Such was Headland's history, and Harry assured him at its close that he always knew he must be a gentleman by birth, as he was in every other possible way.

"I heartily wish," he said, "that you may some day find out to whom you belong. Whoever they are you may depend on it they will welcome you joyfully. Why there goes eight bells. Our watch has indeed passed quickly away."

The two midshipmen were relieved and went below. They had scarcely, as they supposed, closed their eyes, when the boatswain's rough voice and shrill pipe roused them up with a cry of "All hands on deck!" followed by the quick roll of the drum, the well known beat to quarters.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

HOME, WITH PROMOTION.

As Harry and his friend reached the deck they caught sight of a strange frigate standing towards the Triton, 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 the Triton herself 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 the Triton, approaching within hail then hauled to the wind, on the Triton's weather 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 the Triton. 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.

The Triton, 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 the Triton come 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 the Triton. 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 the Triton's crew were sent on board to repair the damages the prize had received.

She proved to be the Mahonesa, 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.

The Triton remained 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 the Triton was 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 the Naiad frigate, and Headland to the Alembic, they had the good fortune to capture two Spanish frigates, the Thetis and Santa 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 the Santa Brigida's treasure, 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 the Nancy.

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.



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.



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 be very old 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 fete," 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.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE SMUGGLER'S VAULT.

The appearance of young Gaffin at Hurlston must be accounted for.

The old mill on the cliff, which belonged to Sir Reginald Castleton, was in a somewhat decayed condition, and had long been unoccupied, when a short time before the period at which our story commences, a stranger, calling himself Miles Gaffin, a miller by trade, called on Mr Groocock, and offered to take it. As he was ready to give a better rent than the steward expected to receive, he was glad to let it.

Miles Gaffin had occupied the mill for about a year, when, leaving it in charge of his man, he disappeared for a time and returned with a wife and three boys, whom he placed in a neat cottage at some little distance from the mill. His wife was a foreigner, of dark complexion, who spoke no English, a care-worn, spirit-broken woman, it was said.

She had little or no intercourse with her neighbours, who were unable to find out anything about her; indeed, either by her husband's order or her own wish, she never admitted any of them within her doors.

Some time after Miles Gaffin had been established at the mill, a lugger appeared off the coast, on board which he was seen to go. He had previously declared to Mr Groocock, notwithstanding his sunburnt countenance and undoubted sailor-like look, that he knew nothing of nautical affairs.

Mr Groocock began to suspect that he had been deceived in the matter on finding that Gaffin had sailed away in the lugger, and did not return for many weeks.

He confessed with a laugh when he next met the steward that he was really fond of the sea, and that whenever his business would allow him, he proposed taking a trip to indulge his fancy. He went so far even to invite Mr Groocock to accompany him, his offer, however, as may be supposed, being declined.

On one side of the mill the ground sloped rapidly down for twenty feet or more, and here a house was erected, the roof of which reached scarcely higher than the basement of the mill itself, so that the arms on which the sails were stretched could pass freely over it. This building had been in even a more dilapidated condition than the mill itself. The lower portion was used as a stable, where the miller kept his horse, the upper contained two rooms. Miles Gaffin had partially repaired the house, and had had the two rooms fitted up as sleeping apartments, that he might, as he said, put up any guest whom he could not accommodate in his own house. From the time he had taken possession of it he had, however, admitted none of his neighbours, though it was rumoured that strange men who had landed from the suspicious lugger had been observed entering the house, and sometimes leaving it, either on foot or on horseback, and making their way inland; lights also had been seen at all hours of the night when certainly the mill itself was not at work. It was remarked, too, by several of the fishermen in the neighbourhood, that the stranger had been carrying on some work or other either inside the house or below the mill, as they had observed a large quantity of earth which had been thrown down over the cliff, and though part of it had been washed away by the spring tides, it still went on increasing. When one of them made an observation to him on the subject, he replied promptly that he had heard a noise one night, and had no doubt that part of the cliff had given way. However, considering the risk there was, should such have been the case, of his mill being carried down bodily to the beach, he took the matter very coolly.

