Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.Home, with Promotion.As Harry and his friend reached the deck they caught sight of a strange frigate standing towards theTriton, which was, as has already been said, off the port of Carthagena, and as they looked towards the land they observed a small vessel under all sail running in for it. That the stranger was an enemy there was no doubt, and as she was evidently as heavy a frigate as the Triton, there appeared, even should she be captured, with the Spanish squadron close at hand, little prospect of her being brought off. There was indeed a great chance that theTritonherself would not escape should she be crippled.“The odds are against us,” observed the captain to his first lieutenant. “We must not, however, show our heels to a single frigate, and will do our best to take her before the enemy can come out to her rescue.”“Ay, ay, sir; take her we shall, and I hope get off with her too,” was the answer.The crew were at their quarters, stripped to the waist, waiting eagerly to begin the action. The second lieutenant being left on shore and the third being ill, Headland and Harry were doing duty in their places, though the third lieutenant came on deck when he heard of the pending action.The stranger, which hoisted Spanish colours, and was seen to be of 34 guns, two more than theTriton, approaching within hail then hauled to the wind, on theTriton’sweather beam.“Give her a shot!” cried the captain, “to prove her.”Scarcely had the flash been seen than a whole broadside fired by the enemy came rattling on board theTriton. It was returned by the British crew. Broadside after broadside was given and received. In vain Captain Fancourt endeavoured to haul either ahead or astern of the enemy to rake her. She kept her advantageous position, and the Spaniards, whatever may sometimes be said of them, fought their ship gallantly. The action continued to be a regular broadside to broadside one. The boatswain was seen examining the masts with anxious looks. They and the bowsprit had been wounded pretty severely, while the rigging hung in festoons, and her sails were shot through and torn. Still the British seamen fought their guns as energetically as at first.“Keep it up, my lads!” cried Headland, as he with Harry and other officers moved from gun to gun. “We have given her as much as we have received, and something more into the bargain.”As far as the canopy of smoke which hung round the ships could enable the British crew to distinguish the condition of their antagonist, they saw that every shroud had been cut away, and her boats and upper works knocked to pieces, while hitherto but very few of their own crew had been hit and not one killed. The action lasted an hour and twenty minutes, when the Spaniards’ fire sensibly slackened.TheTriton, giving her antagonist another broadside, now forged ahead. The crew were ordered to leave their guns, and in an instant the greater number swarming aloft began knotting and splicing the damaged rigging, while fresh sails were got up and bent with a rapidity which looked like magic. Meantime the Spaniard was similarly engaged, and her helm being put up she endeavoured under such sail as she could set to make off. The sight still further stimulated the British crew to exertion, and in twenty minutes, with rigging refitted, she went about and with every gun reloaded stood down once more towards the enemy. Though the latter had hitherto fought with the greatest courage, yet no sooner did theTritoncome within range than the proud flag of Spain was hauled down. A cheer, such as British sailors alone can give, burst from the victorious crew.Headland and Harry were sent on board with the only boat that could swim, to take possession.The brave Spanish captain delivered up his sword with a dignified bow, and Headland, complimenting him on his gallantry, requested him at once to go on board theTriton. That he had not yielded till the last moment was evident, for the booms having fallen down had disabled all the waist guns of the frigate, and fully thirty men lay on the decks, while an equal number were found wounded in the cockpit, many of them mortally.Not a moment was to be lost, and as soon as two other boats could be patched up, more of theTriton’screw were sent on board to repair the damages the prize had received.She proved to be theMahonesa, and her brave captain, Don Tomas Ayaldi.“Well, we have done something now at all events,” said Harry to Headland, as the severed shrouds and running rigging of the prize having been repaired and sail made she and her captor were steering for Gibraltar.TheTritonremained sometime at Gibraltar to refit.After another cruise up the Mediterranean, where she did good service, and fought an action not inferior to the first, when she captured her antagonist, she was ordered home. On her way she looked into Lisbon, and Headland, who received his commission as lieutenant, was put in charge of their first prize, with Harry as his second in command, and another midshipman and thirty men to carry her home.They reached Plymouth in safety, and when theTritonwas paid off, Captain Fancourt being soon afterwards appointed to a ship in commission in which there were no vacancies, Harry and his friend were separated. They were employed for nearly three years on different stations and saw much service, both obtaining their promotion, while Headland, by several gallant acts, gained the credit he so eagerly sought for.During the time, being then lieutenants, Harry belonging to theNaiadfrigate, and Headland to theAlembic, they had the good fortune to capture two Spanish frigates, theThetisandSanta Brigida, laden with specie to the value of upwards of 300,000 pounds sterling. Though two other frigates joined in the chase, each of the lieutenants of the four ships obtained 5000 as their share of prize money, while the four captains received upwards of 40,000 pounds a-piece.“If you ever have to establish your claims, you will now have the means of doing so,” observed Harry to his friend when they arrived at Plymouth. “And remember my share shall be at your service.”“I am very sure you will help me to the last penny you possess if I should require money,” answered Headland. “But I have long given up all hopes of success, and really now think very little about the matter. I am not ambitious of wealth, and when the piping times of peace come round, and I am sent on shore to shift for myself, I shall have saved enough to live on in comfort and respectability.”“What, with a wife!” asked Harry. “She may not be satisfied with what you consider a competency.”“I have not thought about marrying,” answered Headland, laughing, “and I do not suppose any lady I should like would accept an unknown adventurer such as I should be considered,” he added, and a shade came over his countenance showing that he felt his position more than he was willing to acknowledge.“Adventurer! nonsense; no one has a right so to call a naval officer who has already made a name for himself, and will make a greater some day or other,” answered Harry. “Don’t let such an idea take possession of your mind. There are dozens of girls who would accept you gladly for yourself, and perhaps be better pleased to find that they had not married a whole tribe of relations, sisters and aunt, who might interfere with their domestic arrangements. Depend on it if every lieutenant and ward-room officer of our four fortunate frigates were to go on shore at once, we could each of us be married within a fortnight.”“Very likely,” answered Headland. “But the ladies would take us for our prize money not for ourselves, and I should not wish to have a wife on those terms.”“Nor should I, indeed; when I was last on shore during the London season, and went out with my mother and sister, I saw enough of fashionable society to make me resolve whenever I might take it into my head to look out for a wife, not to seek for her in such an atmosphere. I saw numbers of pretty girls, I confess, and, I daresay, some of them possessed sterling qualities. If I particularly admired any one fair lady, on discovering that I was only a midshipman, she was sure to freeze me up the next time I met her.”“Had she found that you were a lieutenant with a share of theSanta Brigida’streasure, she might have looked more affectionately on you,” said Headland, laughing.“Exactly; but I should not, as you were remarking, have been flattered had I been aware of the motive which prompted her feelings.”“So it seems that we are perfectly agreed,” said Headland, “and the less we think about the matter till the time comes the better. At all events I intend never to entertain any thoughts of marrying unless I find some one who, rising above ordinary prejudices, is ready to link her fate with mine, regardless of my unknown birth and name.” See there are the waggons to carry off our treasure.As he spoke, he pointed to a large number of artillery waggons which had driven into the dockyard, close to which the prizes had been hauled.Two days were employed in landing the rich cargoes, which were escorted by horse and foot soldiers, and armed seamen and marines, and accompanied by bands of music and an immense concourse of people, to the Citadel of Plymouth, in the vaults of which the treasure remained till it was removed to London, and finally deposited in the Bank of England.A similar scene occurred at different times when treasure ships were taken.On one occasion an English captain sailed into port with huge silver candlesticks at his mastheads, and ordinary seamen found themselves possessed of two or three hundred guineas prize money, frequently squandered before many weeks were over; while the officers obtained a proportionate share of wealth. Few, perhaps, thought of the suffering and injustice endured by the owners when gold was captured which belonged to private individuals, and though in some instances when such was the case it was returned, yet in many others non-combatants lost their lives and their property at the same time.Harry and Headland were among the fortunate officers who, having many opportunities of distinguishing themselves, gained wealth and honour together.At length the great victory of the Nile, in which Headland took a part was won, Napoleon’s armies had been defeated in Syria and Egypt, Copenhagen had been bombarded, and the treaty of Amiens, speedily again to be broken, had been signed.The ships in which the two lieutenants served came to an anchor at Spithead, within a few days of each other.Harry went on board the frigate in which Headland was serving as first lieutenant.“You are sure of your promotion, Headland,” he said after their greeting was over. “I have just got a letter from my uncle telling me your name is on the list. You deserve a spell on shore. We are to go into harbour to be paid off to-morrow, and as soon as I am free you must start with me for Texford, where my family are now residing. Captain Fancourt has already spoken to them of you, and you will receive a hearty welcome. No excuses, old fellow, you will be Captain Headland by that time, and that alone will be sufficient introduction to any family in the land.”Headland hesitated. He thought of making a tour round England, and perhaps going over to France, to have a look at the country from which Englishmen had so long been excluded, but Harry overcame all objections, and Headland agreed should he not be appointed to a command, which was not very likely, to accompany his friend to Texford.

As Harry and his friend reached the deck they caught sight of a strange frigate standing towards theTriton, which was, as has already been said, off the port of Carthagena, and as they looked towards the land they observed a small vessel under all sail running in for it. That the stranger was an enemy there was no doubt, and as she was evidently as heavy a frigate as the Triton, there appeared, even should she be captured, with the Spanish squadron close at hand, little prospect of her being brought off. There was indeed a great chance that theTritonherself would not escape should she be crippled.

“The odds are against us,” observed the captain to his first lieutenant. “We must not, however, show our heels to a single frigate, and will do our best to take her before the enemy can come out to her rescue.”

“Ay, ay, sir; take her we shall, and I hope get off with her too,” was the answer.

The crew were at their quarters, stripped to the waist, waiting eagerly to begin the action. The second lieutenant being left on shore and the third being ill, Headland and Harry were doing duty in their places, though the third lieutenant came on deck when he heard of the pending action.

The stranger, which hoisted Spanish colours, and was seen to be of 34 guns, two more than theTriton, approaching within hail then hauled to the wind, on theTriton’sweather beam.

“Give her a shot!” cried the captain, “to prove her.”

Scarcely had the flash been seen than a whole broadside fired by the enemy came rattling on board theTriton. It was returned by the British crew. Broadside after broadside was given and received. In vain Captain Fancourt endeavoured to haul either ahead or astern of the enemy to rake her. She kept her advantageous position, and the Spaniards, whatever may sometimes be said of them, fought their ship gallantly. The action continued to be a regular broadside to broadside one. The boatswain was seen examining the masts with anxious looks. They and the bowsprit had been wounded pretty severely, while the rigging hung in festoons, and her sails were shot through and torn. Still the British seamen fought their guns as energetically as at first.

“Keep it up, my lads!” cried Headland, as he with Harry and other officers moved from gun to gun. “We have given her as much as we have received, and something more into the bargain.”

As far as the canopy of smoke which hung round the ships could enable the British crew to distinguish the condition of their antagonist, they saw that every shroud had been cut away, and her boats and upper works knocked to pieces, while hitherto but very few of their own crew had been hit and not one killed. The action lasted an hour and twenty minutes, when the Spaniards’ fire sensibly slackened.

