry had taken his seat next to a pretty dark-eyed young girl, giving her a kiss on the cheek and at the same time a pat on the back, a familiarity to which his sister Julia was well accustomed from her sailor brother, who entertained the greatest admiration and affection for her.“You should not treat the demoiselle in that mode at table, Monsieur Harry,” observed a lady who was sitting on his other side.“I beg your pardon, Madame De La Motte, I ought, I confess, to have paid my respects to you first.”“Ah, you are mediant, incorrigible,” said the lady, in broken English, laughing as she spoke.“No, I am only very hungry, so you will excuse me if I swallow a few mouthfuls before we discuss that subject,” said Harry, applying himself to the plate of chicken and ham which the footman had just placed before him. “I’m afraid that you think I have forgotten my manners as well as the French you taught me before I went to sea. But I hope to prove to you that I retain a fair amount of both,” and Harry began to address the lady in French. When he mispronounced a word and she corrected him he bowed his thanks, repeating it after her.“Ah, you arecharmant, Monsieur Harry, you have not forgotten your manners any more than the language of La Belle France, which I will continue to teach you whenever you will come and take a lesson with Mademoiselle Julia. When will you come?”“Every day that I am at home till my country requires my services,” answered Harry.“I never learned French, but I should think it must be a very difficult language to acquire,” observed a pale middle-aged lady of slight figure who sat opposite Harry, turning her eyes towards him, but those orbs were of a dull leaden hue, the eyelids almost closed. She was totally blind.Her features were beautifully formed, and had a peculiarly sweet and gentle expression, though the pallor of her cheeks betokened ill-health.“I will help you to begin, Miss Mary, while you are here, and then you can go on by yourself,” said Madame De La Motte, in her usual sprightly way.“I thank you, madame,” answered Miss Mary Pemberton, “but I am dependent on others. Jane has no fancy for languages, and her time is much occupied in household matters and others of still higher importance.”“Yes, indeed, Mary speaks truly,” observed Miss Pemberton, a lady of a somewhat taller and not quite so slight a figure as her sister, and who, though her features had a pleasant expression, could not, even in her youth, have possessed the same amount of beauty. She always took her seat next to Mary, that she might give her that attention which her deprivation of sight required. “While we have such boundless stores of works on all important subjects in our own language, we waste our time by spending it in acquiring another.”“Very right, my good cousin, very right,” exclaimed Sir Reginald; “stick to our good English books, for at the present day, what with their republicanism, their infidelity, and their abominable notions, we can expect nothing but what is bad from French writers.”“Pardonnez moi, Sir Reginald,” exclaimed Madame De La Motte, breaking off the conversation in which she was engaged with Harry, and looking up briskly. “Surely la pauvre France has produced some pure and religious writers, and many works on science worthy of perusal.”“I beg ten thousand pardons, madame, I forgot that a French lady was present. I was thinking more of the murderous red republicans who have cut off the heads of their lawful sovereign and his lovely queen, Marie Antoinette. I remember her in her youth and beauty at the court of her brother, the Emperor Leopold, when I paid a visit to Germany some years ago. When I think how she was treated by those ruffians with every possible indignity, and perished on a scaffold, my heart swells with indignation, and I am apt to forget that there are noble and honest Frenchmen still remaining who feel as I do.”“Ah, truly Sir Reginald, we loyal French feel even more bitterly, for we have shame added to our grief and indignation, that they are our compatriots who are guilty of such unspeakable atrocities as are now deluging our belle France with blood,” said Madame De La Motte, putting her handkerchief to her face to hide the tears which the mention of the fate of the hapless queen seldom failed to draw from the eyes of French loyalists in those days.“You will pardon me, madame, for my inadvertent remark,” said Sir Reginald, bowing as he spoke towards the French lady.“Certainly, Sir Reginald, and I am grateful for your sympathy in the sufferings of those I adore.”Just at that instant the butler entered the room bearing a salver covered with letters, which most of the party were soon engaged in reading. An exclamation from Captain Fancourt made every one look up.“There is indeed news,” he exclaimed. “Sir Roger Curtis has arrived with despatches from Earl Howe announcing a magnificent victory gained by him with twenty-five ships over the French fleet of twenty-six, on the 1st June, west of Ushant; seven of the French captured, two sunk, when the French admiral, after an hour’s close action, crowded sail, followed by most of his ships able to carry their canvas, and made his escape, leaving the rest either crippled or totally dismasted behind him. Most of our ships were either so widely separated or so much disabled, that several of the enemy left behind succeeded in making their escape under spritsails. One went down in action, when all on board perished; another sank just as she was taken possession of, and before her crew could be removed, though many happily were saved. There had been several partial actions between them.”Exclamations of delight and satisfaction burst from the lips of all the party on hearing this announcement.“I only wish that I had been there,” exclaimed Harry, and Captain Fancourt looked as if he wished the same.“You might have been among those who lost their lives,” observed Miss Pemberton; “we would rather have you safe on shore.”“We must take our chance with others,” said Harry. “I only hope, Uncle Fancourt, that you will soon be able to get me afloat again, though I am not tired of home yet.”“I shall be able to fulfil your wishes, for the Admiralty have appointed me to the command of theTriton, 38-gun frigate, ordered to be fitted out with all despatch at Portsmouth. Before many weeks are over she will, I hope, be ready for sea. I shall have to take my leave of you, Sir Reginald, sooner than I expected. I must go down at once to look after her. Harry need not join till I send for him.”“I congratulate you, Fancourt,” said Sir Reginald, “though I am sorry that your visit should be cut short.” The great battle was the subject of conversation for the remainder of the day, every one eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the newspapers the next morning for fuller particulars.

Harry got back at luncheon time to Texford, where the family were assembled in the dining-hall. Sir Reginald—a fine-looking old man, the whiteness of whose silvery locks, secured behind a well-tied pig-tail, was increased by the hair-powder which besprinkled them—sat at the foot of the table in the wheel-chair used by him to move from room to room. His once tall and strongly-built figure was slightly bent, though, unwilling to show his weakness, he endeavoured to sit as upright as possible while he did the honours of his hospitable board. Still it was evident that age and sickness were making rapid inroads on his strength.

He had deputed his niece, Mrs Castleton, to take the head of his table. She had been singularly handsome, and still retained much of the beauty of her younger days; with a soft and feminine expression of countenance which truly portrayed her gentle, and perhaps somewhat too yielding, character—yielding, at least, as far as her husband, Ralph Castleton, was concerned, to whose stern and imperious temper she had ever been accustomed to give way.

“My dear Harry, we were afraid that you must have lost your way,” she said, when the young midshipman entered the room.

“I rode over to the post-office at Morbury for letters, and had to wait while the bag was made up. I slung it over my back, and I fancy was taken for a government courier as I rode along. I have brought despatches for every one in the house, I believe; a prodigious big one for you, Uncle Fancourt, from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, I suspect, for I saw the seal when it was put into the bag,” he said, addressing a sunburnt, fine-looking man, with the unmistakable air of a naval officer, seated by his mother’s side. “Mr Groocock, to whom I gave the bag, will send them up as soon as he has opened it. There is something in the wind, I suspect, for I heard shouting and trumpeting just as I rode out of the town. Knowing that I had got whatever news there is at my back, I came on with it rather than return to learn more about the matter.”

“Probably another enemy’s ship taken,” observed Captain Fancourt.

“Are the Admiralty going to send you to sea again, Fancourt?” asked Sir Reginald, who had overheard Harry’s remark.

“They are not likely, during these stirring times, Sir Reginald, to allow any of us to remain idle on shore if they think us worth our salt, and I hope to deserve that, at least,” answered Captain Fancourt.

“You are worth tons of that article, or the admiral’s despatches greatly overpraise you,” observed Sir Reginald, laughing at his own joke. “I remember reading with great delight the gallant way in which, after your captain was wounded, you fought theHectoron your voyage home from the West Indies, when she was attacked by two 40-gun French frigates. You had not, I fancy, half as many men, or as many guns mounted, as either one of them, while, in addition to their crews, they were full of troops, yet you beat them off when they attempted to board; and though they had pretty well knocked your ship to pieces, you compelled them to make sail away from you, leaving you to your fate. If I recollect rightly, you bore up for Halifax with more than half your crew killed and wounded.”

“You give me more credit than is my due, Sir Reginald,” observed Captain Fancourt, “I was but a young lieutenant, though I did my duty. Captain Drury fought the ship, and we should all have lost our lives had not we fallen in with theHawkbrig, which rescued us just as the oldHectorsank under our feet.”

“Well, well, when our enemies find out that it is the fashion of English sailors to fight till their ship goes down, they will be chary of attacking them with much hopes of victory.”

While the baronet was speaking, Harry had taken his seat next to a pretty dark-eyed young girl, giving her a kiss on the cheek and at the same time a pat on the back, a familiarity to which his sister Julia was well accustomed from her sailor brother, who entertained the greatest admiration and affection for her.

“You should not treat the demoiselle in that mode at table, Monsieur Harry,” observed a lady who was sitting on his other side.

“I beg your pardon, Madame De La Motte, I ought, I confess, to have paid my respects to you first.”

“Ah, you are mediant, incorrigible,” said the lady, in broken English, laughing as she spoke.

“No, I am only very hungry, so you will excuse me if I swallow a few mouthfuls before we discuss that subject,” said Harry, applying himself to the plate of chicken and ham which the footman had just placed before him. “I’m afraid that you think I have forgotten my manners as well as the French you taught me before I went to sea. But I hope to prove to you that I retain a fair amount of both,” and Harry began to address the lady in French. When he mispronounced a word and she corrected him he bowed his thanks, repeating it after her.

“Ah, you arecharmant, Monsieur Harry, you have not forgotten your manners any more than the language of La Belle France, which I will continue to teach you whenever you will come and take a lesson with Mademoiselle Julia. When will you come?”

“Every day that I am at home till my country requires my services,” answered Harry.

“I never learned French, but I should think it must be a very difficult language to acquire,” observed a pale middle-aged lady of slight figure who sat opposite Harry, turning her eyes towards him, but those orbs were of a dull leaden hue, the eyelids almost closed. She was totally blind.

Her features were beautifully formed, and had a peculiarly sweet and gentle expression, though the pallor of her cheeks betokened ill-health.

“I will help you to begin, Miss Mary, while you are here, and then you can go on by yourself,” said Madame De La Motte, in her usual sprightly way.

“I thank you, madame,” answered Miss Mary Pemberton, “but I am dependent on others. Jane has no fancy for languages, and her time is much occupied in household matters and others of still higher importance.”

“Yes, indeed, Mary speaks truly,” observed Miss Pemberton, a lady of a somewhat taller and not quite so slight a figure as her sister, and who, though her features had a pleasant expression, could not, even in her youth, have possessed the same amount of beauty. She always took her seat next to Mary, that she might give her that attention which her deprivation of sight required. “While we have such boundless stores of works on all important subjects in our own language, we waste our time by spending it in acquiring another.”

“Very right, my good cousin, very right,” exclaimed Sir Reginald; “stick to our good English books, for at the present day, what with their republicanism, their infidelity, and their abominable notions, we can expect nothing but what is bad from French writers.”