From time to time a still larger quantity of earth was observed, and it was whispered by one or two of his more sagacious neighbours that Miles Gaffin must be excavating a vault beneath his mill, possibly for the purpose of forming a granary in which to store corn purchased by him when prices were low. Why, however, he had not employed any of the labourers in the neighbourhood, or why he should have the work carried on in secret, no one could determine. Still the idea prevailed that a vault of some sort had been formed; but after a time the matter was forgotten. No one, indeed, had much fancy for asking the miller inquisitive questions, as he generally gave such replies as to make people wish that they had not put them. He was, indeed, looked upon as a morose, haughty man, who, considering himself superior to the other inhabitants of the village, was not inclined to allow any familiarity. He had never been known to seek for custom. He had brought a man with him to work the mill who was even more surly and morose than his master. Poor Dusty Dick, as he was called, was deaf and dumb, so that he could only express his feelings by his looks, and they were unprepossessing in the extreme. When corn was brought he ground it and returned the proper quantity of flour on receiving payment, though he would never give it up without that.

The miller wished it to be understood that he ground his neighbour's corn as a favour, and that his chief profits arose from turning into flour the wheat which came by sea on board the lugger. This statement was borne out by the large number of sacks which her crew were frequently seen landing. Waggons from a distance also frequently arrived, and being loaded with flour, were sent off again to the places from whence they came. The miller's business, however, it was evident, was not a steady one; sometimes for weeks together the long arms of the mill were only seen working for a few hours now and then, and at others the miller and his companions were as busy as bees, while the sails went spinning round at a great rate, as if trying to make amends for lost time.

Miles Gaffin continued to make frequent voyages in the lugger, of which he was generally supposed to be the owner. Sometimes he was several months together absent. When he came back he was so busy at the mill that he was seldom seen at the cottage where his family resided.

As soon as his boys were old enough he sent them away to school. When they came back for their holidays they were noted chiefly for being the most noisy, wild, and worst mannered lads in the place, especially held in dread by Miss Pemberton, who had frequently rebuked them when she saw them playing games on a Sunday in the village, and had received rude answers in return. The youngest was, notwithstanding, a fine, manly looking boy, and the only one ever seen in his father's company.

On one occasion Gaffin had taken him on board the lugger, but the lad had not returned, and it was said that he had been knocked overboard in a gale of wind, and drowned.

On Gaffin's return after this event, his wife, as it was supposed, on his suddenly communicating the boy's death, became ill. A doctor was sent for, but the stroke had gone too far home for human cure, and in a short time the hapless woman breathed her last.

On this Miles sent back his sons to school, and from that time, greatly to the relief of Miss Pemberton, they did not make their appearance in the village. He gave up his cottage, and after that took up his abode, when at Hurlston, entirely at the mill-house.

A short time before the reappearance of his son at Hurlston, as just mentioned, he had himself, after a considerable absence, returned. He had been of late unsuccessful in his undertakings, whatever they were, and even Dusty Dick, as he observed his master's countenance, thought it prudent, as much as possible, to keep out of his way.

Several strangers had come with him on board the lugger, and had taken possession of one of the rooms in the mill-house, while he occupied the other. They were personages unaccustomed apparently to soft beds or luxuries of any sort, so that they were perfectly at home in the roughly furnished room; and when they wished to sleep they found, when wrapped in their cloaks, all the comfort they desired.

Besides a couple of tressel beds, a long deal table, with benches on either side, were the chief articles of furniture.

The miller and his guests were seated round the table, on which stood the remnants of their supper. Their conversation related chiefly to an adventure in which they had lately been engaged, while political subjects were also discussed.

"Now, mates," said Gaffin, rising, "I have got business to attend to before I turn in, but I will leave you to put on your night-caps whenever you have a fancy."

"This is the only night-cap I ever put on," answered one of the men, pouring out half a tumbler of brandy. "It serves for night-cap and blanket too, and keeps a fellow from dreaming, an occupation I have no fancy for."

"You are not going to leave us yet, captain, are you? We have not reached the small hours of the night," said a second. "Another stoup of liquor, man; we are on firm ground, and no king's cruisers are in chase of us; you need not fear if it sends you to sleep, or makes you see double for once in a way."

Gaffin still, however, refused to sit down again, even though other urgent appeals were made to him, couched in much coarser language, interlarded with not a few strange oaths, which need not be repeated.

"I have told you, mates, that I have business to attend to. Amuse yourselves as you list, only don't get to brawling, or burn the house down in your revels; if you do, remember you will chance to burn with it before your time comes."