TheTriton, giving her antagonist another broadside, now forged ahead. The crew were ordered to leave their guns, and in an instant the greater number swarming aloft began knotting and splicing the damaged rigging, while fresh sails were got up and bent with a rapidity which looked like magic. Meantime the Spaniard was similarly engaged, and her helm being put up she endeavoured under such sail as she could set to make off. The sight still further stimulated the British crew to exertion, and in twenty minutes, with rigging refitted, she went about and with every gun reloaded stood down once more towards the enemy. Though the latter had hitherto fought with the greatest courage, yet no sooner did theTritoncome within range than the proud flag of Spain was hauled down. A cheer, such as British sailors alone can give, burst from the victorious crew.

Headland and Harry were sent on board with the only boat that could swim, to take possession.

The brave Spanish captain delivered up his sword with a dignified bow, and Headland, complimenting him on his gallantry, requested him at once to go on board theTriton. That he had not yielded till the last moment was evident, for the booms having fallen down had disabled all the waist guns of the frigate, and fully thirty men lay on the decks, while an equal number were found wounded in the cockpit, many of them mortally.

Not a moment was to be lost, and as soon as two other boats could be patched up, more of theTriton’screw were sent on board to repair the damages the prize had received.

She proved to be theMahonesa, and her brave captain, Don Tomas Ayaldi.

“Well, we have done something now at all events,” said Harry to Headland, as the severed shrouds and running rigging of the prize having been repaired and sail made she and her captor were steering for Gibraltar.

TheTritonremained sometime at Gibraltar to refit.

After another cruise up the Mediterranean, where she did good service, and fought an action not inferior to the first, when she captured her antagonist, she was ordered home. On her way she looked into Lisbon, and Headland, who received his commission as lieutenant, was put in charge of their first prize, with Harry as his second in command, and another midshipman and thirty men to carry her home.

They reached Plymouth in safety, and when theTritonwas paid off, Captain Fancourt being soon afterwards appointed to a ship in commission in which there were no vacancies, Harry and his friend were separated. They were employed for nearly three years on different stations and saw much service, both obtaining their promotion, while Headland, by several gallant acts, gained the credit he so eagerly sought for.

During the time, being then lieutenants, Harry belonging to theNaiadfrigate, and Headland to theAlembic, they had the good fortune to capture two Spanish frigates, theThetisandSanta Brigida, laden with specie to the value of upwards of 300,000 pounds sterling. Though two other frigates joined in the chase, each of the lieutenants of the four ships obtained 5000 as their share of prize money, while the four captains received upwards of 40,000 pounds a-piece.

“If you ever have to establish your claims, you will now have the means of doing so,” observed Harry to his friend when they arrived at Plymouth. “And remember my share shall be at your service.”

“I am very sure you will help me to the last penny you possess if I should require money,” answered Headland. “But I have long given up all hopes of success, and really now think very little about the matter. I am not ambitious of wealth, and when the piping times of peace come round, and I am sent on shore to shift for myself, I shall have saved enough to live on in comfort and respectability.”

“What, with a wife!” asked Harry. “She may not be satisfied with what you consider a competency.”

“I have not thought about marrying,” answered Headland, laughing, “and I do not suppose any lady I should like would accept an unknown adventurer such as I should be considered,” he added, and a shade came over his countenance showing that he felt his position more than he was willing to acknowledge.

“Adventurer! nonsense; no one has a right so to call a naval officer who has already made a name for himself, and will make a greater some day or other,” answered Harry. “Don’t let such an idea take possession of your mind. There are dozens of girls who would accept you gladly for yourself, and perhaps be better pleased to find that they had not married a whole tribe of relations, sisters and aunt, who might interfere with their domestic arrangements. Depend on it if every lieutenant and ward-room officer of our four fortunate frigates were to go on shore at once, we could each of us be married within a fortnight.”

“Very likely,” answered Headland. “But the ladies would take us for our prize money not for ourselves, and I should not wish to have a wife on those terms.”

“Nor should I, indeed; when I was last on shore during the London season, and went out with my mother and sister, I saw enough of fashionable society to make me resolve whenever I might take it into my head to look out for a wife, not to seek for her in such an atmosphere. I saw numbers of pretty girls, I confess, and, I daresay, some of them possessed sterling qualities. If I particularly admired any one fair lady, on discovering that I was only a midshipman, she was sure to freeze me up the next time I met her.”

“Had she found that you were a lieutenant with a share of theSanta Brigida’streasure, she might have looked more affectionately on you,” said Headland, laughing.

“Exactly; but I should not, as you were remarking, have been flattered had I been aware of the motive which prompted her feelings.”

“So it seems that we are perfectly agreed,” said Headland, “and the less we think about the matter till the time comes the better. At all events I intend never to entertain any thoughts of marrying unless I find some one who, rising above ordinary prejudices, is ready to link her fate with mine, regardless of my unknown birth and name.” See there are the waggons to carry off our treasure.

As he spoke, he pointed to a large number of artillery waggons which had driven into the dockyard, close to which the prizes had been hauled.

Two days were employed in landing the rich cargoes, which were escorted by horse and foot soldiers, and armed seamen and marines, and accompanied by bands of music and an immense concourse of people, to the Citadel of Plymouth, in the vaults of which the treasure remained till it was removed to London, and finally deposited in the Bank of England.

A similar scene occurred at different times when treasure ships were taken.

On one occasion an English captain sailed into port with huge silver candlesticks at his mastheads, and ordinary seamen found themselves possessed of two or three hundred guineas prize money, frequently squandered before many weeks were over; while the officers obtained a proportionate share of wealth. Few, perhaps, thought of the suffering and injustice endured by the owners when gold was captured which belonged to private individuals, and though in some instances when such was the case it was returned, yet in many others non-combatants lost their lives and their property at the same time.

Harry and Headland were among the fortunate officers who, having many opportunities of distinguishing themselves, gained wealth and honour together.

At length the great victory of the Nile, in which Headland took a part was won, Napoleon’s armies had been defeated in Syria and Egypt, Copenhagen had been bombarded, and the treaty of Amiens, speedily again to be broken, had been signed.

The ships in which the two lieutenants served came to an anchor at Spithead, within a few days of each other.

Harry went on board the frigate in which Headland was serving as first lieutenant.

“You are sure of your promotion, Headland,” he said after their greeting was over. “I have just got a letter from my uncle telling me your name is on the list. You deserve a spell on shore. We are to go into harbour to be paid off to-morrow, and as soon as I am free you must start with me for Texford, where my family are now residing. Captain Fancourt has already spoken to them of you, and you will receive a hearty welcome. No excuses, old fellow, you will be Captain Headland by that time, and that alone will be sufficient introduction to any family in the land.”

Headland hesitated. He thought of making a tour round England, and perhaps going over to France, to have a look at the country from which Englishmen had so long been excluded, but Harry overcame all objections, and Headland agreed should he not be appointed to a command, which was not very likely, to accompany his friend to Texford.

Chapter Seventeen.Second Period of Maiden May’s History.Time went on, and nothing occurred to interrupt the even tenor of the Miss Pembertons’ well-spent lives. They never wearied in their efforts to benefit the bodies and souls of their poorer neighbours, and if some were ungrateful, many blessed them for the words they spoke, and the kind acts they performed. Their young pupil, in winter and summer, rain and sunshine, continued to come to them every day. She never wished for a holiday, and it would have been a trial to her to have had to keep away from Downside. Though she was as loving as ever to those at home, she was able to bestow an equal amount of affection on the ladies who devoted themselves to her instruction.She was now no longer the little fisher maiden she had appeared in former years; but the charms of her mind and person having gradually been developed, though she herself was scarcely aware of the change, she had become a truly lovely girl already entering womanhood.Adam had lost none of the affection he had from the first felt for the child, whose life he had saved. He could no longer, however, properly call her his little Maiden May, for she had become a full-grown damsel, full of life and spirits; and if, conscious that she was not his daughter, she did not bestow on him all of a daughter’s affection, she yet treated him with respect, and so lovingly and kindly, that he had no cause to complain. Her tastes were refined, and her intellect expanding as she advanced in knowledge, she could not help seeing the space gradually widening between herself and her foster-parents and their sons. Yet, with tact and right feeling, she had contrived not to let the young men feel how fully alive she was to the difference between them. They, however, gradually became aware of it, and treated her with that deference which they considered to be her due, as superior to themselves. To the elder ones this was easy, but it caused Jacob no small exercise of self restraint not to behave towards Maiden May as he had been accustomed to do, when under his charge she was allowed to go blackberrying, or to wander along the shore picking up shells.May’s dress, though plain and simple in the extreme, was such as was suited for the companion of the well-born Miss Pemberton’s, and she had entwined herself so completely round their hearts that they regarded her in the light of a beloved niece. She had now for sometime resided entirely with them. She, however, paid frequent visits to her kind foster father and mother, as she now called Adam and his wife.It had been a hard struggle to Dame Halliburt and her husband to part with her, but they saw clearly that it would be for her benefit, and that their cottage was not a fit abode for a young girl destined to occupy a higher rank than their own. Even they felt that there was already a broad line between them, and the dame, not having forgotten her own training in a gentleman’s family, could not help treating May with much more deference than she would have shown to her had she been really her daughter.May herself, conscious of the change in the dame’s manner, could scarcely tell why she had become so much more formal than she used to be, though she had too much confidence in the kind woman’s love to suppose that it arose from any want of affection. Adam was, however, as hearty as ever, but then he had for long treated her with a certain amount of respect, moderating that exhibition of his affection his big warm heart would have inclined him to bestow. He still generally called her his Maiden May, but sometimes addressed her as Mistress May, and seldom offered to press the hearty kiss on her fair brow with which he had been accustomed to greet her after a day’s absence.Adam and the dame had undergone severe trials during the last years, though they bore up under them with christian fortitude and resignation. Their second son Sam had been crossed in love, and as a consequence went off to sea on board a man-of-war. He was a steady well-conducted young man. He had become a petty officer, and there was every prospect of his doing well.A short time after Sam had gone to sea Ben, who was his father’s main-stay, had on one occasion gone to Morbury, just at the time when press-gangs were hard at work along the coast, laying hands on every seafaring person, whether willing or unwilling, to man the fleet. Ben, not suspecting danger, was walking along the quay, when a party of seamen rushed out of a public-house and surrounded him. Though he endeavoured to make his escape, he was quickly overpowered, and being dragged into a boat, was carried on board a cutter outside the harbour. As many other brave fellows acted when he found his fate inevitable, he submitted with a good grace, and determined to do his duty.He did not return, and for several days Adam could gain no tidings of his son, though he suspected what had occurred. At length he received a letter from Ben saying that he had been seized by a pressgang, and that he was on board a frigate destined for the East India station. Adam went to Mr Shallard with a message from the Miss Pemberton’s saying they would be answerable for any sum required to obtain Ben’s discharge, but the lawyer feared that so urgent was the need of men for the navy that success was improbable. He did his best, but before any effort could be made to obtain his discharge, the frigate sailed, carrying Ben as one of her crew.Thus Adam was deprived of the services of his two elder sons. Still he hoped that they would some day return, and be again able to assist him on board theNancy.A still greater blow, however, was in store for him and his wife. News came that the ship on board which Sam was serving had been engaged in action, and as they anxiously read the account of the battle, their eyes fell on his name in the list of killed.“God’s will be done! Poor Sam,” exclaimed Adam, with a deep groan.The dame expressed her grief in a louder manner, but honest Adam’s was the deepest.May did her utmost to comfort her foster-parents, showing all the sympathy for their sorrow which her gentle heart prompted her to express. Day after day she came to see them, sometimes accompanied by Miss Jane, who, although she urged arguments innumerable to prove that excessive grief was wrong, failed to convince them of the truth of her assertions. Their perfect confidence in God’s love and justice, however, brought resignation to their hearts, and they recovered in time their usual spirits. The dame became once more as active and loquacious as ever, and Adam went through his daily labours with his ordinary industry and perseverance.Adam Halliburt, who had been out fishing all night, had just risen from his noonday rest, when the dame returned from her usual round.“Sad news from the Hall, Adam,” she said, putting aside her basket.“Old Sir Reginald has gone at last. Poor dear gentleman, he will be missed by many around. I met Mr Groocock, who had been over to Morbury to arrange about the funeral with Mr Shallard, who was Sir Reginald’s lawyer you know. He pulled up just to have a talk for a minute, though he was in a great hurry to get back. Sir Reginald had sent, when he found himself getting worse, for his nephew, Mr Ralph, his nearest of kin in England, whom he seemed to have a great desire to see again. Mr Ralph, however, could not set off at once, and when he arrived at Texford, his uncle was no more. It seems a question whether he is now Sir Ralph or not. Mr Ranald has not been heard of for eight or nine years or more, though his brother and old Sir Reginald have been making all the inquiries they could. Mr Groocock says that Mr Shallard always speaks to Mr Ralph as Sir Ralph, and says he has no doubt whatever that his brother is dead, and that he is the heir. He himself seems to think so, and as Mr Groocock said to me, for his part he is ready to serve whoever has possession as faithfully as he did his old master, and if Mr Ranald is dead, and has left no sons, his younger brother must be Sir Ralph. At all events, Sir Ralph considers himself, and as such has taken possession, and gives orders as if he were, without doubt, the owner of Texford. There will be a great change there shortly, for he has already let Mr Groocock understand that his lady, and daughter, and eldest son, will be coming down soon, and Mr Harry is expected home before long. If he is like what he was when he was here last, he will keep the house alive. I remember hearing that Mrs Castleton, or we must call her Lady Castleton now, was a very nice kind lady, and so, though many will be sorry that Sir Reginald has gone, there will be others who will think that the change is for the better. Mr Groocock, however, has his own opinion. I would not say anything against Sir Ralph for the world, but I remember that he was a somewhat proud and haughty young gentleman, and though he was quiet and grave enough in his manner, he was hot-tempered too, and could carry things with a high hand sometimes.”“Well, well,” said Adam, “Sir Reginald had nigh reached four score years and ten, and that’s a fair age. He was a kind, good man, and will be missed by many; but we will hope that Sir Ralph may be like him, and it’s our duty to think as well of our betters as we can. I should like to see Master Harry again, for I mind the brave way he saved our Maiden May from the bull, and how he spoke to you so kindly and modest-like afterwards, as if he had just done nothing out of the way. I blessed him then, and I bless him now, and every time I hear his name, for what would have happened to her, young as she was then, without knowing how to save herself, it’s more than I like to think of.”Sir Ralph, no one appearing to dispute his title, took possession of Texford.