“Pardonnez moi, Sir Reginald,” exclaimed Madame De La Motte, breaking off the conversation in which she was engaged with Harry, and looking up briskly. “Surely la pauvre France has produced some pure and religious writers, and many works on science worthy of perusal.”

“I beg ten thousand pardons, madame, I forgot that a French lady was present. I was thinking more of the murderous red republicans who have cut off the heads of their lawful sovereign and his lovely queen, Marie Antoinette. I remember her in her youth and beauty at the court of her brother, the Emperor Leopold, when I paid a visit to Germany some years ago. When I think how she was treated by those ruffians with every possible indignity, and perished on a scaffold, my heart swells with indignation, and I am apt to forget that there are noble and honest Frenchmen still remaining who feel as I do.”

“Ah, truly Sir Reginald, we loyal French feel even more bitterly, for we have shame added to our grief and indignation, that they are our compatriots who are guilty of such unspeakable atrocities as are now deluging our belle France with blood,” said Madame De La Motte, putting her handkerchief to her face to hide the tears which the mention of the fate of the hapless queen seldom failed to draw from the eyes of French loyalists in those days.

“You will pardon me, madame, for my inadvertent remark,” said Sir Reginald, bowing as he spoke towards the French lady.

“Certainly, Sir Reginald, and I am grateful for your sympathy in the sufferings of those I adore.”

Just at that instant the butler entered the room bearing a salver covered with letters, which most of the party were soon engaged in reading. An exclamation from Captain Fancourt made every one look up.

“There is indeed news,” he exclaimed. “Sir Roger Curtis has arrived with despatches from Earl Howe announcing a magnificent victory gained by him with twenty-five ships over the French fleet of twenty-six, on the 1st June, west of Ushant; seven of the French captured, two sunk, when the French admiral, after an hour’s close action, crowded sail, followed by most of his ships able to carry their canvas, and made his escape, leaving the rest either crippled or totally dismasted behind him. Most of our ships were either so widely separated or so much disabled, that several of the enemy left behind succeeded in making their escape under spritsails. One went down in action, when all on board perished; another sank just as she was taken possession of, and before her crew could be removed, though many happily were saved. There had been several partial actions between them.”

Exclamations of delight and satisfaction burst from the lips of all the party on hearing this announcement.

“I only wish that I had been there,” exclaimed Harry, and Captain Fancourt looked as if he wished the same.

“You might have been among those who lost their lives,” observed Miss Pemberton; “we would rather have you safe on shore.”

“We must take our chance with others,” said Harry. “I only hope, Uncle Fancourt, that you will soon be able to get me afloat again, though I am not tired of home yet.”

“I shall be able to fulfil your wishes, for the Admiralty have appointed me to the command of theTriton, 38-gun frigate, ordered to be fitted out with all despatch at Portsmouth. Before many weeks are over she will, I hope, be ready for sea. I shall have to take my leave of you, Sir Reginald, sooner than I expected. I must go down at once to look after her. Harry need not join till I send for him.”

“I congratulate you, Fancourt,” said Sir Reginald, “though I am sorry that your visit should be cut short.” The great battle was the subject of conversation for the remainder of the day, every one eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the newspapers the next morning for fuller particulars.

Chapter Seven.The Casteltons and Gouls.In those days, when coaches only ran on the great high roads, and postal arrangements were imperfect, even important news was conveyed at what would now be considered a very slow rate.Adam knew no one in London to whom he could write about the little girl he had saved from the wreck, and many days passed before he could get to Morbury, the nearest town to Hurlston. It was a place of some importance, boasting of its mayor and corporation, its town-hall and gaol, its large parish church, and its broad high street.Adam first sought out the mayor, to whom he narrated his story. That important dignitary promised to do all in his power through his correspondents in London to discover the little girl’s friends, but warned him that, as during war time the difficulties of communication with foreign countries were so great, he must not entertain much hope of success. “However, you can in the meantime relieve yourself of the care of the child by sending her to the workhouse, or if you choose to take care of her, her friends, when they are found, will undoubtedly repay you, though I warn you they are very likely, after all, not to be discovered,” he added.“Send the little maiden to the workhouse!” he exclaimed, as, quitting Mr Barber’s mansion, he pressed his hat down on his head; “no, no, no; and as to being repaid by her friends, if it was not for her sake, I only hope they may never be found.”The lawyer, Mr Shallard, on whom Adam next called, had the character of being an honest man, and having for many years been Sir Reginald Castleton’s adviser, he was universally looked up to and trusted by all classes, except by these litigants who were conscious of the badness of their causes.He was a tall, thin man, of middle age, with a pleasant expression of countenance. He listened with attention to Adam’s account of his rescuing the little girl, but gave him no greater expectation of discovering her friends than had the mayor.“You will, I suspect, run a great risk of losing your reward,” he observed; “but if you are unwilling to bear the expense of her maintenance, bring her here, and I will see what can be done for her. Of course, legally, you are entitled to send the foundling to the workhouse.”“You wouldn’t advise me to do that, I’m thinking,” said Adam.“No, my friend, but it is my duty to tell you what you have the right to do,” answered the lawyer.“Well, sir, I’d blush to call myself a man if I did,” replied the fisherman, and without boasting of his intentions, he added that he and his dame were quite prepared to bring up the little girl like a daughter of their own.When Adam offered the usual fee, the lawyer motioned him to put it into his pocket.“Friend Halliburt, you are doing your duty to the little foundling, and I will do mine. If her friends can be found, I daresay I shall be repaid, and at all events, when you come to Morbury again you must call and let me know how she thrives.”Adam, greatly relieved at feeling that, having done what he could towards finding the child’s friends, there was great probability that she would be left with him and his wife, returned home.“Any chance of hearing of our little maiden’s friends?” asked the dame, on Adam’s return.“None that I can see, mother,” he answered, taking his usual seat in his arm-chair. “As it seems clear that they are in foreign lands, those I have spoken to say, now that war has broken out again, it will be a hard matter to get news of them.”“Well, well, you have done your duty, Adam, and you can do no more,” answered his wife, looking much relieved. “If it is God’s will that the little girl should remain with us, we will do our best to take care of her, that we will.”“What do you think, though?” he continued, after he had given an account of his first visit; “Mr Mayor advises us to send her to the workhouse. It made my heart swell up a bit when he said so, I can tell ye.”“Sure it would, Adam,” exclaimed the dame; “little dear, to think on’t.”“Mr Shallard said something of the same sort too, but he showed that he has a kind heart, for he told me to bring the child to him if we didn’t want to have charge of her, and when I offered his fee he wouldn’t even look at it.”“Good, good!” exclaimed the dame; “I’ve no doubt he’d act kindly by her, but I wouldn’t wish to give her up to him if I could help it. It’s not every one who would have refused to take his fee, and it’s more, at all events, than old Lawyer Goul would have done, who used to live when I was a girl where Mr Shallard does now. There never was a man like him for scraping money together by fair means or foul. And yet it all went somehow or other, and there was not enough left when he died to bury him, and his poor heart-broken, crazy wife was left without house or home, and went away wandering through the country no one knew where. Some said she had cast herself into the sea and was drowned; but others, I mind, declared they had seen her after that as wild and witless as ever. Hers was a hard fate whatever it might have been, for her husband hadn’t a friend in the world, no more had she; and when she went mad there was no one to look after her.”Then Dame Halliburt told a tale, interrupted by many questions by the good Adam, of which this is the substance.Lawyer Goul had a son, and though he and his wife agreed in nothing else, they did in loving and in spoiling that unhappy lad. He caused the ruin of his father, who denied him nothing he wanted. Old Goul wouldn’t put his hand in his pocket for a sixpence to buy a loaf of bread for a neighbour’s family who might be starving, but he would give hundreds or thousands to supply young Martin’s extravagance. He wanted to make a gentleman of his son, and thought money would do it. His son thought so too, and took good care to spend his father’s ill-gotten gains. As he grew up he became as audacious and bold a young ruffian as could well be met with. He had always a fancy for the sea, and used often to be away for weeks and months together over to France or Holland in company with smugglers and other lawless fellows, so it was said, and it was suspected that he was mixed up with them, and had spent not a little of his father’s money in smuggling ventures which brought no profit. Old Martin Goul had wished to give his son a good education, and had sent him to the very same school to which the sons of Dame Halliburt’s master, Mr Herbert Castleton, went. There were two of them, Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph. Mr Herbert was Sir Reginald Castleton’s younger brother. He was a proud man, as all the Castletons were, and hot-tempered, and not what one may call wise. He was sometimes over-indulgent to his children, and sometimes very harsh if they offended him. For some cause or other Mr Ranald, the eldest, was not a favourite of his, though many liked him the best. He was generous and open-hearted, but then, to be sure, he was as hot-tempered and obstinate as his father. While he was at college it was said he fell in love with a young girl who had no money, and was in point of family not a proper match for a Castleton. Some one informed his father, who threatened to disown him if he married her. He could not keep him out of Texford, for he was Sir Reginald’s heir after himself. This fact enraged him still more against his son, as he thus had not the full power he would have liked to exercise over him. When Mr Herbert married, his wife brought him a good fortune, which was settled on their children, and that he could not touch either. They had, besides their two sons, a daughter, Miss Ellen Castleton, a pretty dark-eyed young lady. She was good-tempered and kind to all about her, but not as sensible and discreet as she should have been.When Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph left school young Martin Goul, whose character was not so well known then as it was afterwards, came to the house to pay them a visit. As they had been playmates for some years, and he dressed well and rode a fine horse, they seemed to forget that he was old Martin Goul’s son, and treated him like one of themselves. To my mind, continued the dame, nothing belonging to old Goul was fit to associate with Mr Castleton’s sons. Once having got a footing in the house, he used to come pretty often, sometimes even when the young gentlemen were away from home, and it soon became known to every one except Mr and Mrs Castleton that Lawyer Goul’s son was making love to Miss Ellen. She, poor dear, knew nothing of the world, and thought if he was fit to be a companion of her brothers, it was no harm to give her heart to him. She could see none of his faults, and fancied him a brave, fine young fellow, and he could, besides, be as soft as butter when he chose, and was as great a hypocrite as his father. He knew it would not do to be seen too often at the house, or Mr and Mrs Castleton would have been suspecting something, and so he persuaded Miss Ellen to come out and meet him in the park, and she fancied that no one knew of it. This went on for some time till Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph came home from college. One evening, as Mr Ranald was returning from a ride on horseback, and had taken a short cut across the park, he found his sister and Martin Goul walking together in the wood. Now one might have supposed that if the account of his own love affair was true he would have had some fellow-feeling for his sister and old schoolmate, and not thought she was doing anything very wrong after all, but that wasn’t his idea in the least. Without more ado he laid his whip on Martin’s shoulders, and ordered him off the grounds, much as he would a poacher. Martin, the strongest of the two by far, would have knocked him down if Miss Ellen had not interfered and begged Martin to go away, declaring that if fault there was it was entirely hers. Martin did go, swearing that he would have the satisfaction one gentleman had a right to demand from another. Mr Ranald laughed at him scornfully, and, taking Miss Ellen’s arm, led her back to the house.Mr Ranald was not on the terms, as I have said, which he should have been with his father or even with his mother, so he said nothing to them, but taking the matter into his own hands, told his sister to go to her room and remain there. She, as I said, was a gentle-spirited girl, and did as she was bid, only sitting down and crying and wringing her hands at the thoughts of what might come of what she had done. Poor dear young lady, she told me all about it afterwards, and I thought her heart would break; and I was not far wrong, as it turned out at last.Now, though Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph were not on affectionate terms as brothers should be, and were seldom together, they were quite at one in this matter. Mr Ralph was by far the more clever, and had gained all sorts of honours at college we heard; so that Mr Ranald looked up to him when there was anything of importance to be done, and took his opinion when he wouldn’t have listened to any one else.The brothers were closeted a long time together talking the matter over, as they thought very seriously of it, and considered that the honour of the family was at stake. They then got their sister to come to them, and tried to make her promise never to see young Martin Goul again; but notwithstanding all they could say, gentle as she was in most things, she would not say that. They warned her that the consequences would be serious to all concerned.Martin Goul was as good as his word. He got another young fellow who passed for a gentleman, something like himself, to carry a challenge to Mr Ranald. The young fellow did not like to come into the house, so he waylaid Mr Ranald near the entrance of the park, and delivered a letter he had brought from Martin Goul. Mr Ranald, as soon as he found from whom it came, tore it up, and throwing it in the messenger’s face, so belaboured him with his whip, that he drove him out of the park faster than he had come into it.Mr Ralph had, however, in the manner he was accustomed to manage things, taken steps to get Martin Goul out of the way. The last war between England and France had just begun; the pressgang were busy along the coast obtaining men for the navy. Mr Ralph happened to know the officer in command of a gang who had the night before come to Morbury. He told him, what was the truth, that young Martin was a seafaring man, and mixed up with a band of smugglers, and he hinted to the officer that he would be doing good service to the place, and to honest people generally, if he could get hold of the young fellow and send him away to sea. Martin was seized the same night, and before he could send any message home to say what had happened, he was carried to a man-of-war’s boat lying in the little harbour of Morbury, ready to receive any prisoners who might be taken. He was put on board a cutter with several others who had been captured in the place, and not giving him time to send even a letter on shore, she sailed away for the Thames, and he was at once sent on board a man-of-war on the point of sailing for a foreign station. Miss Ellen, when she heard what had happened, was more downcast and sad than before, and those who knew the secret of her sorrow saw that she was dying of a broken heart.Poor Mrs Castleton had been long in delicate health, and soon after this she caught a chill, and in a short time died. Miss Ellen was left more than ever alone. From the day she last saw her worthless lover she never went into society, and seldom, indeed, except at church, was seen outside the park-gates.Mr Castleton himself had become somewhat of an invalid, which made his temper even worse than before. He showed it especially whenever Mr Ranald was at home, and I am afraid that Mr Ralph often made matters worse instead of trying to mend them.At last Mr Ranald left home altogether, for as he had come into a part of his mother’s property, he was independent of his father. Some time afterwards a letter was received from him saying that he had sailed for the Indies. Whether or not he had married the young lady spoken of at college was not known to a certainty.As may be supposed, old Martin Goul and his poor witless wife were in a sad taking when they found that their son had been carried off by a pressgang. Old Goul vowed vengeance against those who had managed to have his son spirited away. His own days, however, were coming to a close. He found out the ship on board which young Martin had sailed, and he tried every means to send after him to get him back. That was no easy matter, however; indeed, the money which he had scraped together and cheated out of many a lone widow and friendless orphan had come to an end. No one knew how it had gone, except, perhaps, his son. He himself even, it was said, could not tell, though he spent his days and nights poring over books and papers, trying to find out, till he became almost as crazy as his wife. No one went to consult him on law business, except, perhaps, some smuggler or other knave who could get no decent lawyer to undertake his case, and then old Goul was sure to lose it, so that even the rogues at last would not trust him.He and his wife had had for long only one servant in the house. A poor friendless creature was old Nan. One day the tax-gatherer called when Martin Goul, who was seated in his dusty room which had not been cleaned out for years, told him that Nan had the money to pay, and that he would find her in the kitchen. He went downstairs and there, sure enough, was poor Nan stretched out on the floor. She had died of starvation, there was no doubt about that, for there was not a crust of bread in the kitchen, nor a bit of coal to light a fire. How Martin Goul had managed to live it was hard to say, except that his wife had been seen stealing out at dusk, and it was supposed that she had managed to pick up food for herself and her husband.Meantime it was known that young Martin had been aboard theResistancefrigate, which had gone away out to the East Indies. At last news came home that theResistancehad been blown up far away from any help in the Indian seas, and that every soul on board had perished or been killed by savages when they got on shore.Mr Ralph tried to keep what had happened from the ears of his sister, but she was always making inquiries about the ships on foreign stations. At last one day she heard what it would have been better she had never known. We found her in a dead faint. She was brought to, but the colour had left her cheeks and lips, and she never again lifted up her head. Mr Ralph came to see her.“It was all your doing,” she said to him in a reproachful tone. “He might have been wild, he might have been what you say he was, but he promised me that he would reform and be all I could wish.”“Of whom do you speak, Ellen,” asked Mr Ralph.“Of him who now lies dead beneath the waters of the Indian Ocean, of Martin Goul,” she said, and uttered a cry which went to our hearts.“That scoundrel’s name is unfit to come out of your lips, Ellen,” he answered with an oath. “He met a better fate than he deserved, for he died with honest men. Now put him away from your thoughts altogether, and never defile your lips by speaking of him.”Poor Miss Ellen made no reply. Nothing would induce her to leave her room. She grew weaker and weaker, and soon was laid beside her mother in the family vault.A few months afterwards Mr Castleton died, and the place was sold. Mr Ralph, who had become a barrister, went away to live in London and married, and has been there ever since.The death of his son was known to many others before Lawyer Goul heard of it, for it was no one’s business to tell him, and few would have been willing to do so. At last, one day in an old newspaper which contained an account of the loss of theResistance, his eye fell on the announcement. He let the paper drop, sank back in his chair, and never spoke again. His crazy wife took it up, and she, seeing what had happened to her son, not even stopping to learn whether her husband was dead or not, or trying to assist him, rushed away no one knew where. “Some say,” said Dame Halliburt, as she finished her long story, “that she has long since been dead, and others that she is ‘Mad Sal,’ as the boys call her; but she does not look to me like old Goul’s wife; and I cannot fancy that one brought up as a sort of lady, as she was, could live the life that poor mad woman does, all alone in a wretched hovel by herself among the cliffs, without a neighbour or a soul to help her.”“Well, it’s a sad story, wife; I wonder you never told it me before.”“To say the truth, Adam, it’s not a matter I ever liked talking about, and I don’t know scarcely what made me tell it you now. It’s not that I care about Lawyer Goul and his crazy wife and their son; but even now I cannot bear to think of poor Miss Ellen. It was a sad thing that a sweet innocent creature like her should have been cut off in her young days.”