The smuggler captain, for such he appeared to be considered by his ruffianly companions, without again speaking left the room.

He repaired at once to his own chamber, and sitting down at a table, on which a lamp burned, he opened a desk, took a huge pocket-book from his coat, and began to examine several documents which it contained.

"I must raise the wind by fair means or foul to satisfy my fellows, as well as to make another venture before I cry die. Unless that is as unsuccessful as the last, I shall soon redeem my fortunes."

He sat for some time ruminating, now and then turning to his papers, and casting up accounts. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"How came I so long to forget the chest I got only off the wreck from which old Halliburt saved the little girl?" he muttered. "Though I took out not a few valuables, there were all sorts of things at the bottom of the chest, which, now I think of it, I never turned over. I will have a look at them this very night. Even a few gold pieces would be welcome, and it was evidently the treasure chest of some Indian nabob or other, his ill-gotten gains from the wretched natives he had fleeced and cheated."

He went to a chest of drawers in which he found a key.

"This must be it," he said, "by its foreign make."

Taking the lamp he left the chamber, and descended the stairs. The sound of boisterous revelry proceeded from the room where his guests were assembled.

"The drunken brutes are not likely to disturb me," he growled out, "and Dick is fast asleep in his loft."

Going across the stable, on removing a heap of straw he found a low door, which opened with a key he produced from his pocket. Going through it, he closed it carefully behind him.

He now stood in a low vaulted cavern, the earth supported by upright pieces of stout timber, with flat boards above them, which prevented the sandy soil in which it was cut from falling in. This was the excavation which he, with a few trusty companions, had formed many years ago.

Various sorts of goods were piled up in it—casks of spirits, bales of tobacco, silk, and several other articles. In a recess at the further end was a large chest.

After several attempts, for the lock from disuse was rusted, he opened it, and placing the lamp, resting on a piece of board, at one corner of the chest, he sat down on a cask by its side. On first glancing into it there appeared to be little or nothing within; but, on examining it further, he found that there was a large tray at the bottom, which apparently, on some former hurried examination, had escaped his notice. On lifting this a number of articles were revealed closely packed; they were mostly cases of various sizes. There was a jewelled-handled sword, a curious dagger, and a brace of richly ornamented pistols, two or three silver bowls and cups, and other articles which had probably been presented by native princes or other wealthy men to the owner of the chest. Several of the cases contained jewels evidently of great value, which, as they glittered in the light, the smuggler gazed at with intense satisfaction.

"And I have had all this wealth at my command and never knew of it," he muttered. "I guessed the girl must have had wealthy friends, and as this chest must have belonged to them, it would have been worth my while to get hold of her. As, however, they have never appeared, I have been saved the trouble and expense she would have been to me, and now this store comes just in the nick of time when I want it most. The only difficulty will be to dispose of all these things without raising suspicion as to how I came by them. Still, at the worst, I can but tell the truth should questions be asked, and prove that I got them from a wreck. At all events, there are Jews enough in London who will give me cash for them, though it may cost me not a little trouble to wring their proper value out of the close-fisted hypocrites."

Such were the thoughts which occupied the smuggler's mind as he examined in succession the articles which have been mentioned.

At last he came to another case or writing-desk, which was locked.

"I may as well overhaul the whole at once," he thought. "I must get this opened somehow."

A sailor's strong knife was the only implement at hand. He broke off a portion of the blade in making the attempt. At length he succeeded, though he injured the case in the operation. Placing the desk on his knees, he examined the contents, which consisted of a number of papers, title-deeds, official documents in oriental characters, and other papers apparently of value, together with several bills of exchange for a large amount, and rolls of gold coin.

"Ah, ah! these will save me from going to the Jews as yet," he exclaimed. "I will keep the jewels and other things till any future necessity compels me to part with them."

Having examined the coin to assure himself that he was not mistaken, he was glancing carelessly over the papers, when his eye fell on a name which attracted his attention. He eagerly read through the paper, and then looked for another and another. A deep frown settled on his brow, while a look of satisfaction kindled in his eye.

"If Satan himself had been asked to do my command, he could not please me better than this," he exclaimed. "I can now more amply than I had expected accomplish the design I have for years waited for. And while I enrich myself, I shall without risk humble those I have good reason to hate."

He was now lost in thought, now again glancing over the papers.