Time went on, and nothing occurred to interrupt the even tenor of the Miss Pembertons’ well-spent lives. They never wearied in their efforts to benefit the bodies and souls of their poorer neighbours, and if some were ungrateful, many blessed them for the words they spoke, and the kind acts they performed. Their young pupil, in winter and summer, rain and sunshine, continued to come to them every day. She never wished for a holiday, and it would have been a trial to her to have had to keep away from Downside. Though she was as loving as ever to those at home, she was able to bestow an equal amount of affection on the ladies who devoted themselves to her instruction.

She was now no longer the little fisher maiden she had appeared in former years; but the charms of her mind and person having gradually been developed, though she herself was scarcely aware of the change, she had become a truly lovely girl already entering womanhood.

Adam had lost none of the affection he had from the first felt for the child, whose life he had saved. He could no longer, however, properly call her his little Maiden May, for she had become a full-grown damsel, full of life and spirits; and if, conscious that she was not his daughter, she did not bestow on him all of a daughter’s affection, she yet treated him with respect, and so lovingly and kindly, that he had no cause to complain. Her tastes were refined, and her intellect expanding as she advanced in knowledge, she could not help seeing the space gradually widening between herself and her foster-parents and their sons. Yet, with tact and right feeling, she had contrived not to let the young men feel how fully alive she was to the difference between them. They, however, gradually became aware of it, and treated her with that deference which they considered to be her due, as superior to themselves. To the elder ones this was easy, but it caused Jacob no small exercise of self restraint not to behave towards Maiden May as he had been accustomed to do, when under his charge she was allowed to go blackberrying, or to wander along the shore picking up shells.

May’s dress, though plain and simple in the extreme, was such as was suited for the companion of the well-born Miss Pemberton’s, and she had entwined herself so completely round their hearts that they regarded her in the light of a beloved niece. She had now for sometime resided entirely with them. She, however, paid frequent visits to her kind foster father and mother, as she now called Adam and his wife.

It had been a hard struggle to Dame Halliburt and her husband to part with her, but they saw clearly that it would be for her benefit, and that their cottage was not a fit abode for a young girl destined to occupy a higher rank than their own. Even they felt that there was already a broad line between them, and the dame, not having forgotten her own training in a gentleman’s family, could not help treating May with much more deference than she would have shown to her had she been really her daughter.

May herself, conscious of the change in the dame’s manner, could scarcely tell why she had become so much more formal than she used to be, though she had too much confidence in the kind woman’s love to suppose that it arose from any want of affection. Adam was, however, as hearty as ever, but then he had for long treated her with a certain amount of respect, moderating that exhibition of his affection his big warm heart would have inclined him to bestow. He still generally called her his Maiden May, but sometimes addressed her as Mistress May, and seldom offered to press the hearty kiss on her fair brow with which he had been accustomed to greet her after a day’s absence.

Adam and the dame had undergone severe trials during the last years, though they bore up under them with christian fortitude and resignation. Their second son Sam had been crossed in love, and as a consequence went off to sea on board a man-of-war. He was a steady well-conducted young man. He had become a petty officer, and there was every prospect of his doing well.

A short time after Sam had gone to sea Ben, who was his father’s main-stay, had on one occasion gone to Morbury, just at the time when press-gangs were hard at work along the coast, laying hands on every seafaring person, whether willing or unwilling, to man the fleet. Ben, not suspecting danger, was walking along the quay, when a party of seamen rushed out of a public-house and surrounded him. Though he endeavoured to make his escape, he was quickly overpowered, and being dragged into a boat, was carried on board a cutter outside the harbour. As many other brave fellows acted when he found his fate inevitable, he submitted with a good grace, and determined to do his duty.

He did not return, and for several days Adam could gain no tidings of his son, though he suspected what had occurred. At length he received a letter from Ben saying that he had been seized by a pressgang, and that he was on board a frigate destined for the East India station. Adam went to Mr Shallard with a message from the Miss Pemberton’s saying they would be answerable for any sum required to obtain Ben’s discharge, but the lawyer feared that so urgent was the need of men for the navy that success was improbable. He did his best, but before any effort could be made to obtain his discharge, the frigate sailed, carrying Ben as one of her crew.

Thus Adam was deprived of the services of his two elder sons. Still he hoped that they would some day return, and be again able to assist him on board theNancy.

A still greater blow, however, was in store for him and his wife. News came that the ship on board which Sam was serving had been engaged in action, and as they anxiously read the account of the battle, their eyes fell on his name in the list of killed.

“God’s will be done! Poor Sam,” exclaimed Adam, with a deep groan.

The dame expressed her grief in a louder manner, but honest Adam’s was the deepest.

May did her utmost to comfort her foster-parents, showing all the sympathy for their sorrow which her gentle heart prompted her to express. Day after day she came to see them, sometimes accompanied by Miss Jane, who, although she urged arguments innumerable to prove that excessive grief was wrong, failed to convince them of the truth of her assertions. Their perfect confidence in God’s love and justice, however, brought resignation to their hearts, and they recovered in time their usual spirits. The dame became once more as active and loquacious as ever, and Adam went through his daily labours with his ordinary industry and perseverance.

Adam Halliburt, who had been out fishing all night, had just risen from his noonday rest, when the dame returned from her usual round.

“Sad news from the Hall, Adam,” she said, putting aside her basket.

“Old Sir Reginald has gone at last. Poor dear gentleman, he will be missed by many around. I met Mr Groocock, who had been over to Morbury to arrange about the funeral with Mr Shallard, who was Sir Reginald’s lawyer you know. He pulled up just to have a talk for a minute, though he was in a great hurry to get back. Sir Reginald had sent, when he found himself getting worse, for his nephew, Mr Ralph, his nearest of kin in England, whom he seemed to have a great desire to see again. Mr Ralph, however, could not set off at once, and when he arrived at Texford, his uncle was no more. It seems a question whether he is now Sir Ralph or not. Mr Ranald has not been heard of for eight or nine years or more, though his brother and old Sir Reginald have been making all the inquiries they could. Mr Groocock says that Mr Shallard always speaks to Mr Ralph as Sir Ralph, and says he has no doubt whatever that his brother is dead, and that he is the heir. He himself seems to think so, and as Mr Groocock said to me, for his part he is ready to serve whoever has possession as faithfully as he did his old master, and if Mr Ranald is dead, and has left no sons, his younger brother must be Sir Ralph. At all events, Sir Ralph considers himself, and as such has taken possession, and gives orders as if he were, without doubt, the owner of Texford. There will be a great change there shortly, for he has already let Mr Groocock understand that his lady, and daughter, and eldest son, will be coming down soon, and Mr Harry is expected home before long. If he is like what he was when he was here last, he will keep the house alive. I remember hearing that Mrs Castleton, or we must call her Lady Castleton now, was a very nice kind lady, and so, though many will be sorry that Sir Reginald has gone, there will be others who will think that the change is for the better. Mr Groocock, however, has his own opinion. I would not say anything against Sir Ralph for the world, but I remember that he was a somewhat proud and haughty young gentleman, and though he was quiet and grave enough in his manner, he was hot-tempered too, and could carry things with a high hand sometimes.”

“Well, well,” said Adam, “Sir Reginald had nigh reached four score years and ten, and that’s a fair age. He was a kind, good man, and will be missed by many; but we will hope that Sir Ralph may be like him, and it’s our duty to think as well of our betters as we can. I should like to see Master Harry again, for I mind the brave way he saved our Maiden May from the bull, and how he spoke to you so kindly and modest-like afterwards, as if he had just done nothing out of the way. I blessed him then, and I bless him now, and every time I hear his name, for what would have happened to her, young as she was then, without knowing how to save herself, it’s more than I like to think of.”

Sir Ralph, no one appearing to dispute his title, took possession of Texford.