In those days, when coaches only ran on the great high roads, and postal arrangements were imperfect, even important news was conveyed at what would now be considered a very slow rate.

Adam knew no one in London to whom he could write about the little girl he had saved from the wreck, and many days passed before he could get to Morbury, the nearest town to Hurlston. It was a place of some importance, boasting of its mayor and corporation, its town-hall and gaol, its large parish church, and its broad high street.

Adam first sought out the mayor, to whom he narrated his story. That important dignitary promised to do all in his power through his correspondents in London to discover the little girl’s friends, but warned him that, as during war time the difficulties of communication with foreign countries were so great, he must not entertain much hope of success. “However, you can in the meantime relieve yourself of the care of the child by sending her to the workhouse, or if you choose to take care of her, her friends, when they are found, will undoubtedly repay you, though I warn you they are very likely, after all, not to be discovered,” he added.

“Send the little maiden to the workhouse!” he exclaimed, as, quitting Mr Barber’s mansion, he pressed his hat down on his head; “no, no, no; and as to being repaid by her friends, if it was not for her sake, I only hope they may never be found.”

The lawyer, Mr Shallard, on whom Adam next called, had the character of being an honest man, and having for many years been Sir Reginald Castleton’s adviser, he was universally looked up to and trusted by all classes, except by these litigants who were conscious of the badness of their causes.

He was a tall, thin man, of middle age, with a pleasant expression of countenance. He listened with attention to Adam’s account of his rescuing the little girl, but gave him no greater expectation of discovering her friends than had the mayor.

“You will, I suspect, run a great risk of losing your reward,” he observed; “but if you are unwilling to bear the expense of her maintenance, bring her here, and I will see what can be done for her. Of course, legally, you are entitled to send the foundling to the workhouse.”

“You wouldn’t advise me to do that, I’m thinking,” said Adam.

“No, my friend, but it is my duty to tell you what you have the right to do,” answered the lawyer.

“Well, sir, I’d blush to call myself a man if I did,” replied the fisherman, and without boasting of his intentions, he added that he and his dame were quite prepared to bring up the little girl like a daughter of their own.

When Adam offered the usual fee, the lawyer motioned him to put it into his pocket.

“Friend Halliburt, you are doing your duty to the little foundling, and I will do mine. If her friends can be found, I daresay I shall be repaid, and at all events, when you come to Morbury again you must call and let me know how she thrives.”

Adam, greatly relieved at feeling that, having done what he could towards finding the child’s friends, there was great probability that she would be left with him and his wife, returned home.

“Any chance of hearing of our little maiden’s friends?” asked the dame, on Adam’s return.

“None that I can see, mother,” he answered, taking his usual seat in his arm-chair. “As it seems clear that they are in foreign lands, those I have spoken to say, now that war has broken out again, it will be a hard matter to get news of them.”

“Well, well, you have done your duty, Adam, and you can do no more,” answered his wife, looking much relieved. “If it is God’s will that the little girl should remain with us, we will do our best to take care of her, that we will.”

“What do you think, though?” he continued, after he had given an account of his first visit; “Mr Mayor advises us to send her to the workhouse. It made my heart swell up a bit when he said so, I can tell ye.”

“Sure it would, Adam,” exclaimed the dame; “little dear, to think on’t.”

“Mr Shallard said something of the same sort too, but he showed that he has a kind heart, for he told me to bring the child to him if we didn’t want to have charge of her, and when I offered his fee he wouldn’t even look at it.”

“Good, good!” exclaimed the dame; “I’ve no doubt he’d act kindly by her, but I wouldn’t wish to give her up to him if I could help it. It’s not every one who would have refused to take his fee, and it’s more, at all events, than old Lawyer Goul would have done, who used to live when I was a girl where Mr Shallard does now. There never was a man like him for scraping money together by fair means or foul. And yet it all went somehow or other, and there was not enough left when he died to bury him, and his poor heart-broken, crazy wife was left without house or home, and went away wandering through the country no one knew where. Some said she had cast herself into the sea and was drowned; but others, I mind, declared they had seen her after that as wild and witless as ever. Hers was a hard fate whatever it might have been, for her husband hadn’t a friend in the world, no more had she; and when she went mad there was no one to look after her.”

Then Dame Halliburt told a tale, interrupted by many questions by the good Adam, of which this is the substance.