"They and the other things will be safer here, where they have lain so long, than in the house which may get burned down through some drunken spree by the fellows I have to harbour. But the coin may as well go into my pockets at once," he said to himself, as he put back the desk with its contents in the chest.

Having replaced the tray, he brought some straw from another part of the vault, and threw in a sufficient quantity to conceal it should by any chance the chest be opened by any one else.

"This will make it be supposed that there is nothing below," he said to himself, as he closed the lid and locked it.

At length leaving the vault, he returned to his chamber. His companions' revels had ceased, and now loud snores only came from the room where they were sleeping. He threw himself on his bed, but his busy brain was too hard at work to allow him to sleep.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MILES GAFFIN, JUNIOR.

Miles Gaffin lay on his bed turning over in his thoughts the information he had obtained, and considering how he could gain the most advantage from it. Returning to the table, he sat down to write. He was a man of decision. With him to propose was to act. "My son Myles," he wrote, for it was not his wont to use terms of endearment, "you are to come here at once. Tell Mr Crotch so from me; you need not say more to him. I want you to make your fortune by a way to which you will not object marrying a young and pretty wife. When you come you shall know more about the matter. Get a good rig out, so as to appear to advantage. Wait at the Texford Arms, where I will meet you, but don't come to the mill. From your father, Miles Gaffin."

The letter was speedily sealed and directed, and sent off the next morning to the post by one of his companions, who, by that time, was sufficiently sober to undertake the errand.

Gaffin's lugger, the Lively, lay at anchor off the mill. She had no contraband goods on board, so that a visit from the revenue officers need not be feared. He had previously intended going away in her, but he now was anxious to see his son before he sailed. His difficulty, in the meantime, was to dispose of his guests. They, however, as long as his supply of liquor and provisions lasted, would be content to remain where they were. He had no wish to bring his son among them, for bad as he himself was, he had, since the loss of his youngest boy, kept his other two children ignorant of his mode of life, though it was possible that the eldest might have suspected it from circumstances which he must have remembered in his younger days.

Gaffin waited with more patience than he generally exercised, till he calculated that a sufficient time had elapsed to allow of his son's arrival. He then walked down to the little inn in the village.

Just as he readied it, a post-chaise drove up to the door, out of which stepped a young man, whom he recognised as Miles, though he had not seen him for the last three or four years.

"You are my son, Miles, I conclude," said Gaffin.

"You are my father, I suppose," answered the young man in the same tone.

"You are right," said Gaffin. "Pay the post-boy, and let him bring your portmanteau into the house. I will order a room, and we will talk over the matter in hand."

The landlady having shown Gaffin into a room, young Miles did as he was directed, and followed him.

"Well, I want to know more about this business you sent for me about," said the young man, throwing himself into a chair. "I have done as you told me, and I hope you think I have got a good chance."

Gaffin surveyed his son for a moment.

"Yes, you will do, as far as that goes," he answered. "Now listen to me; I don't want to be asked questions, but do you trust to me and go ahead. There is a young girl whom you remember when you were a boy. She was found on board a wreck by Adam Halliburt, the fisherman, and brought up by him and his wife. Two old ladies here took a fancy to her, and have given her an education which has made her fit to be the wife of any gentleman in the land. She is pretty, too, and everything a young fellow could wish for. I happen to know to a certainty that she is a prize worth winning. When you have seen her, I am much mistaken if you would not give your eyes to have her, without asking any questions, and I am not going to answer them, if you do. I have your interests at heart, and wish to serve you in the matter."

"I have no doubt you have, but I should like to have a look at the girl before I decide," answered young Miles.

"That you can do to-morrow at church where she is sure to be, and when you have seen her don't let there be any shilly shallying; make up to her at once, most girls like to be won in an off-hand manner, and just do you go and tell her how you have seen her and fallen in love with her, and all that sort of thing. I daresay you have had some experience already."

"Pretty well in a sort of way," answered the young man in a conceited tone. "If I have got your word that she is worth winning, you will find I am not backward, and I hope, before long, to give a good report of progress."

Gaffin, satisfied that his son would do all he desired, charged him to keep himself quiet and not get into any scrapes while at Hurlston.

"People here will know you are my son, so just get a good name for yourself, and whatever they may think, they cannot say you are not a fit match for the old fisherman's foster-daughter," and Gaffin gave way to a laugh such as he rarely indulged in. "I will come down here again and have a talk with you after you have seen the girl. Now there is one thing more I have got to say, though I do not know to a cute fellow like you whether the caution is necessary; don't go and be blabbing to others of what you are about."