Chapter Eighteen.A Visit.A longer time than usual had passed since Maiden May had paid a visit to the cottage of her foster-parents.Adam and the dame were seated in their usual places by the fire, the dame, never idle, busily employed in mending one of her son’s garments.“You or I, mother, must go up this evening and inquire for our May,” said Adam, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “She would never stay away from us so long of her own free-will; and either one of the ladies must have been taken ill, and they cannot spare her, or she herself may be ailing.”“I pray heaven nothing has happened to her,” replied the dame. “I will just finish off Jacob’s coat and then go up myself. If she is ill I must ask the ladies’ leave to stay with her. I would sleep on the bare floor by her side rather than not be with her, sweet dear.”“Yes, do,” said Adam in an anxious tone. “The Miss Pembertons will be glad to have you, mother, for there is no one—not even they themselves—can know better how to tend her than you.”Just as Adam had finished speaking the latch was lifted, and a sweet-looking young girl entered the cottage. Her complexion was beautifully fair and glowing with health, her features delicately chiselled. A bright smile beamed from her blue eyes, while her figure was light and graceful, and though her dress was simple, there was that air of elegance and refinement about her rarely seen in so humble an abode.The dame hurried across the room to fold her in her arms, while Adam put out both his hands to take hers, which she stretched forwards towards him. He bestowed a kiss, half reverential, half paternal, on her brow.Her appearance, for it was Maiden May herself who entered, banished all their fears about her health.“It does my heart good to see thee, my own Maiden May,” he said, gazing at her affectionately, and placing a chair for her by the side of his own. “We almost thought that thee had forgotten us. And yet, no, no—we knew thee would’st not have done that; but what kept thee away, my dear?”“Miss Mary has been unwell, and required constant attention,” answered May; “and Miss Jane has been at Texford to see poor Sir Reginald. You probably have heard that he is dead.”“Yes, mother has just brought the news,” said Adam. “He will be a great loss to many.”“Yes, indeed he will,” said May, “especially to my kind friends. I fear that Sir Ralph will ill supply his place. Miss Jane, who waited to receive him, has come back much hurt at the way he behaved to her. He looks upon them as gloomy Methodists, and inclined to censure his worldliness, and he partly hinted that they must no longer come to Texford as they had been accustomed to do in Sir Reginald’s time, unless with an especial invitation. I am truly sorry for it, as Miss Jane used to enjoy her visits there; and though, now Sir Reginald has gone, it will be very different, yet she thought she should like Lady Castleton and her daughter Miss Julia, and her sons, especially Mr Harry, who greatly took her fancy when he was there before. She tells me he is the young gentleman who saved me from being tossed by the bull when I was a little girl, and so kindly brought me back to you, mother. I remember the circumstance, though I have but a dim recollection of him, except that he was very good-natured and laughed, and told me I was a little heroine, though at the time I confess I did not know what he meant. I only remember that I was dreadfully frightened, and very grateful to him for saving me.”“Ah, yes, good reason too we had to be thankful to him, for it would have broken our hearts if any harm had come to our Maiden May,” observed Adam, looking affectionately at the young girl. “But I am main sorry to hear what you say about Sir Ralph.”“Miss Mary thinks, however, that perhaps Miss Jane, who was in much grief at Sir Reginald’s death, might have spoken more seriously to Sir Ralph than he liked. You know she does occasionally say things with which worldly people are not pleased, and perhaps that put him out of humour. She, however, asserts that she ought not to be ashamed of her principles, and that she merely reminded Sir Ralph that he was but a life tenant of Texford—that the time would come when he too would lie, as Sir Reginald does now, on the bed of death, and his body be carried to the family vault, while his soul has to stand before the Judge of all things, and give an account of his stewardship while here below. Miss Mary observed that, although what Miss Jane had said was very right and true, she might not possibly have taken the proper time for making her remarks, and that, perhaps, had they come from a clergyman, he would have received them in a different spirit.“Miss Jane replied that she was sure, in the first place, that the clergyman would not make them, and felt that the time might pass when they could be made at all, if she did not, while, as she supposed, he was grieving for the death of his excellent uncle. Miss Jane, however, confessed that she had made a mistake in supposing that his heart was in any way touched with sorrow; but, on the contrary, she feared that he felt nothing but satisfaction at becoming the possessor of Texford, and was annoyed at being reminded of the uncertainty of human life.“But I ought not, perhaps, to repeat, even to you, dear mother and father, what my kind friends say; only, in this instance, I am sure they would not object to my doing so.”“It’s safer not to repeat what we hear, there is no doubt about that,” observed the dame. “But, you know, what you say to us never goes to other ears. Now, to my mind, Miss Mary is right. Miss Jane can say strong things when she thinks it is her duty to say them, and people do not always take them in the same spirit they are spoken. I hope when my lady and Miss Julia come things will be put to rights, and that the Miss Pembertons will not be shut out of Texford more than they like.”“For their sakes I hope, at all events, they may be on friendly terms with their relatives,” said May. “However, Miss Mary has no wish to leave home even for a day, and I always enjoy being in her company alone, and attending to her. I can never feel weary in trying to repay the kindness she has shown me. She has taught me much of what I know, even more than her sister has, and her memory is so retentive that she can talk over the books we have read together, and remind me often of portions which I have forgotten.”“Ah, she is a dear lady; it’s a wonder she knows so much, and no eyes to see with,” observed the dame. “She may not be so wonderful a woman as her sister is, who can talk every bit as cleverly, if not better, than Mr Simms, the apothecary, and it’s my belief she could bleed as well if she thought fit, though she says she sees no reason to take honest blood out of people’s bodies, but that a little sulphur and milk in the spring and the fall will answer the purpose as well.”The dame was enlarging still further on Miss Jane’s medical knowledge, when May, turning her head, saw Jacob, who had entered, and was standing watching her at a distance, and unwilling, it seemed, to be observed. A blush rose to his cheeks when he found that he had been discovered.“I promised not to be long away, and I ought to be on my road back again,” she said. “So good-bye, mother; good-bye, father.”May put out her hand to Jacob, who pressed it in his own rough palm, casting a look at her, in which reverence was mingled with affection. Not noticing his glance she tripped lightly away.He followed from the cottage, keeping, however, at some distance behind, till he had seen her enter the gate of Downside Cottage.“What can have come over our Jacob,” said the dame, after he had gone.“He looks of late as if he was afraid of our Maiden May, instead of being friendly with her, as he used to be. I suppose, as she seems a fine young lady, that it would not become him, a poor fisher-lad, to be talking to her as he did when she was a little girl,” observed Adam. “To be sure he does sometimes look curious, and often forgets things I tell him; however, he is as good a lad as ever, so I will say nothing agen him.”Neither his father or mother knew the true cause of poor Jacob’s changed manner.

A longer time than usual had passed since Maiden May had paid a visit to the cottage of her foster-parents.

Adam and the dame were seated in their usual places by the fire, the dame, never idle, busily employed in mending one of her son’s garments.

“You or I, mother, must go up this evening and inquire for our May,” said Adam, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “She would never stay away from us so long of her own free-will; and either one of the ladies must have been taken ill, and they cannot spare her, or she herself may be ailing.”

“I pray heaven nothing has happened to her,” replied the dame. “I will just finish off Jacob’s coat and then go up myself. If she is ill I must ask the ladies’ leave to stay with her. I would sleep on the bare floor by her side rather than not be with her, sweet dear.”

“Yes, do,” said Adam in an anxious tone. “The Miss Pembertons will be glad to have you, mother, for there is no one—not even they themselves—can know better how to tend her than you.”

Just as Adam had finished speaking the latch was lifted, and a sweet-looking young girl entered the cottage. Her complexion was beautifully fair and glowing with health, her features delicately chiselled. A bright smile beamed from her blue eyes, while her figure was light and graceful, and though her dress was simple, there was that air of elegance and refinement about her rarely seen in so humble an abode.

The dame hurried across the room to fold her in her arms, while Adam put out both his hands to take hers, which she stretched forwards towards him. He bestowed a kiss, half reverential, half paternal, on her brow.

Her appearance, for it was Maiden May herself who entered, banished all their fears about her health.

“It does my heart good to see thee, my own Maiden May,” he said, gazing at her affectionately, and placing a chair for her by the side of his own. “We almost thought that thee had forgotten us. And yet, no, no—we knew thee would’st not have done that; but what kept thee away, my dear?”

“Miss Mary has been unwell, and required constant attention,” answered May; “and Miss Jane has been at Texford to see poor Sir Reginald. You probably have heard that he is dead.”

“Yes, mother has just brought the news,” said Adam. “He will be a great loss to many.”

“Yes, indeed he will,” said May, “especially to my kind friends. I fear that Sir Ralph will ill supply his place. Miss Jane, who waited to receive him, has come back much hurt at the way he behaved to her. He looks upon them as gloomy Methodists, and inclined to censure his worldliness, and he partly hinted that they must no longer come to Texford as they had been accustomed to do in Sir Reginald’s time, unless with an especial invitation. I am truly sorry for it, as Miss Jane used to enjoy her visits there; and though, now Sir Reginald has gone, it will be very different, yet she thought she should like Lady Castleton and her daughter Miss Julia, and her sons, especially Mr Harry, who greatly took her fancy when he was there before. She tells me he is the young gentleman who saved me from being tossed by the bull when I was a little girl, and so kindly brought me back to you, mother. I remember the circumstance, though I have but a dim recollection of him, except that he was very good-natured and laughed, and told me I was a little heroine, though at the time I confess I did not know what he meant. I only remember that I was dreadfully frightened, and very grateful to him for saving me.”

“Ah, yes, good reason too we had to be thankful to him, for it would have broken our hearts if any harm had come to our Maiden May,” observed Adam, looking affectionately at the young girl. “But I am main sorry to hear what you say about Sir Ralph.”

“Miss Mary thinks, however, that perhaps Miss Jane, who was in much grief at Sir Reginald’s death, might have spoken more seriously to Sir Ralph than he liked. You know she does occasionally say things with which worldly people are not pleased, and perhaps that put him out of humour. She, however, asserts that she ought not to be ashamed of her principles, and that she merely reminded Sir Ralph that he was but a life tenant of Texford—that the time would come when he too would lie, as Sir Reginald does now, on the bed of death, and his body be carried to the family vault, while his soul has to stand before the Judge of all things, and give an account of his stewardship while here below. Miss Mary observed that, although what Miss Jane had said was very right and true, she might not possibly have taken the proper time for making her remarks, and that, perhaps, had they come from a clergyman, he would have received them in a different spirit.

“Miss Jane replied that she was sure, in the first place, that the clergyman would not make them, and felt that the time might pass when they could be made at all, if she did not, while, as she supposed, he was grieving for the death of his excellent uncle. Miss Jane, however, confessed that she had made a mistake in supposing that his heart was in any way touched with sorrow; but, on the contrary, she feared that he felt nothing but satisfaction at becoming the possessor of Texford, and was annoyed at being reminded of the uncertainty of human life.

“But I ought not, perhaps, to repeat, even to you, dear mother and father, what my kind friends say; only, in this instance, I am sure they would not object to my doing so.”

“It’s safer not to repeat what we hear, there is no doubt about that,” observed the dame. “But, you know, what you say to us never goes to other ears. Now, to my mind, Miss Mary is right. Miss Jane can say strong things when she thinks it is her duty to say them, and people do not always take them in the same spirit they are spoken. I hope when my lady and Miss Julia come things will be put to rights, and that the Miss Pembertons will not be shut out of Texford more than they like.”

“For their sakes I hope, at all events, they may be on friendly terms with their relatives,” said May. “However, Miss Mary has no wish to leave home even for a day, and I always enjoy being in her company alone, and attending to her. I can never feel weary in trying to repay the kindness she has shown me. She has taught me much of what I know, even more than her sister has, and her memory is so retentive that she can talk over the books we have read together, and remind me often of portions which I have forgotten.”