Lawyer Goul had a son, and though he and his wife agreed in nothing else, they did in loving and in spoiling that unhappy lad. He caused the ruin of his father, who denied him nothing he wanted. Old Goul wouldn’t put his hand in his pocket for a sixpence to buy a loaf of bread for a neighbour’s family who might be starving, but he would give hundreds or thousands to supply young Martin’s extravagance. He wanted to make a gentleman of his son, and thought money would do it. His son thought so too, and took good care to spend his father’s ill-gotten gains. As he grew up he became as audacious and bold a young ruffian as could well be met with. He had always a fancy for the sea, and used often to be away for weeks and months together over to France or Holland in company with smugglers and other lawless fellows, so it was said, and it was suspected that he was mixed up with them, and had spent not a little of his father’s money in smuggling ventures which brought no profit. Old Martin Goul had wished to give his son a good education, and had sent him to the very same school to which the sons of Dame Halliburt’s master, Mr Herbert Castleton, went. There were two of them, Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph. Mr Herbert was Sir Reginald Castleton’s younger brother. He was a proud man, as all the Castletons were, and hot-tempered, and not what one may call wise. He was sometimes over-indulgent to his children, and sometimes very harsh if they offended him. For some cause or other Mr Ranald, the eldest, was not a favourite of his, though many liked him the best. He was generous and open-hearted, but then, to be sure, he was as hot-tempered and obstinate as his father. While he was at college it was said he fell in love with a young girl who had no money, and was in point of family not a proper match for a Castleton. Some one informed his father, who threatened to disown him if he married her. He could not keep him out of Texford, for he was Sir Reginald’s heir after himself. This fact enraged him still more against his son, as he thus had not the full power he would have liked to exercise over him. When Mr Herbert married, his wife brought him a good fortune, which was settled on their children, and that he could not touch either. They had, besides their two sons, a daughter, Miss Ellen Castleton, a pretty dark-eyed young lady. She was good-tempered and kind to all about her, but not as sensible and discreet as she should have been.

When Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph left school young Martin Goul, whose character was not so well known then as it was afterwards, came to the house to pay them a visit. As they had been playmates for some years, and he dressed well and rode a fine horse, they seemed to forget that he was old Martin Goul’s son, and treated him like one of themselves. To my mind, continued the dame, nothing belonging to old Goul was fit to associate with Mr Castleton’s sons. Once having got a footing in the house, he used to come pretty often, sometimes even when the young gentlemen were away from home, and it soon became known to every one except Mr and Mrs Castleton that Lawyer Goul’s son was making love to Miss Ellen. She, poor dear, knew nothing of the world, and thought if he was fit to be a companion of her brothers, it was no harm to give her heart to him. She could see none of his faults, and fancied him a brave, fine young fellow, and he could, besides, be as soft as butter when he chose, and was as great a hypocrite as his father. He knew it would not do to be seen too often at the house, or Mr and Mrs Castleton would have been suspecting something, and so he persuaded Miss Ellen to come out and meet him in the park, and she fancied that no one knew of it. This went on for some time till Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph came home from college. One evening, as Mr Ranald was returning from a ride on horseback, and had taken a short cut across the park, he found his sister and Martin Goul walking together in the wood. Now one might have supposed that if the account of his own love affair was true he would have had some fellow-feeling for his sister and old schoolmate, and not thought she was doing anything very wrong after all, but that wasn’t his idea in the least. Without more ado he laid his whip on Martin’s shoulders, and ordered him off the grounds, much as he would a poacher. Martin, the strongest of the two by far, would have knocked him down if Miss Ellen had not interfered and begged Martin to go away, declaring that if fault there was it was entirely hers. Martin did go, swearing that he would have the satisfaction one gentleman had a right to demand from another. Mr Ranald laughed at him scornfully, and, taking Miss Ellen’s arm, led her back to the house.

Mr Ranald was not on the terms, as I have said, which he should have been with his father or even with his mother, so he said nothing to them, but taking the matter into his own hands, told his sister to go to her room and remain there. She, as I said, was a gentle-spirited girl, and did as she was bid, only sitting down and crying and wringing her hands at the thoughts of what might come of what she had done. Poor dear young lady, she told me all about it afterwards, and I thought her heart would break; and I was not far wrong, as it turned out at last.

Now, though Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph were not on affectionate terms as brothers should be, and were seldom together, they were quite at one in this matter. Mr Ralph was by far the more clever, and had gained all sorts of honours at college we heard; so that Mr Ranald looked up to him when there was anything of importance to be done, and took his opinion when he wouldn’t have listened to any one else.

The brothers were closeted a long time together talking the matter over, as they thought very seriously of it, and considered that the honour of the family was at stake. They then got their sister to come to them, and tried to make her promise never to see young Martin Goul again; but notwithstanding all they could say, gentle as she was in most things, she would not say that. They warned her that the consequences would be serious to all concerned.

Martin Goul was as good as his word. He got another young fellow who passed for a gentleman, something like himself, to carry a challenge to Mr Ranald. The young fellow did not like to come into the house, so he waylaid Mr Ranald near the entrance of the park, and delivered a letter he had brought from Martin Goul. Mr Ranald, as soon as he found from whom it came, tore it up, and throwing it in the messenger’s face, so belaboured him with his whip, that he drove him out of the park faster than he had come into it.

Mr Ralph had, however, in the manner he was accustomed to manage things, taken steps to get Martin Goul out of the way. The last war between England and France had just begun; the pressgang were busy along the coast obtaining men for the navy. Mr Ralph happened to know the officer in command of a gang who had the night before come to Morbury. He told him, what was the truth, that young Martin was a seafaring man, and mixed up with a band of smugglers, and he hinted to the officer that he would be doing good service to the place, and to honest people generally, if he could get hold of the young fellow and send him away to sea. Martin was seized the same night, and before he could send any message home to say what had happened, he was carried to a man-of-war’s boat lying in the little harbour of Morbury, ready to receive any prisoners who might be taken. He was put on board a cutter with several others who had been captured in the place, and not giving him time to send even a letter on shore, she sailed away for the Thames, and he was at once sent on board a man-of-war on the point of sailing for a foreign station. Miss Ellen, when she heard what had happened, was more downcast and sad than before, and those who knew the secret of her sorrow saw that she was dying of a broken heart.

Poor Mrs Castleton had been long in delicate health, and soon after this she caught a chill, and in a short time died. Miss Ellen was left more than ever alone. From the day she last saw her worthless lover she never went into society, and seldom, indeed, except at church, was seen outside the park-gates.

Mr Castleton himself had become somewhat of an invalid, which made his temper even worse than before. He showed it especially whenever Mr Ranald was at home, and I am afraid that Mr Ralph often made matters worse instead of trying to mend them.

At last Mr Ranald left home altogether, for as he had come into a part of his mother’s property, he was independent of his father. Some time afterwards a letter was received from him saying that he had sailed for the Indies. Whether or not he had married the young lady spoken of at college was not known to a certainty.

As may be supposed, old Martin Goul and his poor witless wife were in a sad taking when they found that their son had been carried off by a pressgang. Old Goul vowed vengeance against those who had managed to have his son spirited away. His own days, however, were coming to a close. He found out the ship on board which young Martin had sailed, and he tried every means to send after him to get him back. That was no easy matter, however; indeed, the money which he had scraped together and cheated out of many a lone widow and friendless orphan had come to an end. No one knew how it had gone, except, perhaps, his son. He himself even, it was said, could not tell, though he spent his days and nights poring over books and papers, trying to find out, till he became almost as crazy as his wife. No one went to consult him on law business, except, perhaps, some smuggler or other knave who could get no decent lawyer to undertake his case, and then old Goul was sure to lose it, so that even the rogues at last would not trust him.

He and his wife had had for long only one servant in the house. A poor friendless creature was old Nan. One day the tax-gatherer called when Martin Goul, who was seated in his dusty room which had not been cleaned out for years, told him that Nan had the money to pay, and that he would find her in the kitchen. He went downstairs and there, sure enough, was poor Nan stretched out on the floor. She had died of starvation, there was no doubt about that, for there was not a crust of bread in the kitchen, nor a bit of coal to light a fire. How Martin Goul had managed to live it was hard to say, except that his wife had been seen stealing out at dusk, and it was supposed that she had managed to pick up food for herself and her husband.

Meantime it was known that young Martin had been aboard theResistancefrigate, which had gone away out to the East Indies. At last news came home that theResistancehad been blown up far away from any help in the Indian seas, and that every soul on board had perished or been killed by savages when they got on shore.

Mr Ralph tried to keep what had happened from the ears of his sister, but she was always making inquiries about the ships on foreign stations. At last one day she heard what it would have been better she had never known. We found her in a dead faint. She was brought to, but the colour had left her cheeks and lips, and she never again lifted up her head. Mr Ralph came to see her.

“It was all your doing,” she said to him in a reproachful tone. “He might have been wild, he might have been what you say he was, but he promised me that he would reform and be all I could wish.”

“Of whom do you speak, Ellen,” asked Mr Ralph.

“Of him who now lies dead beneath the waters of the Indian Ocean, of Martin Goul,” she said, and uttered a cry which went to our hearts.

“That scoundrel’s name is unfit to come out of your lips, Ellen,” he answered with an oath. “He met a better fate than he deserved, for he died with honest men. Now put him away from your thoughts altogether, and never defile your lips by speaking of him.”

Poor Miss Ellen made no reply. Nothing would induce her to leave her room. She grew weaker and weaker, and soon was laid beside her mother in the family vault.

A few months afterwards Mr Castleton died, and the place was sold. Mr Ralph, who had become a barrister, went away to live in London and married, and has been there ever since.

The death of his son was known to many others before Lawyer Goul heard of it, for it was no one’s business to tell him, and few would have been willing to do so. At last, one day in an old newspaper which contained an account of the loss of theResistance, his eye fell on the announcement. He let the paper drop, sank back in his chair, and never spoke again. His crazy wife took it up, and she, seeing what had happened to her son, not even stopping to learn whether her husband was dead or not, or trying to assist him, rushed away no one knew where. “Some say,” said Dame Halliburt, as she finished her long story, “that she has long since been dead, and others that she is ‘Mad Sal,’ as the boys call her; but she does not look to me like old Goul’s wife; and I cannot fancy that one brought up as a sort of lady, as she was, could live the life that poor mad woman does, all alone in a wretched hovel by herself among the cliffs, without a neighbour or a soul to help her.”

“Well, it’s a sad story, wife; I wonder you never told it me before.”

“To say the truth, Adam, it’s not a matter I ever liked talking about, and I don’t know scarcely what made me tell it you now. It’s not that I care about Lawyer Goul and his crazy wife and their son; but even now I cannot bear to think of poor Miss Ellen. It was a sad thing that a sweet innocent creature like her should have been cut off in her young days.”