"I have been too long with Mr Crotch not to know how to keep a secret," answered the young man; "and I fancy I can manage this affair as I have done several others for my employer. I do not mean love affairs though, but matters of business in which I have given him perfect satisfaction, he tells me."

The conference over, Gaffin again charged his son to behave himself, and with no more show of affection than he had exhibited on the young man's arrival, took his departure and returned to the mill.

He kept within doors endeavouring to maintain order among his lawless associates. He wished not to be seen in company with his son, or to let it be supposed that he was instigating him in his siege on Maiden May's heart. From the accounts he had received from Mr Crotch of that young gentleman's talents, he believed that he could allow the matter to rest securely in his hands. If impudence was to carry the day young Miles would come off victorious, as he was known to possess no inconsiderable amount of that quality.

Gaffin had an excuse for remaining at the mill, as a larger quantity of grist than usual had been brought, and, for a wonder, its long arms with the sails stretched out went merrily round and round, giving Dusty Dick ample employment. The smuggler's crew grumbled at not having their dinner cooked in time. Dusty Dick had to take charge of the kitchen in addition to his other duties, and the mill required his attention. Gaffin had accordingly to serve out an additional supply of liquor to keep his guests quiet. He succeeded so effectually that, seasoned as they were, one and all were soon unable to quit the house, leaving him at liberty to attend to his own affairs.

"The beasts," he said, as he looked in upon the drunken ruffians, some sleeping with their heads on the table, others fallen under it, and others stretched their length on the beds, or at the side of the room. "They will stay there quiet enough till I want them, and no one is likely to come prying this way to disturb their slumbers."

Securely bolting the door of the house he passed by a back way into the mill, where, after giving some directions to Dusty Dick, he descended to the beach. A small boat lay there which he was able to launch by himself, and pulling off in her he went on board the lugger. He had left the most trusted part of his crew in her, including his mate, Tom Fidget, on whom he could always rely, not that Tom objected to get drunk "at proper times and seasons," as he observed, but duty first and pleasure afterwards was his maxim. His notions of duty were, to be sure, somewhat lax, according to the strict rules of morality, and his only idea of pleasure was a drunken spree on shore when he could leave the craft without risk of her suffering damage either from wind and weather, or the officers of the law. He was a bullet-headed fellow, with a figure almost as wide as long, small keen eyes, and a turned up nose scarcely perceptible beyond his puffed out copper-coloured cheeks.

Pipe in mouth he was taking his usual fisherman's walk, when the captain stepped on board.

"The craft shall not be kept here longer than can be helped, Tom, and you must be ready to start at a moment's notice," he observed. "I have some business to attend to first, however, so it won't be for a day or two, though that does not matter, as the weather promises to hold fine. Only keep the fellows sober, for I have as many drunken men on shore as I can manage, and it won't do to have all the hands in the same state. The next time it will be your turn to go on shore, and you may then drink as much liquor as you can hold, and enjoy yourself to your heart's content."

Gaffin having given these directions, returned on shore again. Several days passed and Gaffin again went in the evening to the Texford Arms to meet his hopeful son. The young gentleman was in, the landlady answered, in the room upstairs.

"Well, what progress have you made?" asked Gaffin, as he entered and found young Miles lounging lazily alone, a pipe in his mouth and a glass of brandy and water by his side.

"I thought I knew something about girls," was the answer, "and that I could come round her much as I have done with others, who wouldn't think themselves much beneath her, in our town, and I was not going to be stopped by any nonsense."

"I don't want to hear what you thought, but what you did," said his father.

"Well, you shall, if that's your wish," answered Miles. "I went to church on Sunday and had a good look at her, and thought she saw me with my eyes fixed on her from one end of the service to the other, but she hurried home among a lot of people, and I hadn't a chance of getting alongside to put in a word. For three whole days she never showed outside the gates, and I thought at last of going and calling on the old ladies with a story I had got up, but when I came to learn what sort of people they are, I found that would not do. Then I thought of another plan."

"I tell you I don't want your thought's," growled Gaffin. "What were your acts?"