“Ah, she is a dear lady; it’s a wonder she knows so much, and no eyes to see with,” observed the dame. “She may not be so wonderful a woman as her sister is, who can talk every bit as cleverly, if not better, than Mr Simms, the apothecary, and it’s my belief she could bleed as well if she thought fit, though she says she sees no reason to take honest blood out of people’s bodies, but that a little sulphur and milk in the spring and the fall will answer the purpose as well.”

The dame was enlarging still further on Miss Jane’s medical knowledge, when May, turning her head, saw Jacob, who had entered, and was standing watching her at a distance, and unwilling, it seemed, to be observed. A blush rose to his cheeks when he found that he had been discovered.

“I promised not to be long away, and I ought to be on my road back again,” she said. “So good-bye, mother; good-bye, father.”

May put out her hand to Jacob, who pressed it in his own rough palm, casting a look at her, in which reverence was mingled with affection. Not noticing his glance she tripped lightly away.

He followed from the cottage, keeping, however, at some distance behind, till he had seen her enter the gate of Downside Cottage.

“What can have come over our Jacob,” said the dame, after he had gone.

“He looks of late as if he was afraid of our Maiden May, instead of being friendly with her, as he used to be. I suppose, as she seems a fine young lady, that it would not become him, a poor fisher-lad, to be talking to her as he did when she was a little girl,” observed Adam. “To be sure he does sometimes look curious, and often forgets things I tell him; however, he is as good a lad as ever, so I will say nothing agen him.”

Neither his father or mother knew the true cause of poor Jacob’s changed manner.

Chapter Nineteen.The New Squire.Mr Reginald’s funeral took place, and was conducted with the pomp usual in those days when a county magnate was carried to his final resting-place. Sir Ralph and his eldest son attended as chief mourners, and the heads of all the county families, from far and near, either came in person or sent representatives to pay their last tokens of respect to one who had been held in honour among them. The tenantry of the Texford property followed on horseback or foot.For many years so large a gathering had not been seen in that part of the country. Even the boatmen and fishermen from the neighbouring coast, among whom were Adam Halliburt and his sons, managed to get on shore in time to join the cortege, walking two and two, with the flags of their boats furled round the staff carried at the head of each party. There were several real mourners in the crowd. One of the most sincere probably was Mr Groocock. He had lost a kind and indulgent master, who had ever placed confidence in his honesty of purpose, and he had reason to doubt whether the new lord of Texford would treat him in the same way.As the assembly gathered round the family tomb of the Castletons, Mr Groocock, happening to look up, observed among the crowd, standing directly opposite where the chief mourners were collected, a dark bearded man, whose eye was fixed on Sir Ralph, his countenance exhibiting a peculiarly evil expression.“That man comes here for no good,” thought the steward. “He had no love for Sir Reginald, and he is not one who would put himself out of his way for an object which could be of no advantage to him. Still he has not come without an object, of that I am very certain.”The minister had uttered the last solemn words, “earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” and the burial service was concluded. Those who felt disposed to do so moved down into the vault to take a last look at Sir Reginald’s coffin ere the tomb was closed till another occupant might claim admission. Mr Groocock had been among the first to descend, and remained unwilling to quit the spot. As he stood there he saw the man he had observed among the crowd enter the vault just as the last of the other visitors had left. He did not appear to cast a glance even at Sir Reginald’s coffin, but he was seen to stop before three others on the opposite side, not aware apparently that anyone else remained in the vault. The steward could not see his features, but the working of his shoulders showed that he was agitated by some strong feeling. A groan escaped his bosom.“I will have vengeance on your murderer,” he muttered.Suddenly turning round as if by a powerful effort, he hastened out of the vault.“This is strange,” thought the steward, “what can have made him say that.”He was alone.“Good-bye, dear master,” he said in a sobbing voice. “I shall not meet your like on earth, but I hope to see you in heaven when my time comes.”Before he left the vault he turned to examine the coffins at which the stranger had been gazing. Above one of them was the name of “Ellen Castleton, aged 18.”“I cannot make it out,” muttered the worthy steward; “it’s strange, passing strange,” and his thoughts thus set to work, went back to years and events he had well-nigh forgotten.The funeral guests were dispersing with the exception of those of higher position, who had been invited by the young baronet to partake of a breakfast provided at the hall.As Adam and his party were making their way back to Hurlston, Miles Gaffin, mounted on the powerful horse he usually rode, galloped by apparently not observing the suspicious glances which were cast at him as he passed.“The miller looks as if the foul fiend had got possession of him,” observed one of the men. “They say he has had dealings with him for long past.”“Ay, ay, if it hadn’t been for that he would have been in limbo before now for some of the things he has done in his time,” observed another. “To my mind, mates, Satan lets them go on in their own way without ever showing himself to them; and as to helping them out of danger, depend on it he would leave them to perish soon enough if he had the power over them,” observed Adam. “There is another more powerful than him who looks after human beings; and not one of us, good or bad, can leave this world without He thinks fit. Its only when He knows that the cup of their iniquities is full that He allows even the worst to perish.”Sir Ralph remained some time at Texford after his uncle’s death, giving directions for certain repairs and alterations which he wished to have executed immediately.Sir Ralph had summoned Mr Groocock to the library, a fine old wainscotted room, with bookcases against two of the walls, while over and on either side of the fireplace were hung family portraits. Sir Reginald was there, occupying the centre position, with those of his younger brother, Mr Herbert Castleton, with his wife and their two children, the long lost Ranald, and their daughter Ellen, hers executed when she had just reached her sixteenth summer, and Ranald when he was about nineteen. The features of Ellen fully bore out the description which Dame Halliburt had given of her beauty.Sir Ralph was seated with his legs crossed and his arm resting on the table when the steward entered. Sir Reginald would have desired him to sit down and welcomed him with a kind smile, and enquired after his health. Sir Ralph allowed the old man to stand before him while he issued his directions.The house was to be freshly painted, and the furniture for some of the best rooms sent down from London.“I purpose making Texford my summer and winter residence when my political duties do not require my attendance in London,” he observed to Mr Groocock.Sir Ralph had sat in parliament for a close borough for the last three years, and he had let it be known that he intended to stand for the county at the next general election.“Hurry on with the work, Mr Groocock, for Lady Castleton wishes to come down as soon as possible.”The steward promised to see that his master’s orders were executed to the best of his ability.“But you see, Sir Ralph,” he observed, “workmen are often dilatory, and we cannot always depend upon their doing what they promise.”“They will do the work if you keep a watchful eye on them, Mr Groocock,” answered the baronet. “I am not accustomed to have difficulties raised when I give orders. My late uncle has been somewhat over-indulgent, I suspect. You will get all the rent paid up and proceed against defaulters, according to the power the law affords you. I desire to have no injustice done to anyone, but I suspect that the rents of several of the tenants ought to be raised. You will give them notice that they must expect it.”“I will act as you desire, Sir Ralph, but I venture to observe that it may be a hardship to some of them if we act according to the strict letter of the law. The tenant may, from unforeseen circumstances, have got into difficulties, or he may have expended a considerable amount on his farm, and thus increased its value, or he may have a large family, and find it a hard matter to make the two ends meet, or he himself, or his wife or children, may have been suffering from sickness. In such cases Sir Reginald was wont to give me discretionary power, and was always more inclined to lower than raise the rent of a farm.”“I do not consider myself bound to be guided by what my uncle, an old bachelor without ambition or any other aim in life beyond enjoying existence, might have thought fit to do,” answered Sir Ralph in an angry tone. “You will see that my directions are carried out.”Mr Groocock bowed, and tried to suppress the sigh which he found rising from his bosom.“If Sir Ralph wishes to stand for the county he will find his object defeated by these proceedings. My dear old master would have grieved if he had known the changes likely to be made, but I must obey orders—I must obey orders,” he thought to himself.Having received his final directions, Mr Groocock bowed and retired from the room.Sir Ralph went back to London. The steward felt relieved at his absence, though he had many unpleasant duties to perform.He spoke in consequence of the directions he had received to the tenants, and naturally tried to exonerate himself from the suspicion that he had advised the proceedings he was compelled to carry out, yet he gained more ill-will than he had ever before experienced since he became steward of Texford. The miller of Hurlston, whose rent had been, however, very small, was among the most indignant at receiving notice that it was to be raised considerably should he wish to renew the lease as he had the option of doing. He rode over to Texford to expostulate.“Very well, Mr Gaffin, you can give up the mill if you wish,” observed the steward, who would have been glad to get rid of a person whose character he had reason to suspect was none of the best.“That may not be convenient, and it is very hard to have the rent raised on me after I have been working for years to bring a trade to the mill,” answered the miller. “I’ll not give it up, however, and you can tell your master that I’ll pay the rent he demands.”His eye kindled as he spoke, and a dark frown gathered on his brow, adding, in a low fierce mutter as he left the steward’s room, “and with interest too, such as he does not expect.” Mr Groocock, however, did not catch the words, and believing the matter settled was glad to get rid of his surly visitor.The house was at length got ready. Lady Castleton and her daughter Julia, with Madame De La Motte, who had now become rather her companion than governess, arrived, and were shortly after joined by Algernon. He had sometime before left college, where he had taken high honours, and was looked upon as a young man likely to rise in the world. He was, however, very delicate, and hard study had contributed to make him somewhat of an invalid. As his mother observed his spare figure and the hectic flush on his pale cheeks, she could not help at times fearing that he would be but little able to go through the career for which his ambitious father destined him.“He must get into parliament as soon as possible, and in a few years I hope we shall see him a Minister of State,” Sir Ralph had observed to her as she was setting out from London.He himself, however, had little wish to commence the career his father proposed.“At present, at all events, let me enjoy Texford, and yours and Julia’s society, mother, and when my father vacates his seat for Mumbleton it will be time enough for me to decide whether or not I wish to occupy it,” he said to Lady Castleton when she spoke to him of his father’s wish.When Sir Ralph arrived he did not appear to remark how ill his son looked; he was so occupied with politics and his various projects that he troubled himself about little else. When his wife tried to draw his attention to Algernon his only reply was—“Yes, he reminds me very much of myself when I was of the same age that he is. I was slight and tall, and I suspect that my cheeks were paler than his, although I was accustomed to more exercise than he indulges in, and was fonder of riding and field sports. If he would take to hunting and shooting he would soon get round, and be well able to go through a political campaign in London.”The time of mourning for the old baronet was over. Several guests had arrived, others had been invited, and whatever some of the tenants might have thought of the exactions, as they considered them, which the new baronet had imposed, there appeared every probability that Texford would become a far more lively and sociable mansion than it had been during the latter years of Sir Reginald’s life.

Mr Reginald’s funeral took place, and was conducted with the pomp usual in those days when a county magnate was carried to his final resting-place. Sir Ralph and his eldest son attended as chief mourners, and the heads of all the county families, from far and near, either came in person or sent representatives to pay their last tokens of respect to one who had been held in honour among them. The tenantry of the Texford property followed on horseback or foot.

For many years so large a gathering had not been seen in that part of the country. Even the boatmen and fishermen from the neighbouring coast, among whom were Adam Halliburt and his sons, managed to get on shore in time to join the cortege, walking two and two, with the flags of their boats furled round the staff carried at the head of each party. There were several real mourners in the crowd. One of the most sincere probably was Mr Groocock. He had lost a kind and indulgent master, who had ever placed confidence in his honesty of purpose, and he had reason to doubt whether the new lord of Texford would treat him in the same way.