Chapter Eight.Gaffin, the Miller.Adam had just recounted to his wife his interviews with the mayor and lawyer of Morbury, and had listened to her history of Mr Herbert Castleton’s family, and the unhappy fate of his daughter, when a knock was heard at the door. The dame opened it, but drew back on seeing their visitor.“Good-day, neighbour,” said the person who entered, a strongly-built man with a bushy black beard and a sunburnt countenance, the sinister expression of which was ill-calculated to win confidence, and whose semi-nautical costume made it doubtful whether he was a landsman or sailor.“I have come to have a friendly chat with you, if you will give me leave?”Without waiting for a reply, still keeping his hat on, he threw himself into a chair by the fire, glancing round the room as he did so.“What have you got to talk about, Mr Gaffin?” asked Adam, disdaining to give the welcome he could not heartily offer, and instead of sitting down, standing with his hands in his pockets opposite his guest, while the dame continued the work in which she had been engaged.“I hear you boarded a wreck the other morning and rescued a child from it,” observed the visitor.“I did so,” answered Adam, curtly.“What has become of the child, then?” asked Mr Gaffin, looking round the room as if in search of her. The visitor was Miles Gaffin, the miller of Hurlston, as he was generally called.“She has gone out for a walk,” said the dame, coming up near her husband on hearing the subject of the conversation.“You will find the maintenance of a child in addition to your own somewhat burdensome in these hard times,” observed the miller.“We can judge better than our neighbours whether the burden is more than we can bear,” answered the dame; “so you see, Mr Gaffin, that need not make any one uneasy on our account.”“Very likely, my good woman, and all very well at present; but the day will come when she will require schooling and clothing, and I suppose you had not time to bring much property belonging to her on shore, Adam Halliburt?” said Gaffin, in an inquiring tone.“No, Miles Gaffin, I had less time to bring anything away than those who visited the wreck before me,” he answered, fixing his eyes on the visitor, who met his glance unmoved.“What! did any one else get on board the wreck, do you think?”“I am sure of it; and whoever they were, they were heartless villains to leave a little child to perish when they might have saved her.”“Perhaps if people did visit the wreck they were not aware that any human being remained on board,” said Gaffin. “Did you see any of the crew? No one has heard of them, I understand.”“It’s my belief that they attempted to escape in the boats, which were swamped on crossing the sands,” answered Adam. “They deserved their fate, too, if they recollected the poor child and her nurse who were left behind. Though the little dear was saved by their base conduct, as she would have been lost had they taken her, not the less shame to them. However, no one can tell how it happened.”“Of course they attempted to escape in their boats, there is no other way to account for their disappearance,” answered Gaffin; “few craft except such as ours on this coast could live in the sea that was then running, for it was as bad as could well be, as I hear. I myself was away to London on business,” he added, carelessly.Adam kept his eyes on his guest while he was speaking, but the countenance of the latter maintained the same bold, defiant look which it generally wore.As Gaffin made the last remark, Jacob, with his little charge, entered the cottage.Maiden May, on seeing a stranger, kept tight hold of Jacob’s hand, and drew away from the fireplace, where he was seated.“Is that the child we have been speaking of?” asked Gaffin, looking towards her. “She is indeed a little beauty. Well, my friends, I conclude you don’t intend to bring her up as a fisherman’s daughter—pardon me, I don’t mean to say anything disrespectful—even supposing you fail to discover to whom she belongs?”“As to that, Mr Gaffin, God placed her under our charge, and we intend to do our duty by her,” answered Adam, firmly.“Your duty would be to obtain for her every opportunity of retaining the position in which she was born,” said Gaffin. “That’s no common person’s child.”“Maybe she is not; but, as I said before, we will do our best. More than that we cannot do,” answered Adam.“Now, my friend, I have a proposal to make,” said Gaffin, speaking in as frank a tone as he could assume. “She will be a heavy burden to you some time hence, if she is not so at present; my wife and I, as you know, have no daughter, although, like you, we have three sons. We are more independent of the world than you are, as my wife had money; you will understand, though, I do not eat the bread of idleness; and as she would very much like to have a little girl to bring up to be her companion when our boys are away, we are willing to take charge of that child and adopt her, should her friends not be discovered. To show you that I am in earnest, here are five guineas as payment to you for going off and bringing her on shore in the gallant way I understand you did. It’s a trifling reward, I own, but if I have the power I will increase it should you accept my offer.”Adam stood with his hands in his pockets as he had been doing while his visitor was speaking.“Keep your money, Mr Gaffin, for when it may be required,” he answered, quietly. “My lads and I only did our duty, and what any one with the heart of a man would have tried to do. That little maiden has been placed in my charge, and until her rightful friends appear, my wife and I will take care of her without looking for payment or reward. You have our answer, I speak for myself and dame; there is no use wasting more time in talking about the matter.”“Well, well, neighbour, I cannot take your reply as conclusive,” said Gaffin, trying to conceal his annoyance; “just think it over, and you will be doing a great pleasure to my wife and lay us under an obligation if you agree to my proposal.”Adam had given his reply, and was determined to say nothing more. He was anxious, too, to get rid of his guest.Gaffin at length, finding that he could gain nothing by staying, rose to leave the cottage. The dame took up May and retired with her to the farther end of the room, while Adam stood as before with his hand firmly thrust down into his pocket, as if determined not to shake that of his departing guest, while Jacob opened the door as wide as he could. Gaffin, unabashed, nodded to the fisherman and his dame, and with a swagger in his walk to conceal the irritation he felt, left the cottage. Jacob watched him till he had got to some distance.“He has gone,” he exclaimed. “He shall not have our Maiden May if I can prevent him.”“No fear of that, Jacob. He, with his cursing and swearing, and his wild, lawless ways, and his poor heart-broken, down-spirited wife, bring up a little maid in the way she should go! She would be better off with us as long as we had a crust to give her; and take her from us he shall not, whatever reasons he may have for wishing it. So don’t you fear, Jacob, that I will listen to him even if he comes with 50 in his hand, or 500 for that matter. As I said before, if we don’t find fairer friends for her than he and his wife are like to prove, Maiden May shall be our child, bless her.”

Adam had just recounted to his wife his interviews with the mayor and lawyer of Morbury, and had listened to her history of Mr Herbert Castleton’s family, and the unhappy fate of his daughter, when a knock was heard at the door. The dame opened it, but drew back on seeing their visitor.

“Good-day, neighbour,” said the person who entered, a strongly-built man with a bushy black beard and a sunburnt countenance, the sinister expression of which was ill-calculated to win confidence, and whose semi-nautical costume made it doubtful whether he was a landsman or sailor.

“I have come to have a friendly chat with you, if you will give me leave?”

Without waiting for a reply, still keeping his hat on, he threw himself into a chair by the fire, glancing round the room as he did so.

“What have you got to talk about, Mr Gaffin?” asked Adam, disdaining to give the welcome he could not heartily offer, and instead of sitting down, standing with his hands in his pockets opposite his guest, while the dame continued the work in which she had been engaged.

“I hear you boarded a wreck the other morning and rescued a child from it,” observed the visitor.

“I did so,” answered Adam, curtly.

“What has become of the child, then?” asked Mr Gaffin, looking round the room as if in search of her. The visitor was Miles Gaffin, the miller of Hurlston, as he was generally called.

“She has gone out for a walk,” said the dame, coming up near her husband on hearing the subject of the conversation.

“You will find the maintenance of a child in addition to your own somewhat burdensome in these hard times,” observed the miller.

“We can judge better than our neighbours whether the burden is more than we can bear,” answered the dame; “so you see, Mr Gaffin, that need not make any one uneasy on our account.”

“Very likely, my good woman, and all very well at present; but the day will come when she will require schooling and clothing, and I suppose you had not time to bring much property belonging to her on shore, Adam Halliburt?” said Gaffin, in an inquiring tone.

“No, Miles Gaffin, I had less time to bring anything away than those who visited the wreck before me,” he answered, fixing his eyes on the visitor, who met his glance unmoved.

“What! did any one else get on board the wreck, do you think?”

“I am sure of it; and whoever they were, they were heartless villains to leave a little child to perish when they might have saved her.”

“Perhaps if people did visit the wreck they were not aware that any human being remained on board,” said Gaffin. “Did you see any of the crew? No one has heard of them, I understand.”

“It’s my belief that they attempted to escape in the boats, which were swamped on crossing the sands,” answered Adam. “They deserved their fate, too, if they recollected the poor child and her nurse who were left behind. Though the little dear was saved by their base conduct, as she would have been lost had they taken her, not the less shame to them. However, no one can tell how it happened.”

“Of course they attempted to escape in their boats, there is no other way to account for their disappearance,” answered Gaffin; “few craft except such as ours on this coast could live in the sea that was then running, for it was as bad as could well be, as I hear. I myself was away to London on business,” he added, carelessly.

Adam kept his eyes on his guest while he was speaking, but the countenance of the latter maintained the same bold, defiant look which it generally wore.

As Gaffin made the last remark, Jacob, with his little charge, entered the cottage.

Maiden May, on seeing a stranger, kept tight hold of Jacob’s hand, and drew away from the fireplace, where he was seated.

“Is that the child we have been speaking of?” asked Gaffin, looking towards her. “She is indeed a little beauty. Well, my friends, I conclude you don’t intend to bring her up as a fisherman’s daughter—pardon me, I don’t mean to say anything disrespectful—even supposing you fail to discover to whom she belongs?”

“As to that, Mr Gaffin, God placed her under our charge, and we intend to do our duty by her,” answered Adam, firmly.

“Your duty would be to obtain for her every opportunity of retaining the position in which she was born,” said Gaffin. “That’s no common person’s child.”

“Maybe she is not; but, as I said before, we will do our best. More than that we cannot do,” answered Adam.

“Now, my friend, I have a proposal to make,” said Gaffin, speaking in as frank a tone as he could assume. “She will be a heavy burden to you some time hence, if she is not so at present; my wife and I, as you know, have no daughter, although, like you, we have three sons. We are more independent of the world than you are, as my wife had money; you will understand, though, I do not eat the bread of idleness; and as she would very much like to have a little girl to bring up to be her companion when our boys are away, we are willing to take charge of that child and adopt her, should her friends not be discovered. To show you that I am in earnest, here are five guineas as payment to you for going off and bringing her on shore in the gallant way I understand you did. It’s a trifling reward, I own, but if I have the power I will increase it should you accept my offer.”

Adam stood with his hands in his pockets as he had been doing while his visitor was speaking.

“Keep your money, Mr Gaffin, for when it may be required,” he answered, quietly. “My lads and I only did our duty, and what any one with the heart of a man would have tried to do. That little maiden has been placed in my charge, and until her rightful friends appear, my wife and I will take care of her without looking for payment or reward. You have our answer, I speak for myself and dame; there is no use wasting more time in talking about the matter.”

“Well, well, neighbour, I cannot take your reply as conclusive,” said Gaffin, trying to conceal his annoyance; “just think it over, and you will be doing a great pleasure to my wife and lay us under an obligation if you agree to my proposal.”

Adam had given his reply, and was determined to say nothing more. He was anxious, too, to get rid of his guest.

Gaffin at length, finding that he could gain nothing by staying, rose to leave the cottage. The dame took up May and retired with her to the farther end of the room, while Adam stood as before with his hand firmly thrust down into his pocket, as if determined not to shake that of his departing guest, while Jacob opened the door as wide as he could. Gaffin, unabashed, nodded to the fisherman and his dame, and with a swagger in his walk to conceal the irritation he felt, left the cottage. Jacob watched him till he had got to some distance.