"That's what I was coming to," answered Miles. "As ill-luck would have it I was off watch when she slipped out, and I discovered had gone down to old Halliburt's. You may be sure I kept a look-out for her on her return. I saw her coming along, and thought I had got the game in my own hands, but by—" and he swore a fearful oath, "the girl was altogether different to those I have had to do with. Beautiful, I believe you, she is, but as haughty as if she was a born princess; and just as I was going to show her what sort of a fellow I was, she slipped away and ran off towards a young chap and took his arm, just as if she had been accustomed to keep company with him. I watched them as they went by, and he seemed to be looking for me in no very friendly mood, for I saw him double his fists, and he was not the sort of fellow I wished to come to close quarters with, or I would have gone up to him and asked what he meant by carrying off the girl I was talking to."

"The long and short of it," said Gaffin, as soon as he could master his anger, "is that you frightened the young lady, and got a rebuff which you might have expected. But as for the young fellow, I know who he is, and he won't interfere with you. Just do you go on and persevere, and if you do not succeed we must try other means. Marry the girl I am determined you shall, whether she likes it or not, and I can depend upon you. Remember I am not one to have my plans thwarted, least of all by my own son."

"I will not thwart them, you may trust me for that," answered Miles. "The girl is about as pretty as I ever set eyes on, and I am obliged to you for putting me up to the matter. But, I say, I should like to know more about her. You led me to suppose that there is some secret you had got hold of—what is it?"

"That's nothing to you at present. Your business is to win the girl, whether she is a fisherman's or a lord's daughter. She was brought up as the Halliburt's child, though I suppose she knows that she is not, yet she has no reason to think much of herself, except on account of her good looks, and those, from what I have heard of the old ladies she lives with, they would have taught her not to pride herself on."

Gaffin's last directions to his son were to keep himself quiet for a time, and to wait his opportunity for again meeting May under more favourable circumstances.

"I will write to Crotch and tell him that a matter of importance keeps you from returning just yet, and if good luck attends us you may not see his face again. I will not say that though, eh?" and Gaffin indulged in a chuckle, the nearest approach he ever made to a laugh.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

CAUGHT IN A THUNDERSTORM.

Harry's ship had been paid off, and Headland having received his promotion, the two friends started in a post-chaise and four for London. It would have been unbecoming for two naval officers, with their pockets full of prize money, to travel in a less dignified way. The last time Harry had come that road it had been on the top of a coach.

Captain Headland had been very little on shore in England, and everything was new to him and full of interest. The country girls at the cottage doors struck him especially.

"I had no idea English women were so pretty," he observed.

Harry laughed.

"I thought your philosophy would soon be capsized. If you think them attractive, I suspect that you will find the girls of higher rank enchanting."

They remained in town to attend a levee, when Captain Headland was presented on his promotion, and Harry on his return from foreign service. Headland was in no hurry to leave London, for never having before been in the big city, he found so much to interest him; but Harry was anxious to be at home. Julia had written him word that they hoped to have a number of visitors, and intended to give a fete in honour of his return.

They posted to Texford, agreeing that a pair of horses would take them there as fast as four, which their dignity no longer required.

Headland received a warm welcome from Sir Ralph and Lady Castleton as their son's friend, and Julia extended her hand as if she had known him all her life. He thought her a very charming girl, and wondered that Harry had never spoken to him of her beauty. Her frankness soon set him at his ease. He had mixed but little in ladies' society, and at first felt awkward. Algernon was kind and polite, but was somewhat cold and stiff in his manner, like his father, and Headland suspected that he should never be very intimate with him.

Next morning Julia volunteered to show several of the guests who had lately arrived, including Captain Headland, over the grounds. Algernon had in the meantime asked Harry to ride with him, and invited their guest to join them.

"Miss Castleton has engaged me to be one of the walking party, and as I am no great horseman you will, I hope, excuse me."

Harry begged that he would do as he had promised. He wished to ride with Algernon to enjoy some private conversation. He had been struck by his brother's changed appearance. He had a short teasing cough, of which, however, he made light, observing that it generally disappeared with the warm weather, though it annoyed him a little longer that year.

The brothers had much to talk about after their long separation. Harry enquired if any authentic account of their uncle's death had been received. Algernon replied that though their father and Mr Shallard had made every possible enquiry, the only fact they had learned was that the ship he had sailed in had never been heard of, and that there was no doubt she had gone down in a hurricane which had occurred during the time she must have been at sea.