As the assembly gathered round the family tomb of the Castletons, Mr Groocock, happening to look up, observed among the crowd, standing directly opposite where the chief mourners were collected, a dark bearded man, whose eye was fixed on Sir Ralph, his countenance exhibiting a peculiarly evil expression.

“That man comes here for no good,” thought the steward. “He had no love for Sir Reginald, and he is not one who would put himself out of his way for an object which could be of no advantage to him. Still he has not come without an object, of that I am very certain.”

The minister had uttered the last solemn words, “earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” and the burial service was concluded. Those who felt disposed to do so moved down into the vault to take a last look at Sir Reginald’s coffin ere the tomb was closed till another occupant might claim admission. Mr Groocock had been among the first to descend, and remained unwilling to quit the spot. As he stood there he saw the man he had observed among the crowd enter the vault just as the last of the other visitors had left. He did not appear to cast a glance even at Sir Reginald’s coffin, but he was seen to stop before three others on the opposite side, not aware apparently that anyone else remained in the vault. The steward could not see his features, but the working of his shoulders showed that he was agitated by some strong feeling. A groan escaped his bosom.

“I will have vengeance on your murderer,” he muttered.

Suddenly turning round as if by a powerful effort, he hastened out of the vault.

“This is strange,” thought the steward, “what can have made him say that.”

He was alone.

“Good-bye, dear master,” he said in a sobbing voice. “I shall not meet your like on earth, but I hope to see you in heaven when my time comes.”

Before he left the vault he turned to examine the coffins at which the stranger had been gazing. Above one of them was the name of “Ellen Castleton, aged 18.”

“I cannot make it out,” muttered the worthy steward; “it’s strange, passing strange,” and his thoughts thus set to work, went back to years and events he had well-nigh forgotten.

The funeral guests were dispersing with the exception of those of higher position, who had been invited by the young baronet to partake of a breakfast provided at the hall.

As Adam and his party were making their way back to Hurlston, Miles Gaffin, mounted on the powerful horse he usually rode, galloped by apparently not observing the suspicious glances which were cast at him as he passed.

“The miller looks as if the foul fiend had got possession of him,” observed one of the men. “They say he has had dealings with him for long past.”

“Ay, ay, if it hadn’t been for that he would have been in limbo before now for some of the things he has done in his time,” observed another. “To my mind, mates, Satan lets them go on in their own way without ever showing himself to them; and as to helping them out of danger, depend on it he would leave them to perish soon enough if he had the power over them,” observed Adam. “There is another more powerful than him who looks after human beings; and not one of us, good or bad, can leave this world without He thinks fit. Its only when He knows that the cup of their iniquities is full that He allows even the worst to perish.”

Sir Ralph remained some time at Texford after his uncle’s death, giving directions for certain repairs and alterations which he wished to have executed immediately.

Sir Ralph had summoned Mr Groocock to the library, a fine old wainscotted room, with bookcases against two of the walls, while over and on either side of the fireplace were hung family portraits. Sir Reginald was there, occupying the centre position, with those of his younger brother, Mr Herbert Castleton, with his wife and their two children, the long lost Ranald, and their daughter Ellen, hers executed when she had just reached her sixteenth summer, and Ranald when he was about nineteen. The features of Ellen fully bore out the description which Dame Halliburt had given of her beauty.

Sir Ralph was seated with his legs crossed and his arm resting on the table when the steward entered. Sir Reginald would have desired him to sit down and welcomed him with a kind smile, and enquired after his health. Sir Ralph allowed the old man to stand before him while he issued his directions.

The house was to be freshly painted, and the furniture for some of the best rooms sent down from London.

“I purpose making Texford my summer and winter residence when my political duties do not require my attendance in London,” he observed to Mr Groocock.

Sir Ralph had sat in parliament for a close borough for the last three years, and he had let it be known that he intended to stand for the county at the next general election.

“Hurry on with the work, Mr Groocock, for Lady Castleton wishes to come down as soon as possible.”

The steward promised to see that his master’s orders were executed to the best of his ability.

“But you see, Sir Ralph,” he observed, “workmen are often dilatory, and we cannot always depend upon their doing what they promise.”

“They will do the work if you keep a watchful eye on them, Mr Groocock,” answered the baronet. “I am not accustomed to have difficulties raised when I give orders. My late uncle has been somewhat over-indulgent, I suspect. You will get all the rent paid up and proceed against defaulters, according to the power the law affords you. I desire to have no injustice done to anyone, but I suspect that the rents of several of the tenants ought to be raised. You will give them notice that they must expect it.”

“I will act as you desire, Sir Ralph, but I venture to observe that it may be a hardship to some of them if we act according to the strict letter of the law. The tenant may, from unforeseen circumstances, have got into difficulties, or he may have expended a considerable amount on his farm, and thus increased its value, or he may have a large family, and find it a hard matter to make the two ends meet, or he himself, or his wife or children, may have been suffering from sickness. In such cases Sir Reginald was wont to give me discretionary power, and was always more inclined to lower than raise the rent of a farm.”

“I do not consider myself bound to be guided by what my uncle, an old bachelor without ambition or any other aim in life beyond enjoying existence, might have thought fit to do,” answered Sir Ralph in an angry tone. “You will see that my directions are carried out.”

Mr Groocock bowed, and tried to suppress the sigh which he found rising from his bosom.

“If Sir Ralph wishes to stand for the county he will find his object defeated by these proceedings. My dear old master would have grieved if he had known the changes likely to be made, but I must obey orders—I must obey orders,” he thought to himself.

Having received his final directions, Mr Groocock bowed and retired from the room.

Sir Ralph went back to London. The steward felt relieved at his absence, though he had many unpleasant duties to perform.

He spoke in consequence of the directions he had received to the tenants, and naturally tried to exonerate himself from the suspicion that he had advised the proceedings he was compelled to carry out, yet he gained more ill-will than he had ever before experienced since he became steward of Texford. The miller of Hurlston, whose rent had been, however, very small, was among the most indignant at receiving notice that it was to be raised considerably should he wish to renew the lease as he had the option of doing. He rode over to Texford to expostulate.

“Very well, Mr Gaffin, you can give up the mill if you wish,” observed the steward, who would have been glad to get rid of a person whose character he had reason to suspect was none of the best.

“That may not be convenient, and it is very hard to have the rent raised on me after I have been working for years to bring a trade to the mill,” answered the miller. “I’ll not give it up, however, and you can tell your master that I’ll pay the rent he demands.”

His eye kindled as he spoke, and a dark frown gathered on his brow, adding, in a low fierce mutter as he left the steward’s room, “and with interest too, such as he does not expect.” Mr Groocock, however, did not catch the words, and believing the matter settled was glad to get rid of his surly visitor.

The house was at length got ready. Lady Castleton and her daughter Julia, with Madame De La Motte, who had now become rather her companion than governess, arrived, and were shortly after joined by Algernon. He had sometime before left college, where he had taken high honours, and was looked upon as a young man likely to rise in the world. He was, however, very delicate, and hard study had contributed to make him somewhat of an invalid. As his mother observed his spare figure and the hectic flush on his pale cheeks, she could not help at times fearing that he would be but little able to go through the career for which his ambitious father destined him.

“He must get into parliament as soon as possible, and in a few years I hope we shall see him a Minister of State,” Sir Ralph had observed to her as she was setting out from London.

He himself, however, had little wish to commence the career his father proposed.

“At present, at all events, let me enjoy Texford, and yours and Julia’s society, mother, and when my father vacates his seat for Mumbleton it will be time enough for me to decide whether or not I wish to occupy it,” he said to Lady Castleton when she spoke to him of his father’s wish.

When Sir Ralph arrived he did not appear to remark how ill his son looked; he was so occupied with politics and his various projects that he troubled himself about little else. When his wife tried to draw his attention to Algernon his only reply was—

“Yes, he reminds me very much of myself when I was of the same age that he is. I was slight and tall, and I suspect that my cheeks were paler than his, although I was accustomed to more exercise than he indulges in, and was fonder of riding and field sports. If he would take to hunting and shooting he would soon get round, and be well able to go through a political campaign in London.”

The time of mourning for the old baronet was over. Several guests had arrived, others had been invited, and whatever some of the tenants might have thought of the exactions, as they considered them, which the new baronet had imposed, there appeared every probability that Texford would become a far more lively and sociable mansion than it had been during the latter years of Sir Reginald’s life.