“He has gone,” he exclaimed. “He shall not have our Maiden May if I can prevent him.”

“No fear of that, Jacob. He, with his cursing and swearing, and his wild, lawless ways, and his poor heart-broken, down-spirited wife, bring up a little maid in the way she should go! She would be better off with us as long as we had a crust to give her; and take her from us he shall not, whatever reasons he may have for wishing it. So don’t you fear, Jacob, that I will listen to him even if he comes with 50 in his hand, or 500 for that matter. As I said before, if we don’t find fairer friends for her than he and his wife are like to prove, Maiden May shall be our child, bless her.”

Chapter Nine.A Sail in the Nancy.Captain Fancourt took his departure from Portsmouth to commission theTriton, promising to send for Harry as soon as the frigate was sufficiently advanced to give a midshipman anything to do on board.“I will ride by a single anchor, so as to be ready to slip at a moment’s notice,” answered Harry.Harry recollected his engagement to take a cruise in Adam Halliburt’s boat.“Come, Algernon,” he said to his elder brother, a tall, slight youth, three or four years his senior, with remarkably refined manners, “you would enjoy a trip to sea for a few hours in theNancy. It would give you something to talk about when you go to college, and you have never been on salt water in your life.”“Thank you,” said Algernon. “I do not wish to gain my first experience of sea life in a fishing boat.”“I want to see how these fishermen live, and I should have been glad of your company,” answered Harry; “but perhaps you would find it rather too rough a life for your taste, so I will go alone, and to-morrow when I return I will ride with you wherever you like.”Harry, after luncheon, set off on his pony to Hurlston, while Algernon accompanied his mother and the two Miss Pembertons in the carriage to the same village, where they wished to look at a cottage which Sir Reginald had told them was to be let, and which they had proposed, should it suit them, to take. They were much pleased with its appearance. It stood on the higher ground above the village, surrounded by shrubberies, in an opening through which a view of the sea was obtained. On one side was a pretty flower-garden, and as Miss Pemberton led her sister through the rooms and about the grounds describing the place, they agreed that had it been built for them they could not have been more thoroughly satisfied. Mr Groocock therefore received directions to secure Downside Cottage, and they determined to occupy it as soon as it could be got ready for them.Sir Reginald, on hearing of the decision of the Miss Pembertons, invited them to remain in the meantime at Texford, where he hoped, even after they were settled, they would become constant visitors.“I am getting an old man now, and as I cannot hunt or attend to my magisterial duties, I am grateful to friends who will come and see me, and you have only to send over a note and my carriage will be at your disposal.”Miss Pemberton assured Sir Reginald that one of their chief inducements in taking the cottage was to be near a kinsman whom they so greatly esteemed.Mrs Castleton the next morning had become anxious at the non-appearance of Harry. She had not heard of his intention of remaining out during the night till Algernon told her. He agreed to ride down to Hurlston to ascertain if the boat had returned, and as the Miss Pembertons wished to pay another visit to the cottage, the carriage was ordered and Mrs Castleton accompanied them.The weather, as it frequently does in our variable English climate, had suddenly changed by the morning, and although it had been calm during the night, by the time the ladies reached Hurlston a strong east wind sent the surf rolling up on the beach in a way which to the ladies, unaccustomed to the sea-side, appeared very terrible. Algernon, who was on horseback, met them.“The boat Harry went out in has not come back,” he observed; “but as the fishing-boats generally return about this hour, she will probably soon be in.”Mrs Castleton, her anxiety increased by the appearance of the weather, begged her companions to wait.“Is that the boat?” she asked, pointing to a sail approaching the shore.“I think not—that seems a large vessel,” answered Algernon, and he rode towards the pier, where a number of people were collected, while others were coming from various directions. There seemed some excitement among them. They were watching the ship observed by Mrs Castleton, which, in the distance, had to her appeared so small, though in reality a large brig.“She brought up an hour ago in the roads, but only just now made sail again,” was the answer to Algernon’s question. “As she is standing for the mouth of the river she is probably leaky, and her crew are afraid of not keeping her afloat in the heavy sea now running.”Algernon watched the brig, which, under a press of canvas, came tearing along towards the mouth of the harbour; and as she drew nearer the jets of water issuing from her scuppers showed that his informant was correct in his opinion. She laboured heavily, and it seemed doubtful whether she could be kept afloat long enough to run up the harbour.The larger fishing-boats were away, but two or three smaller ones were got ready to go out to her assistance, though with the sea then rolling in there would be considerable danger in doing so.At length the brig drew near enough to allow the people on board to be easily distinguished. The master stood conning the vessel—the crew were at their stations. So narrow was the entrance that the greatest care and skill were required to hit it. Algernon heard great doubts expressed among the spectators as to the stranger being able to get in.In a few seconds more, a sea bearing her on, she seemed about to rush into the harbour, when a crash was heard, the water washed over her deck, both the masts fell, and her hull, swinging round, blocked up the entrance. The men on shore rushed to their boats to render assistance to the unfortunate crew, but as the foaming seas washed them off the deck, the current which ran out of the river swept them away, and though so close to land, in sight of their fellow-creatures, not one of the hapless men was rescued.Algernon could not repress a cry of horror.“Oh, what will become of Harry?” exclaimed Mrs Castleton, when she saw what had occurred.“I trust he is safe with an experienced fisherman like old Halliburt,” answered Algernon. “I wish, mother, you would return home. I will bring you word as soon as he comes back.”Mrs Castleton, however, could not be persuaded to leave the shore.At length several tiny sails were seen in the distance, and were pronounced by the people on the pier to be the returning fishing-boats. Some were seen standing away to the north to land apparently in that direction, while three steered for Hurlston.In consequence of the mouth of the river being blocked up, Algernon found that the boats would have to run on the beach, all of them being built of a form to do this, although those belonging to Hurlston could usually take shelter in their harbour.As the boats drew near, signals were made to warn them of what had occurred. The people in the leading boat, either not understanding the signal or fancying that there would be still room to get up the harbour, kept on, and only when close to it perceived what had occurred. On this the boat hauled her wind and attempted to stand off, so as to take the beach in the proper fashion, but a sea caught her and drove her bodily on the sands, rolling her over and sending the people struggling in the surf.The men on shore rushed forward to help their friends.Mrs Castleton shrieked out with terror, supposing that Harry was in the boat.Algernon, who was not destitute of courage, rode his horse into the surf and succeeded in dragging out a man who was on the point of being carried off. Again he went in and saved another in the same way, looking anxiously round for Harry. He was nowhere to be seen, and to his relief he found that theNancywas one of the sternmost boats. Two poor fellows in the boat were carried away, notwithstanding all the efforts made to secure them. Much of the boat’s gear was lost, and she herself was greatly damaged.“Which is theNancy?” inquired Algernon, round whom several people were collected, eager to thank him for the courage he had just displayed.She was pointed out to him. On she came under a close-reefed sail.Adam, probably suspecting that something was wrong by having seen the boat haul up to get off the shore, was on the look-out for signals.The second boat came on shore, narrowly escaping the fate of the first. Still theNancywas to come. She was seen labouring on amid the foaming seas. Now she sank into the trough of a huge wave, which rose up astern and robed in with foam-covered crest, curling over as if about to overwhelm her. Another blast filled her sails, and just escaping the huge billow which came roaring astern, the next moment, surrounded by a mass of hissing waters, she was carried high up on the beach. Most of her active crew instantly leaped out, and joined by their friends on shore, began hauling her up the beach, when another sea rolling in nearly carried them off their legs. Harry, however, who had remained in the stern of the boat with Halliburt, leaped on shore at the moment the waters receded and escaped with a slight wetting.As they made their way up the beach, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl ran out from among the crowd and threw herself, regardless of Adam’s dripping garments, into his arms.“Maidy May so glad you safe,” she exclaimed, as the fisherman bestowed a kiss on her brow. “We afraid the cruel sea take you away.”“There was no great danger of that, my little maiden,” answered Adam, putting her down. She then ran towards Jacob and bestowed the same affectionate greeting on him. Holding his hands, she tried to draw him away from the surf, as if afraid that, disappointed of its prey, it might still carry him off.Harry remarked the reception the fisherman and his son met with from the interesting-looking child, and he never forgot those bright blue eyes and the animated expression of that lovely countenance.Summoned by his brother, he now hastened to assure his mother of his safety.“My dear boy, we have been very anxious about you,” exclaimed Mrs Castleton, as he came up; “and I do hope that you will not go off again in one of those horrible little fishing-boats; you run dangers enough when on board ship in your professional duty without exposing yourself to unnecessary risk.”“I assure you I have been in no danger whatever, except, perhaps, when the boat was running in for the beach,” answered Harry, laughing. “When we went off we did not expect to have to do that, and I am very sorry that you should have been anxious about me. However, I promise to remain quietly on shore till I am summoned to join my ship, and as I am somewhat damp, I will get my pony, which I left at the Castleton Arms in the village, and ride home with Algernon.” The ladies accordingly, re-entering the carriage, drove towards Texford, and Harry and his brother followed soon afterwards.

Captain Fancourt took his departure from Portsmouth to commission theTriton, promising to send for Harry as soon as the frigate was sufficiently advanced to give a midshipman anything to do on board.

“I will ride by a single anchor, so as to be ready to slip at a moment’s notice,” answered Harry.

Harry recollected his engagement to take a cruise in Adam Halliburt’s boat.

“Come, Algernon,” he said to his elder brother, a tall, slight youth, three or four years his senior, with remarkably refined manners, “you would enjoy a trip to sea for a few hours in theNancy. It would give you something to talk about when you go to college, and you have never been on salt water in your life.”

“Thank you,” said Algernon. “I do not wish to gain my first experience of sea life in a fishing boat.”

“I want to see how these fishermen live, and I should have been glad of your company,” answered Harry; “but perhaps you would find it rather too rough a life for your taste, so I will go alone, and to-morrow when I return I will ride with you wherever you like.”

Harry, after luncheon, set off on his pony to Hurlston, while Algernon accompanied his mother and the two Miss Pembertons in the carriage to the same village, where they wished to look at a cottage which Sir Reginald had told them was to be let, and which they had proposed, should it suit them, to take. They were much pleased with its appearance. It stood on the higher ground above the village, surrounded by shrubberies, in an opening through which a view of the sea was obtained. On one side was a pretty flower-garden, and as Miss Pemberton led her sister through the rooms and about the grounds describing the place, they agreed that had it been built for them they could not have been more thoroughly satisfied. Mr Groocock therefore received directions to secure Downside Cottage, and they determined to occupy it as soon as it could be got ready for them.

Sir Reginald, on hearing of the decision of the Miss Pembertons, invited them to remain in the meantime at Texford, where he hoped, even after they were settled, they would become constant visitors.

“I am getting an old man now, and as I cannot hunt or attend to my magisterial duties, I am grateful to friends who will come and see me, and you have only to send over a note and my carriage will be at your disposal.”

Miss Pemberton assured Sir Reginald that one of their chief inducements in taking the cottage was to be near a kinsman whom they so greatly esteemed.