Chapter Twenty.Young Miles Gaffin.Sir Ralph and his family had been for some time settled at Texford, when the dame brought the news, gained from her usual source of information, Mr Groocock, that Mr Harry with another officer were daily expected at the hall.“Mr Groocock says that Mr Harry has done all sorts of brave things, and that he will be captain himself before long,” observed the dame to her husband and May, who had just then come in from Downside to pay her a visit. “It seems but the other day that he was a young midshipman, and now to think that he is old enough to be captain of a big ship, though he cannot beveryold either.”“I have known captains of nineteen,” observed Adam; “and though they had not much experience, when it came to real work they did it as well as their elders and better than many. It’s not so much what age a man is as what is in him, and that will show itself even though he has not got a hair on his lip.”“Mr Groocock says there are to be grand doings at the hall in honour of Mr Harry’s return from sea,” continued the dame. “All the tenantry are to be invited, and the labourers and tradesmen and workpeople from Morbury, and the fishermen too from Hurlston; and he made me promise to come and to bring my daughter, for he always calls you my daughter, May, and seems to forget what I once told him, for I am sure I did tell him all about you, though in truth you are my daughter, if a mother’s love can make you one.”“I trust that I always shall enjoy that love,” said May, taking the dame’s hand. “I think I should like to go with you to Texford if the ladies do not object, for they certainly will not go. Miss Mary would not like the crowd, which I suppose there will be, and indeed it is possible that they may not quite approve of such proceedings; besides which, Sir Ralph and Lady Castleton have never asked them to the hall since they took possession, though her ladyship once called at Downside and left her card, but when Miss Jane returned the visit she was not admitted, and has not felt disposed to call again.”“But the ladies must remember Mr Harry, as they were staying with Sir Reginald when he was last there, and Mr Groocock says that he was as great a favourite with them as he was with everybody, so perhaps for the sake of seeing him, if they are asked, they may be persuaded to go,” remarked the dame.“Not if they consider it wrong to give such a fête,” answered May. “I am uncertain of the opinion they will form. I cannot myself think it wrong to afford amusement to a number of people from whom they cannot expect to receive the slightest benefit in return.”“Well, if you don’t go with the ladies, May, I hope you will come with me. I should have little pleasure by myself; if I was to see you liking it I should be pleased also. You need not go and dance in the crowd. I should not wish to see you do that, even if you were really my daughter; but as you are a young lady, and there is no doubt about that, it would not be proper for you to mix with any but young ladies, and that, perhaps as you would not know any of those present, you would not wish to do.”“No, indeed,” answered May. “It is strange that I should never in my life have spoken to a young lady, and I have no notion, except from the descriptions given in Miss Burney’s novels, of the way young ladies in general behave, or speak, or think. I should be terribly afraid of them if they are like some of the heroines whose histories I have met with in ‘Evelina and Cecilia,’ which I have read to Miss Mary, and in a new story she has lately had sent to her, called ‘Camilla,’ but I have not finished it yet.”“I don’t know what sort of young ladies are put into books; but you need not be at all afraid of anyone, May, I am sure of that,” observed the dame. “I have known several young ladies in my time. There was poor Miss Ellen Castleton, and three very nice girls who all married well at another house where I was in service, and they could not have held a candle to you, that they couldn’t; but I must not say that for fear of making you vain, my dear. Just do you feel what is true, that you are equal to any of them and that will make you comfortable and at home. However, as Mr Harry has not come home and the day is not yet fixed, there will be time to talk about it; only if the ladies say anything just tell them that I should be so much obliged if they would let you go, and that I will take good care of you, and you shall come to no harm or do anything they won’t like.”May gladly promised, for she felt curious to see Texford, since she had only a very faint recollection of the place.As evening was approaching she wished her foster-parents good-bye. Just as she left the house Jacob came up from the boat. She greeted him in her usual unaffected way, but he seemed even less at his ease than he had been of late when he met her.“Brother Jacob,” said May, “I am so glad you are come. I wanted to ask you to collect me some shells, as many as you can find time to gather; not all winkles and cockles, remember, but as great a variety as possible. The ladies have a fancy for making a grotto in the garden, and I have undertaken to adorn the inside with shapes of all sorts of strange creatures to be formed with the shells. They will, I am sure, gladly pay you for your trouble, and I shall be much obliged to you if you can get them as soon as possible.”“If it’s to please you, Miss May, I will do it with all my heart, and I want no payment,” answered Jacob, his strong manly voice trembling more than he was aware of. Jacob was now a fine specimen of a stout young sailor.“What has come over you, Jacob?” exclaimed May, with a look of surprise, yet laughing as she spoke. “I never heard you call me Miss May before. I hope you are not offended at my saying that the ladies would pay you; they would not think it fair to employ your time without some recompense.”“But if it’s for you, I want no pay, and cannot take it,” said Jacob, his voice softening as he spoke. “I will get the shells, that I will gladly, as many basketfuls as you may want; only tell me when I bring them if there are not enough, and I will get more.”“Thank you, Jacob, I am sure you will,” said May, and without further noticing his peculiar manner she tripped lightly away on her homeward road.Jacob stood gazing at her with his hand on the door till she was out of sight. He then, instead of entering the cottage as he had previously intended, made his way in the direction she had gone.May continued her walk towards Downside. Having stopped at the cottage of an old woman (one of the many the Miss Pembertons were in the habit of visiting) to enquire whether she had got over her last attack of rheumatics, May, as she turned round, caught sight of Jacob in the distance. It was not the first time she had discovered him following her, but she knew him too well not to believe that he had some good motive for so doing.“Mother has not got over her fear of that man Miles Gaffin, and sends Jacob to watch that he does not run off with me, as she used to fancy he would do when I was a little girl,” she said to herself.The old dame assured her that she was much better for the stuff Miss Jane had sent, when May, as she wished her good-bye, looked back once more, but Jacob had disappeared. She therefore continued her walk, taking little further thought of him. Once, however, as she happened to turn her head for a moment, she fancied that she saw him, but he again disappeared round a corner.She was still some way from Downside when, on a part of the road where there were no cottages in sight, she observed a young man leaning against a gate at some little distance in front. He was dressed in the fashionable costume of the day—a green riding coat and top-boots, with a huge frill to his shirt, while his hat was set rakishly on one side. Though his features were not bad his countenance had a coarse unpleasant expression, and notwithstanding the dress he wore his appearance was not that of a gentleman.On seeing May he started forward and advanced towards her. Making her a bow as he approached, he said—“Highly pleased, Miss, to meet you. I have been on the look-out for the last two hours. I thought you were not coming.”May did not reply, but moved on.The young buck, however, was not to be daunted.“Saw you at church last Sunday, and thought you had seen me; but I suppose you were attending to the parson, or your eyes were on the prayer-book.”May, wondering who this intruder could be, and beginning to feel excessively annoyed at his impertinence, walked on as fast as she could.As he spoke of having seen her at church, she recollected remarking in a pew at some distance a youth who appeared to be staring at her.“I fancy you must be under some mistake in addressing me,” she said at last. “I am residing with the Miss Pembertons, and wish to have no acquaintances unless introduced to me by them.”“No, Miss, I do assure you that I am under no mistake whatever,” answered the youth, in a tone of assurance. “I have not the honour of being acquainted with the old ladies, but I have great respect for them on account of the care they take of you. They are not likely to be acquainted with a young buck like me, though they cannot object to your being so, and I would only ask you to give me the favour of seeing you safe home.”“Thank you, sir, I am very well acquainted with the road and require no one to accompany me,” said Mary, assuming as composed and dignified an air as she could put on. She, however, unaccustomed to assume any manner besides her own natural one, did not succeed much to her satisfaction. Her annoyance was greatly increased when, notwithstanding her remarks, the youth persevered in walking by her side. She now began to regret that she had not invited Jacob to accompany her, for she was very sure that no one would have ventured to have spoken to her thus had he been her attendant. She instinctively looked round in the hopes that he might still be following, but she could not see him. She therefore went on, trusting that her silence would induce the impertinent stranger to allow her to proceed alone.“Ah, Miss, though you don’t seem to know me I have known you for all your life nearly. I am young Miles Gaffin, and I remember when you were a little girl living with old Halliburt and his wife, and I often saw you when I came home for the holidays, though I have been now long away from Hurlston studying the law, in which I hope to make a figure some day. A fine profession for making money, and the only way to make a figure in the world is to get that, in my opinion,” and he laughed at his own intended wit.Still May kept on her way in silence.“Can this person be a son of that dreadful man Gaffin?” she thought. “If the stories about the miller are true it is the sort of conduct to be expected from a son of his.”She felt that her best course was not to speak to the youth whatever he might say.He continued walking by her side, beating his boot with his riding whip. At length he began to grow impatient at her silence.“You have got a voice I know, for I heard it sound very sweetly just now. Can’t you use it just to say something? It’s not pleasant when a person speaks to a young lady not to have a word in return.”Still May was firm in her determination not to speak. The youth, probably unaccustomed to such treatment from the young women he usually associated with, entirely lost patience.“Come, come, Miss, let’s be friends! Though you do live with the Miss Pembertons, there’s no reason you should look down upon a young man who is in a respectable position, and would make you an independent lady if you would let him.”As he spoke he tried to seize her hand, and put his other arm round to draw her towards him. She started back to escape his touch, and as she did so, looking over her shoulder, she saw Jacob following in the distance. She turned and flew towards him faster than she had ever run in her life. Jacob hastened to meet her. She took his arm panting and scarcely able to speak as she told him the insult to which she had been subjected.“I saw some one walking alongside you, and thought it wasn’t by your wish, but couldn’t tell, you see, though I ought to have known better. But the impudent fellow shall rue it, that he shall. I’ll serve him as I would a conger!” exclaimed Jacob. “Let me be after him now—I’ll catch him before he has got far, and I’ll warrant he shall never speak to you again.”“Oh, no, no! pray do not, Jacob,” said May, leaning on his arm to support herself. She was more agitated than she could have supposed. “Let him alone, whoever he is, though I suspect from what he said that he is a son of Miles Gaffin. It will be only necessary, I hope, to warn him not to behave again as he has done; and as I shall tell Miss Pemberton, she will probably speak to him, and that will be sufficient.”“If the audacious young scoundrel is Miles Gaffin’s son, and he is like his father, he will care neither what Miss Pemberton nor any other lady says to him,” exclaimed Jacob, doubling his fist, while his eye assumed a fierce expression it seldom wore. “He will care what this says to him though, and I’ll make it speak in a way he won’t like, that I will. But don’t you be afraid, there is no harm will come of it. How he should have dared to speak to you is more than I can tell; but I will find out if he has a tongue to answer me, and it will be the last time he’ll try it.”Had young Gaffin heard Jacob, and seen his brawny arm and huge fist, he would have had no inclination to fall in with him; but feeling that it would be wise not to encounter the sturdy protector to whom May had appealed, he had, after pursuing her a few steps, leaped over a gate and run into a wood, which concealed him from sight. It is possible that, from his place of concealment, he might have observed May leaning on Jacob’s arm as they proceeded towards Downside.“Thank you, Jacob, for your kindly succour,” she said when they reached the door. “You will come in and see the ladies, for they will wish to thank you as I do.”“Oh, May, you don’t fancy that there is any need of thanking me—no, not even if I had saved your life, for that would have made me happier than I can tell you,” answered Jacob, with a half reproachful look. “As to that villain, I will find him out, and then I’ll come and tell the ladies how I have served him.”“I must again entreat you not to use any violence,” said May. “It will be quite sufficient if you can learn who he is, that I may be protected from his insults, but for no other reason do I even wish to ascertain his name.”While they were speaking, Miss Jane, who had heard their voices, came out, and May hurriedly told her what had occurred.“May has spoken very properly to you, Jacob,” she said. “Do no more than she has advised.”Jacob’s countenance assumed a more dogged look than May had ever seen it wear, and, unwilling to receive more of Miss Jane’s stem exhortations, or May’s milder entreaties, he wished them good evening, and casting a look expressive of his devotion at May, hurried away.As May was able to identify the youth who had spoken to her with the young man who had appeared at church on the previous Sunday, Miss Jane, with her usual sagacity, ascertained that he was staying at the Texford Arms, and that Miles Gaffin, the miller had met him on his arrival. It was supposed that he was the eldest son of that person.“I fear there will be but little use complaining to the father,” observed Miss Jane; “but it will be more prudent, my dear May, for you to confine your walks to the grounds till he has left the place, unless you accompany Mary or me. Jacob will undoubtedly let his parents know what has occurred, and we shall, probably have the dame up here to make enquiries. I will then tell her not to expect a visit from you till you are no longer likely to be subjected to the same annoyance.”May agreed to the wisdom of this proposal; indeed she would have been very unwilling to venture beyond the grounds by herself.

Sir Ralph and his family had been for some time settled at Texford, when the dame brought the news, gained from her usual source of information, Mr Groocock, that Mr Harry with another officer were daily expected at the hall.

“Mr Groocock says that Mr Harry has done all sorts of brave things, and that he will be captain himself before long,” observed the dame to her husband and May, who had just then come in from Downside to pay her a visit. “It seems but the other day that he was a young midshipman, and now to think that he is old enough to be captain of a big ship, though he cannot beveryold either.”

“I have known captains of nineteen,” observed Adam; “and though they had not much experience, when it came to real work they did it as well as their elders and better than many. It’s not so much what age a man is as what is in him, and that will show itself even though he has not got a hair on his lip.”

“Mr Groocock says there are to be grand doings at the hall in honour of Mr Harry’s return from sea,” continued the dame. “All the tenantry are to be invited, and the labourers and tradesmen and workpeople from Morbury, and the fishermen too from Hurlston; and he made me promise to come and to bring my daughter, for he always calls you my daughter, May, and seems to forget what I once told him, for I am sure I did tell him all about you, though in truth you are my daughter, if a mother’s love can make you one.”

“I trust that I always shall enjoy that love,” said May, taking the dame’s hand. “I think I should like to go with you to Texford if the ladies do not object, for they certainly will not go. Miss Mary would not like the crowd, which I suppose there will be, and indeed it is possible that they may not quite approve of such proceedings; besides which, Sir Ralph and Lady Castleton have never asked them to the hall since they took possession, though her ladyship once called at Downside and left her card, but when Miss Jane returned the visit she was not admitted, and has not felt disposed to call again.”