Mrs Castleton the next morning had become anxious at the non-appearance of Harry. She had not heard of his intention of remaining out during the night till Algernon told her. He agreed to ride down to Hurlston to ascertain if the boat had returned, and as the Miss Pembertons wished to pay another visit to the cottage, the carriage was ordered and Mrs Castleton accompanied them.

The weather, as it frequently does in our variable English climate, had suddenly changed by the morning, and although it had been calm during the night, by the time the ladies reached Hurlston a strong east wind sent the surf rolling up on the beach in a way which to the ladies, unaccustomed to the sea-side, appeared very terrible. Algernon, who was on horseback, met them.

“The boat Harry went out in has not come back,” he observed; “but as the fishing-boats generally return about this hour, she will probably soon be in.”

Mrs Castleton, her anxiety increased by the appearance of the weather, begged her companions to wait.

“Is that the boat?” she asked, pointing to a sail approaching the shore.

“I think not—that seems a large vessel,” answered Algernon, and he rode towards the pier, where a number of people were collected, while others were coming from various directions. There seemed some excitement among them. They were watching the ship observed by Mrs Castleton, which, in the distance, had to her appeared so small, though in reality a large brig.

“She brought up an hour ago in the roads, but only just now made sail again,” was the answer to Algernon’s question. “As she is standing for the mouth of the river she is probably leaky, and her crew are afraid of not keeping her afloat in the heavy sea now running.”

Algernon watched the brig, which, under a press of canvas, came tearing along towards the mouth of the harbour; and as she drew nearer the jets of water issuing from her scuppers showed that his informant was correct in his opinion. She laboured heavily, and it seemed doubtful whether she could be kept afloat long enough to run up the harbour.

The larger fishing-boats were away, but two or three smaller ones were got ready to go out to her assistance, though with the sea then rolling in there would be considerable danger in doing so.

At length the brig drew near enough to allow the people on board to be easily distinguished. The master stood conning the vessel—the crew were at their stations. So narrow was the entrance that the greatest care and skill were required to hit it. Algernon heard great doubts expressed among the spectators as to the stranger being able to get in.

In a few seconds more, a sea bearing her on, she seemed about to rush into the harbour, when a crash was heard, the water washed over her deck, both the masts fell, and her hull, swinging round, blocked up the entrance. The men on shore rushed to their boats to render assistance to the unfortunate crew, but as the foaming seas washed them off the deck, the current which ran out of the river swept them away, and though so close to land, in sight of their fellow-creatures, not one of the hapless men was rescued.

Algernon could not repress a cry of horror.

“Oh, what will become of Harry?” exclaimed Mrs Castleton, when she saw what had occurred.

“I trust he is safe with an experienced fisherman like old Halliburt,” answered Algernon. “I wish, mother, you would return home. I will bring you word as soon as he comes back.”

Mrs Castleton, however, could not be persuaded to leave the shore.

At length several tiny sails were seen in the distance, and were pronounced by the people on the pier to be the returning fishing-boats. Some were seen standing away to the north to land apparently in that direction, while three steered for Hurlston.

In consequence of the mouth of the river being blocked up, Algernon found that the boats would have to run on the beach, all of them being built of a form to do this, although those belonging to Hurlston could usually take shelter in their harbour.

As the boats drew near, signals were made to warn them of what had occurred. The people in the leading boat, either not understanding the signal or fancying that there would be still room to get up the harbour, kept on, and only when close to it perceived what had occurred. On this the boat hauled her wind and attempted to stand off, so as to take the beach in the proper fashion, but a sea caught her and drove her bodily on the sands, rolling her over and sending the people struggling in the surf.

The men on shore rushed forward to help their friends.

Mrs Castleton shrieked out with terror, supposing that Harry was in the boat.

Algernon, who was not destitute of courage, rode his horse into the surf and succeeded in dragging out a man who was on the point of being carried off. Again he went in and saved another in the same way, looking anxiously round for Harry. He was nowhere to be seen, and to his relief he found that theNancywas one of the sternmost boats. Two poor fellows in the boat were carried away, notwithstanding all the efforts made to secure them. Much of the boat’s gear was lost, and she herself was greatly damaged.

“Which is theNancy?” inquired Algernon, round whom several people were collected, eager to thank him for the courage he had just displayed.

She was pointed out to him. On she came under a close-reefed sail.

Adam, probably suspecting that something was wrong by having seen the boat haul up to get off the shore, was on the look-out for signals.

The second boat came on shore, narrowly escaping the fate of the first. Still theNancywas to come. She was seen labouring on amid the foaming seas. Now she sank into the trough of a huge wave, which rose up astern and robed in with foam-covered crest, curling over as if about to overwhelm her. Another blast filled her sails, and just escaping the huge billow which came roaring astern, the next moment, surrounded by a mass of hissing waters, she was carried high up on the beach. Most of her active crew instantly leaped out, and joined by their friends on shore, began hauling her up the beach, when another sea rolling in nearly carried them off their legs. Harry, however, who had remained in the stern of the boat with Halliburt, leaped on shore at the moment the waters receded and escaped with a slight wetting.

As they made their way up the beach, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl ran out from among the crowd and threw herself, regardless of Adam’s dripping garments, into his arms.

“Maidy May so glad you safe,” she exclaimed, as the fisherman bestowed a kiss on her brow. “We afraid the cruel sea take you away.”

“There was no great danger of that, my little maiden,” answered Adam, putting her down. She then ran towards Jacob and bestowed the same affectionate greeting on him. Holding his hands, she tried to draw him away from the surf, as if afraid that, disappointed of its prey, it might still carry him off.

Harry remarked the reception the fisherman and his son met with from the interesting-looking child, and he never forgot those bright blue eyes and the animated expression of that lovely countenance.

Summoned by his brother, he now hastened to assure his mother of his safety.

“My dear boy, we have been very anxious about you,” exclaimed Mrs Castleton, as he came up; “and I do hope that you will not go off again in one of those horrible little fishing-boats; you run dangers enough when on board ship in your professional duty without exposing yourself to unnecessary risk.”

“I assure you I have been in no danger whatever, except, perhaps, when the boat was running in for the beach,” answered Harry, laughing. “When we went off we did not expect to have to do that, and I am very sorry that you should have been anxious about me. However, I promise to remain quietly on shore till I am summoned to join my ship, and as I am somewhat damp, I will get my pony, which I left at the Castleton Arms in the village, and ride home with Algernon.” The ladies accordingly, re-entering the carriage, drove towards Texford, and Harry and his brother followed soon afterwards.

Chapter Ten.May’s New Friends.Harry refrained from making another trip in theNancy, though he told Adam Halliburt that he had hoped to do so. He seldom, however, caught sight of the blue sea in his rides without wishing to be upon it.One day he and Algernon, on a ride over the downs, passed near the old mill. Miles Gaffin was standing at the door, while behind him, tugging at a sack, was his man, whose countenance appeared to Harry, as he caught sight of it for a moment, one of the most surly and ill-favoured he had ever set eyes on. “No wonder the farmers prefer sending their corn to a distance to having it ground by such a couple,” he thought. The miller took off his hat as he saw the lads. Algernon scarcely noticed the salute.“I am sorry, young gentlemen, not to have had the pleasure of giving you a trip in my lugger,” said the miller, in a frank, off-hand tone. “If, however, you and your brother are disposed to come, we will run down the coast to Harwich, or to any other place you would like to visit, and I will guarantee not to get you into such a mess as old Halliburt did, I understand, the other day.”“Thank you,” said Harry, “my brother has no fancy for the salt water, and as I shall be off again to sea shortly, I cannot avail myself of your offer.”“Did any one advise you not to go on board my craft?” asked Gaffin, suddenly.Harry hesitated.“Adam Halliburt offered to take me a trip, and as Mr Groocock thought I should prefer theNancyto any other craft, I arranged to go with him,” he said at length.“Ah, I guessed how it was. My neighbours are apt to say unpleasant things about me. Mr Groocock told you I was not a man to be trusted, didn’t he?”“My brother has said that he preferred the fisherman’s boat,” said Algernon, coming to Harry’s assistance, “and I consider that you have no right to ask further why he declined your offer. Good-day to you, sir; come along, Harry,” and Algernon rode on.“Proud young cock, he crows as loudly as his father was wont to do,” muttered the miller, casting an angry glance at the young gentlemen; “I shall have my revenge some day.”“I do not like the look of that fellow,” observed Algernon, when they had got out of earshot of the mill. “I am glad you did not go on board his vessel.”“He seems rather free and easy in his manners, and his tone wasn’t quite respectful, but I suppose his pride was hurt because I chose another man’s boat instead of his,” answered Harry.“You did not observe the scowl on his countenance when he spoke,” said Algernon.Algernon evidently possessed the valuable gift of discernment of character which some can alone gain by long experience.The family party were separating one morning after breakfast, when, the front door standing open on that warm summer day, Harry, as he passed through the hall, caught sight of Dame Halliburt approaching with her basket of fish, accompanied by the blue-eyed little girl he had seen when landing from theNancy.“Come here, Julia,” he exclaimed. “Does not that sturdy fishwife with her little daughter trotting along by her side present a pretty picture? I wish an artist were here to take them as we see them now.”“Yes, Gainsborough would do them justice. He delights in rustic figures, though the child should have bare feet, and I see she has shoes and stockings on,” answered Julia.“The little girl would, at all events, make a sweet picture in her red cloak and hat,” observed Miss Pemberton, who with her sister as they crossed the hall had heard Harry’s exclamation, and had come to the door; and she described her to Miss Mary.“I should like to speak to her. I can always best judge of people when I hear their voices,” observed Miss Mary.Harry proposed asking Dame Halliburt and the little girl to come up to the porch, but they had by this time passed on towards the back entrance.“The dame is probably in a hurry to sell her fish and to go on her way,” observed Miss Pemberton. “We will talk to her another time.”“Come, Harry, madame is ready to give you your French lesson,” said Julia, and they went into the house.Before luncheon Madame De La Motte proposed taking a walk.“And we will talk French as we proceed. You shall learn as much as you will from your books,” she said, inviting Harry to accompany her and her pupil. Harry gallantly expressed his pleasure, and they set out to take a ramble through the fields in the direction of Hurlston.They had got to some distance, and were about to turn back, when they saw in the field beyond them the same little girl in the red cloak who had come with Dame Halliburt to the house.Two paths branched off at the spot she had just reached. She stood uncertain apparently which to take, when, at that instant, a bull feeding in the field, irritated by the sight of her red cloak, began to paw the ground and lower his head as if about to make a rush at her. The child becoming alarmed uttered a cry, and ran in the direction of the gate near which they were standing. Harry leaped over the gate and hurried to her rescue. Seeing him coming she darted towards him.“Throw off your cloak,” he shouted.She was too much frightened to follow his advice. The bull was close upon them when Harry reached her, and in an instant tearing off her cloak he threw it at the bull, and lifting her in his arms darted on one side, while the savage animal rushed over the spot where the moment before they had stood, and catching the cloak on its horns threw it over its head, and then stopping in its course looked round in search of the object at which it was aiming. Seeing Harry running off with the little girl, it again rushed at them. He had just time to lift her over the gate, and to spring after her, when the creature came full tilt against it.The courage of Madame De La Motte and Julia had given way as they saw the bull coming, and believing that the gate would be broken down, they had run for safety to a high bank with a hedge above it a little on one side of the field.“You are quite safe now, little girl,” said Harry, trying to reassure the child. “See, though the bull knocked his horns against the gate, he could not throw it down, and is going off discomforted. Come, Julia, and help her,” he shouted; “she has been dreadfully frightened, and not without cause.”Julia and her governess, feeling a little ashamed of themselves, descended from their safe position.“I hope you are not hurt; but how came you to be in the field by yourself?” asked Julia, addressing the little girl.“Mother told me to take the path across the fields while she went round by the road to call at some houses,” she answered.“To whom do you belong, and what is your name?” asked madame, looking admiringly at the child’s delicate and pretty features.“I belong to Adam Halliburt, and he calls me his Maiden May,” answered the child.“Maiden May! that is a very pretty name,” observed Madame. “But you are very young to go so far alone.”“We must not let you go alone,” said Harry; “I will take care of you till you meet your mother, but I will first get your cloak. I see the bull has left it on the grass, and I hope has not injured it.”“Take care, Harry,” exclaimed Julia, “the bull might run at you if he sees you in the field.”“I do not mind running away from him, and I suspect I can run the fastest,” answered Harry, laughing, as he leapt over the gate.Julia and Madame De La Motte watched him anxiously, not more so, however, than did Maiden May.“Oh, I hope he will not be hurt, I would much rather lose my cloak,” she said, following him with her eyes.The bull having gone to a distance, Harry was able to reach the little girl’s cloak, and by keeping it in front of him the animal did not catch sight of it, and he soon returned with his prize.“If you will come to the hall we will send one of the servants with you,” said Julia.“No, no,” said Harry, “you go back, as you must be in at luncheon, and I will take care of the little girl.”“Thank you, thank you,” repeated Maiden May, “but I am not afraid.”Harry, however, with true chivalry, though the object of his attention was but a little fisher-girl, insisted on escorting her, and at length induced his sister and her governess to return, promising to hurry back as soon as he had placed the child under Dame Halliburt’s care.They soon found the style which led into the path May should have followed. She took Harry’s hand without hesitation, and as she ran along by his side, prattled with a freedom which perfect confidence could alone have given her. She talked of the time he had been off in theNancy, and how anxious she had felt lest any harm should befall the boat.“And you are very fond of the sea?” she said, looking up in his face.“Yes; I am a sailor, and it is my duty to go to sea, and I love it for itself,” said Harry; “I hope as you live close to it that you love it too.”“Oh no, no, no,” answered May; “I do not love it, for it’s so cruel, it drowns so many people. I can’t love what is cruel.”“It could not be cruel to you, I am sure,” said Harry. “Does your father ever take you in his boat?”“Yes, I have been in the boat, I know, but it was a long, long time ago, and I have been on the sea far, far away.”She stopped as if she had too indistinct a recollection of the events that had occurred to describe them.Harry was puzzled to understand to what she alluded, and naturally fancied that she spoke of some trip her father had taken her on board his boat, not doubting, of course, that she was the fisherman’s daughter.In a short time they caught sight of Dame Halliburt, when Harry, delivering Maiden May to her care, without waiting to receive her thanks hurried homewards as he had promised.