“But the ladies must remember Mr Harry, as they were staying with Sir Reginald when he was last there, and Mr Groocock says that he was as great a favourite with them as he was with everybody, so perhaps for the sake of seeing him, if they are asked, they may be persuaded to go,” remarked the dame.

“Not if they consider it wrong to give such a fête,” answered May. “I am uncertain of the opinion they will form. I cannot myself think it wrong to afford amusement to a number of people from whom they cannot expect to receive the slightest benefit in return.”

“Well, if you don’t go with the ladies, May, I hope you will come with me. I should have little pleasure by myself; if I was to see you liking it I should be pleased also. You need not go and dance in the crowd. I should not wish to see you do that, even if you were really my daughter; but as you are a young lady, and there is no doubt about that, it would not be proper for you to mix with any but young ladies, and that, perhaps as you would not know any of those present, you would not wish to do.”

“No, indeed,” answered May. “It is strange that I should never in my life have spoken to a young lady, and I have no notion, except from the descriptions given in Miss Burney’s novels, of the way young ladies in general behave, or speak, or think. I should be terribly afraid of them if they are like some of the heroines whose histories I have met with in ‘Evelina and Cecilia,’ which I have read to Miss Mary, and in a new story she has lately had sent to her, called ‘Camilla,’ but I have not finished it yet.”

“I don’t know what sort of young ladies are put into books; but you need not be at all afraid of anyone, May, I am sure of that,” observed the dame. “I have known several young ladies in my time. There was poor Miss Ellen Castleton, and three very nice girls who all married well at another house where I was in service, and they could not have held a candle to you, that they couldn’t; but I must not say that for fear of making you vain, my dear. Just do you feel what is true, that you are equal to any of them and that will make you comfortable and at home. However, as Mr Harry has not come home and the day is not yet fixed, there will be time to talk about it; only if the ladies say anything just tell them that I should be so much obliged if they would let you go, and that I will take good care of you, and you shall come to no harm or do anything they won’t like.”

May gladly promised, for she felt curious to see Texford, since she had only a very faint recollection of the place.

As evening was approaching she wished her foster-parents good-bye. Just as she left the house Jacob came up from the boat. She greeted him in her usual unaffected way, but he seemed even less at his ease than he had been of late when he met her.

“Brother Jacob,” said May, “I am so glad you are come. I wanted to ask you to collect me some shells, as many as you can find time to gather; not all winkles and cockles, remember, but as great a variety as possible. The ladies have a fancy for making a grotto in the garden, and I have undertaken to adorn the inside with shapes of all sorts of strange creatures to be formed with the shells. They will, I am sure, gladly pay you for your trouble, and I shall be much obliged to you if you can get them as soon as possible.”

“If it’s to please you, Miss May, I will do it with all my heart, and I want no payment,” answered Jacob, his strong manly voice trembling more than he was aware of. Jacob was now a fine specimen of a stout young sailor.

“What has come over you, Jacob?” exclaimed May, with a look of surprise, yet laughing as she spoke. “I never heard you call me Miss May before. I hope you are not offended at my saying that the ladies would pay you; they would not think it fair to employ your time without some recompense.”

“But if it’s for you, I want no pay, and cannot take it,” said Jacob, his voice softening as he spoke. “I will get the shells, that I will gladly, as many basketfuls as you may want; only tell me when I bring them if there are not enough, and I will get more.”

“Thank you, Jacob, I am sure you will,” said May, and without further noticing his peculiar manner she tripped lightly away on her homeward road.

Jacob stood gazing at her with his hand on the door till she was out of sight. He then, instead of entering the cottage as he had previously intended, made his way in the direction she had gone.

May continued her walk towards Downside. Having stopped at the cottage of an old woman (one of the many the Miss Pembertons were in the habit of visiting) to enquire whether she had got over her last attack of rheumatics, May, as she turned round, caught sight of Jacob in the distance. It was not the first time she had discovered him following her, but she knew him too well not to believe that he had some good motive for so doing.

“Mother has not got over her fear of that man Miles Gaffin, and sends Jacob to watch that he does not run off with me, as she used to fancy he would do when I was a little girl,” she said to herself.

The old dame assured her that she was much better for the stuff Miss Jane had sent, when May, as she wished her good-bye, looked back once more, but Jacob had disappeared. She therefore continued her walk, taking little further thought of him. Once, however, as she happened to turn her head for a moment, she fancied that she saw him, but he again disappeared round a corner.

She was still some way from Downside when, on a part of the road where there were no cottages in sight, she observed a young man leaning against a gate at some little distance in front. He was dressed in the fashionable costume of the day—a green riding coat and top-boots, with a huge frill to his shirt, while his hat was set rakishly on one side. Though his features were not bad his countenance had a coarse unpleasant expression, and notwithstanding the dress he wore his appearance was not that of a gentleman.

On seeing May he started forward and advanced towards her. Making her a bow as he approached, he said—

“Highly pleased, Miss, to meet you. I have been on the look-out for the last two hours. I thought you were not coming.”

May did not reply, but moved on.

The young buck, however, was not to be daunted.

“Saw you at church last Sunday, and thought you had seen me; but I suppose you were attending to the parson, or your eyes were on the prayer-book.”

May, wondering who this intruder could be, and beginning to feel excessively annoyed at his impertinence, walked on as fast as she could.

As he spoke of having seen her at church, she recollected remarking in a pew at some distance a youth who appeared to be staring at her.

“I fancy you must be under some mistake in addressing me,” she said at last. “I am residing with the Miss Pembertons, and wish to have no acquaintances unless introduced to me by them.”

“No, Miss, I do assure you that I am under no mistake whatever,” answered the youth, in a tone of assurance. “I have not the honour of being acquainted with the old ladies, but I have great respect for them on account of the care they take of you. They are not likely to be acquainted with a young buck like me, though they cannot object to your being so, and I would only ask you to give me the favour of seeing you safe home.”

“Thank you, sir, I am very well acquainted with the road and require no one to accompany me,” said Mary, assuming as composed and dignified an air as she could put on. She, however, unaccustomed to assume any manner besides her own natural one, did not succeed much to her satisfaction. Her annoyance was greatly increased when, notwithstanding her remarks, the youth persevered in walking by her side. She now began to regret that she had not invited Jacob to accompany her, for she was very sure that no one would have ventured to have spoken to her thus had he been her attendant. She instinctively looked round in the hopes that he might still be following, but she could not see him. She therefore went on, trusting that her silence would induce the impertinent stranger to allow her to proceed alone.

“Ah, Miss, though you don’t seem to know me I have known you for all your life nearly. I am young Miles Gaffin, and I remember when you were a little girl living with old Halliburt and his wife, and I often saw you when I came home for the holidays, though I have been now long away from Hurlston studying the law, in which I hope to make a figure some day. A fine profession for making money, and the only way to make a figure in the world is to get that, in my opinion,” and he laughed at his own intended wit.

Still May kept on her way in silence.

“Can this person be a son of that dreadful man Gaffin?” she thought. “If the stories about the miller are true it is the sort of conduct to be expected from a son of his.”

She felt that her best course was not to speak to the youth whatever he might say.

He continued walking by her side, beating his boot with his riding whip. At length he began to grow impatient at her silence.

“You have got a voice I know, for I heard it sound very sweetly just now. Can’t you use it just to say something? It’s not pleasant when a person speaks to a young lady not to have a word in return.”

Still May was firm in her determination not to speak. The youth, probably unaccustomed to such treatment from the young women he usually associated with, entirely lost patience.

“Come, come, Miss, let’s be friends! Though you do live with the Miss Pembertons, there’s no reason you should look down upon a young man who is in a respectable position, and would make you an independent lady if you would let him.”

As he spoke he tried to seize her hand, and put his other arm round to draw her towards him. She started back to escape his touch, and as she did so, looking over her shoulder, she saw Jacob following in the distance. She turned and flew towards him faster than she had ever run in her life. Jacob hastened to meet her. She took his arm panting and scarcely able to speak as she told him the insult to which she had been subjected.

“I saw some one walking alongside you, and thought it wasn’t by your wish, but couldn’t tell, you see, though I ought to have known better. But the impudent fellow shall rue it, that he shall. I’ll serve him as I would a conger!” exclaimed Jacob. “Let me be after him now—I’ll catch him before he has got far, and I’ll warrant he shall never speak to you again.”

“Oh, no, no! pray do not, Jacob,” said May, leaning on his arm to support herself. She was more agitated than she could have supposed. “Let him alone, whoever he is, though I suspect from what he said that he is a son of Miles Gaffin. It will be only necessary, I hope, to warn him not to behave again as he has done; and as I shall tell Miss Pemberton, she will probably speak to him, and that will be sufficient.”

“If the audacious young scoundrel is Miles Gaffin’s son, and he is like his father, he will care neither what Miss Pemberton nor any other lady says to him,” exclaimed Jacob, doubling his fist, while his eye assumed a fierce expression it seldom wore. “He will care what this says to him though, and I’ll make it speak in a way he won’t like, that I will. But don’t you be afraid, there is no harm will come of it. How he should have dared to speak to you is more than I can tell; but I will find out if he has a tongue to answer me, and it will be the last time he’ll try it.”

Had young Gaffin heard Jacob, and seen his brawny arm and huge fist, he would have had no inclination to fall in with him; but feeling that it would be wise not to encounter the sturdy protector to whom May had appealed, he had, after pursuing her a few steps, leaped over a gate and run into a wood, which concealed him from sight. It is possible that, from his place of concealment, he might have observed May leaning on Jacob’s arm as they proceeded towards Downside.

“Thank you, Jacob, for your kindly succour,” she said when they reached the door. “You will come in and see the ladies, for they will wish to thank you as I do.”

“Oh, May, you don’t fancy that there is any need of thanking me—no, not even if I had saved your life, for that would have made me happier than I can tell you,” answered Jacob, with a half reproachful look. “As to that villain, I will find him out, and then I’ll come and tell the ladies how I have served him.”

“I must again entreat you not to use any violence,” said May. “It will be quite sufficient if you can learn who he is, that I may be protected from his insults, but for no other reason do I even wish to ascertain his name.”

While they were speaking, Miss Jane, who had heard their voices, came out, and May hurriedly told her what had occurred.

“May has spoken very properly to you, Jacob,” she said. “Do no more than she has advised.”

Jacob’s countenance assumed a more dogged look than May had ever seen it wear, and, unwilling to receive more of Miss Jane’s stem exhortations, or May’s milder entreaties, he wished them good evening, and casting a look expressive of his devotion at May, hurried away.

As May was able to identify the youth who had spoken to her with the young man who had appeared at church on the previous Sunday, Miss Jane, with her usual sagacity, ascertained that he was staying at the Texford Arms, and that Miles Gaffin, the miller had met him on his arrival. It was supposed that he was the eldest son of that person.

“I fear there will be but little use complaining to the father,” observed Miss Jane; “but it will be more prudent, my dear May, for you to confine your walks to the grounds till he has left the place, unless you accompany Mary or me. Jacob will undoubtedly let his parents know what has occurred, and we shall, probably have the dame up here to make enquiries. I will then tell her not to expect a visit from you till you are no longer likely to be subjected to the same annoyance.”

May agreed to the wisdom of this proposal; indeed she would have been very unwilling to venture beyond the grounds by herself.

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