Harry refrained from making another trip in theNancy, though he told Adam Halliburt that he had hoped to do so. He seldom, however, caught sight of the blue sea in his rides without wishing to be upon it.

One day he and Algernon, on a ride over the downs, passed near the old mill. Miles Gaffin was standing at the door, while behind him, tugging at a sack, was his man, whose countenance appeared to Harry, as he caught sight of it for a moment, one of the most surly and ill-favoured he had ever set eyes on. “No wonder the farmers prefer sending their corn to a distance to having it ground by such a couple,” he thought. The miller took off his hat as he saw the lads. Algernon scarcely noticed the salute.

“I am sorry, young gentlemen, not to have had the pleasure of giving you a trip in my lugger,” said the miller, in a frank, off-hand tone. “If, however, you and your brother are disposed to come, we will run down the coast to Harwich, or to any other place you would like to visit, and I will guarantee not to get you into such a mess as old Halliburt did, I understand, the other day.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, “my brother has no fancy for the salt water, and as I shall be off again to sea shortly, I cannot avail myself of your offer.”

“Did any one advise you not to go on board my craft?” asked Gaffin, suddenly.

Harry hesitated.

“Adam Halliburt offered to take me a trip, and as Mr Groocock thought I should prefer theNancyto any other craft, I arranged to go with him,” he said at length.

“Ah, I guessed how it was. My neighbours are apt to say unpleasant things about me. Mr Groocock told you I was not a man to be trusted, didn’t he?”

“My brother has said that he preferred the fisherman’s boat,” said Algernon, coming to Harry’s assistance, “and I consider that you have no right to ask further why he declined your offer. Good-day to you, sir; come along, Harry,” and Algernon rode on.

“Proud young cock, he crows as loudly as his father was wont to do,” muttered the miller, casting an angry glance at the young gentlemen; “I shall have my revenge some day.”

“I do not like the look of that fellow,” observed Algernon, when they had got out of earshot of the mill. “I am glad you did not go on board his vessel.”

“He seems rather free and easy in his manners, and his tone wasn’t quite respectful, but I suppose his pride was hurt because I chose another man’s boat instead of his,” answered Harry.

“You did not observe the scowl on his countenance when he spoke,” said Algernon.

Algernon evidently possessed the valuable gift of discernment of character which some can alone gain by long experience.

The family party were separating one morning after breakfast, when, the front door standing open on that warm summer day, Harry, as he passed through the hall, caught sight of Dame Halliburt approaching with her basket of fish, accompanied by the blue-eyed little girl he had seen when landing from theNancy.

“Come here, Julia,” he exclaimed. “Does not that sturdy fishwife with her little daughter trotting along by her side present a pretty picture? I wish an artist were here to take them as we see them now.”

“Yes, Gainsborough would do them justice. He delights in rustic figures, though the child should have bare feet, and I see she has shoes and stockings on,” answered Julia.

“The little girl would, at all events, make a sweet picture in her red cloak and hat,” observed Miss Pemberton, who with her sister as they crossed the hall had heard Harry’s exclamation, and had come to the door; and she described her to Miss Mary.

“I should like to speak to her. I can always best judge of people when I hear their voices,” observed Miss Mary.

Harry proposed asking Dame Halliburt and the little girl to come up to the porch, but they had by this time passed on towards the back entrance.

“The dame is probably in a hurry to sell her fish and to go on her way,” observed Miss Pemberton. “We will talk to her another time.”

“Come, Harry, madame is ready to give you your French lesson,” said Julia, and they went into the house.

Before luncheon Madame De La Motte proposed taking a walk.

“And we will talk French as we proceed. You shall learn as much as you will from your books,” she said, inviting Harry to accompany her and her pupil. Harry gallantly expressed his pleasure, and they set out to take a ramble through the fields in the direction of Hurlston.

They had got to some distance, and were about to turn back, when they saw in the field beyond them the same little girl in the red cloak who had come with Dame Halliburt to the house.

Two paths branched off at the spot she had just reached. She stood uncertain apparently which to take, when, at that instant, a bull feeding in the field, irritated by the sight of her red cloak, began to paw the ground and lower his head as if about to make a rush at her. The child becoming alarmed uttered a cry, and ran in the direction of the gate near which they were standing. Harry leaped over the gate and hurried to her rescue. Seeing him coming she darted towards him.

“Throw off your cloak,” he shouted.

She was too much frightened to follow his advice. The bull was close upon them when Harry reached her, and in an instant tearing off her cloak he threw it at the bull, and lifting her in his arms darted on one side, while the savage animal rushed over the spot where the moment before they had stood, and catching the cloak on its horns threw it over its head, and then stopping in its course looked round in search of the object at which it was aiming. Seeing Harry running off with the little girl, it again rushed at them. He had just time to lift her over the gate, and to spring after her, when the creature came full tilt against it.

The courage of Madame De La Motte and Julia had given way as they saw the bull coming, and believing that the gate would be broken down, they had run for safety to a high bank with a hedge above it a little on one side of the field.

“You are quite safe now, little girl,” said Harry, trying to reassure the child. “See, though the bull knocked his horns against the gate, he could not throw it down, and is going off discomforted. Come, Julia, and help her,” he shouted; “she has been dreadfully frightened, and not without cause.”

Julia and her governess, feeling a little ashamed of themselves, descended from their safe position.

“I hope you are not hurt; but how came you to be in the field by yourself?” asked Julia, addressing the little girl.

“Mother told me to take the path across the fields while she went round by the road to call at some houses,” she answered.

“To whom do you belong, and what is your name?” asked madame, looking admiringly at the child’s delicate and pretty features.

“I belong to Adam Halliburt, and he calls me his Maiden May,” answered the child.

“Maiden May! that is a very pretty name,” observed Madame. “But you are very young to go so far alone.”

“We must not let you go alone,” said Harry; “I will take care of you till you meet your mother, but I will first get your cloak. I see the bull has left it on the grass, and I hope has not injured it.”

“Take care, Harry,” exclaimed Julia, “the bull might run at you if he sees you in the field.”

“I do not mind running away from him, and I suspect I can run the fastest,” answered Harry, laughing, as he leapt over the gate.

Julia and Madame De La Motte watched him anxiously, not more so, however, than did Maiden May.

“Oh, I hope he will not be hurt, I would much rather lose my cloak,” she said, following him with her eyes.

The bull having gone to a distance, Harry was able to reach the little girl’s cloak, and by keeping it in front of him the animal did not catch sight of it, and he soon returned with his prize.

“If you will come to the hall we will send one of the servants with you,” said Julia.

“No, no,” said Harry, “you go back, as you must be in at luncheon, and I will take care of the little girl.”

“Thank you, thank you,” repeated Maiden May, “but I am not afraid.”

Harry, however, with true chivalry, though the object of his attention was but a little fisher-girl, insisted on escorting her, and at length induced his sister and her governess to return, promising to hurry back as soon as he had placed the child under Dame Halliburt’s care.

They soon found the style which led into the path May should have followed. She took Harry’s hand without hesitation, and as she ran along by his side, prattled with a freedom which perfect confidence could alone have given her. She talked of the time he had been off in theNancy, and how anxious she had felt lest any harm should befall the boat.

“And you are very fond of the sea?” she said, looking up in his face.

“Yes; I am a sailor, and it is my duty to go to sea, and I love it for itself,” said Harry; “I hope as you live close to it that you love it too.”

“Oh no, no, no,” answered May; “I do not love it, for it’s so cruel, it drowns so many people. I can’t love what is cruel.”

“It could not be cruel to you, I am sure,” said Harry. “Does your father ever take you in his boat?”

“Yes, I have been in the boat, I know, but it was a long, long time ago, and I have been on the sea far, far away.”

She stopped as if she had too indistinct a recollection of the events that had occurred to describe them.

Harry was puzzled to understand to what she alluded, and naturally fancied that she spoke of some trip her father had taken her on board his boat, not doubting, of course, that she was the fisherman’s daughter.

In a short time they caught sight of Dame Halliburt, when Harry, delivering Maiden May to her care, without waiting to receive her thanks hurried homewards as he had promised.

Back to IndexNext