in,
and
Mr.
Lavington
drive
them
home.’
‘What
?
’
said
the
squire
,
‘with
both
my
hands
red-hot
with
the
gout
?
You
must
drive
three
of
us
,
colonel
,
and
one
of
us
must
walk.’
‘I
will
walk
,
’
said
Argemone
,
in
her
determined
way
.
Mrs.
Lavington
began
something
about
propriety
,
but
was
stopped
with
another
pound’s
worth
of
oaths
by
the
squire
,
who
,
however
,
had
tolerably
recovered
his
good
humour
,
and
hurried
Mrs.
Lavington
and
Honoria
,
laughingly
,
into
the
dog-cart
,
saying
—
‘Argemone’s
safe
enough
with
Smith
;
the
servants
will
lead
the
horses
behind
them
.
It’s
only
three
miles
home
,
and
I
should
like
to
see
any
one
speak
to
her
twice
while
Smith’s
fists
are
in
the
way.’
Lancelot
thought
so
too
.
‘You
can
trust
yourself
to
me
,
Miss
Lavington
?
’
‘By
all
means
.
I
shall
enjoy
the
walk
after
—
:
’
and
she
stopped
.
In
a
moment
the
dog-cart
had
rattled
off
,
with
a
parting
curse
from
the
squire
to
the
servants
,
who
were
unharnessing
the
horses
.
Argemone
took
Lancelot’s
arm
;
the
soft
touch
thrilled
through
and
through
him
;
and
Argemone
felt
,
she
knew
not
why
,
a
new
sensation
run
through
her
frame
.
She
shuddered
—
not
with
pain
.
‘You
are
cold
,
Miss
Lavington
?
’
‘Oh
,
not
in
the
least.’
Cold
!
when
every
vein
was
boiling
so
strangely
!
A
soft
luscious
melancholy
crept
over
her
.
She
had
always
had
a
terror
of
darkness
;
but
now
she
felt
quite
safe
in
his
strength
.
The
thought
of
her
own
unprotected
girlhood
drew
her
heart
closer
to
him
.
She
remembered
with
pleasure
the
stories
of
his
personal
prowess
,
which
had
once
made
her
think
him
coarse
and
brutal
.
For
the
first
time
in
her
life
she
knew
the
delight
of
dependence
—
the
holy
charm
of
weakness
.
And
as
they
paced
on
silently
together
,
through
the
black
awful
night
,
while
the
servants
lingered
,
far
out
of
sight
,
about
the
horses
,
she
found
out
how
utterly
she
trusted
to
him
.
‘Listen
!
’
she
said
.
A
nightingale
was
close
to
them
,
pouring
out
his
whole
soul
in
song
.
‘Is
it
not
very
late
in
the
year
for
a
nightingale
?
’
‘He
is
waiting
for
his
mate
.
She
is
rearing
a
late
brood
,
I
suppose.’
‘What
do
you
think
it
is
which
can
stir
him
up
to
such
an
ecstasy
of
joy
,
and
transfigure
his
whole
heart
into
melody
?
’
‘What
but
love
,
the
fulness
of
all
joy
,
the
evoker
of
all
song
?
’
‘All
song
?
—
The
angels
sing
in
heaven.’
‘So
they
say
:
but
the
angels
must
love
if
they
sing.’
‘They
love
God
!
’
‘And
no
one
else
?
’
‘Oh
yes
:
but
that
is
universal
,
spiritual
love
;
not
earthly
love
—
a
narrow
passion
for
an
individual.’
‘How
do
we
know
that
they
do
not
learn
to
love
all
by
first
loving
one
?
’
‘Oh
,
the
angelic
life
is
single
!
’
‘Who
told
you
so
,
Miss
Lavington
?
’
She
quoted
the
stock
text
,
of
course
:
—
‘
“
In
heaven
they
neither
marry
nor
are
given
in
marriage
,
but
are
as
the
angels
.
”
’
‘
“
As
the
tree
falls
,
so
it
lies
.
”
And
God
forbid
that
those
who
have
been
true
lovers
on
earth
should
contract
new
marriages
in
the
next
world
.
Love
is
eternal
.
Death
may
part
lovers
,
but
not
love
.
And
how
do
we
know
that
these
angels
,
as
they
call
them
,
if
they
be
really
persons
,
may
not
be
united
in
pairs
by
some
marriage
bond
,
infinitely
more
perfect
than
any
we
can
dream
of
on
earth
?
’
‘That
is
a
very
wild
view
,
Mr.
Smith
,
and
not
sanctioned
by
the
Church
,
’
said
Argemone
,
severely
.
(
Curious
and
significant
it
is
,
how
severe
ladies
are
apt
to
be
whenever
they
talk
of
the
Church
.
)
‘In
plain
historic
fact
,
the
early
fathers
and
the
middle-age
monks
did
not
sanction
it
:
and
are
not
they
the
very
last
persons
to
whom
one
would
go
to
be
taught
about
marriage
?
Strange
!
that
people
should
take
their
notions
of
love
from
the
very
men
who
prided
themselves
on
being
bound
,
by
their
own
vows
,
to
know
nothing
about
it
!
’
‘They
were
very
holy
men.’
‘But
still
men
,
as
I
take
it
.
And
do
you
not
see
that
Love
is
,
like
all
spiritual
things
,
only
to
be
understood
by
experience
—
by
loving
?
’
‘But
is
love
spiritual
?
’
‘Pardon
me
,
but
what
a
question
for
one
who
believes
that
“
God
is
love
!
”
’
‘But
the
divines
tell
us
that
the
love
of
human
beings
is
earthly.’
‘How
did
they
know
?
They
had
never
tried
.
Oh
,
Miss
Lavington
!
cannot
you
see
that
in
those
barbarous
and
profligate
ages
of
the
later
empire
,
it
was
impossible
for
men
to
discern
the
spiritual
beauty
of
marriage
,
degraded
as
it
had
been
by
heathen
brutality
?
Do
you
not
see
that
there
must
have
been
a
continual
tendency
in
the
minds
of
a
celibate
clergy
to
look
with
contempt
,
almost
with
spite
,
on
pleasures
which
were
forbidden
to
them
?
’
Another
pause
.
‘It
must
be
very
delicious
,
’
said
Argemone
,
thoughtfully
,
‘for
any
one
who
believes
it
,
to
think
that
marriage
can
last
through
eternity
.
But
,
then
,
what
becomes
of
entire
love
to
God
?
How
can
we
part
our
hearts
between
him
and
his
creatures
?
’
‘It
is
a
sin
,
then
,
to
love
your
sister
?
or
your
friend
?
What
a
low
,
material
view
of
love
,
to
fancy
that
you
can
cut
it
up
into
so
many
pieces
,
like
a
cake
,
and
give
to
one
person
one
tit-bit
,
and
another
to
another
,
as
the
Popish
books
would
have
you
believe
!
Love
is
like
flame
—
light
as
many
fresh
flames
at
it
as
you
will
,
it
grows
,
instead
of
diminishing
,
by
the
dispersion.’
‘It
is
a
beautiful
imagination.’
‘But
,
oh
,
how
miserable
and
tantalising
a
thought
,
Miss
Lavington
,
to
those
who
know
that
a
priceless
spirit
is
near
them
,
which
might
be
one
with
theirs
through
all
eternity
,
like
twin
stars
in
one
common
atmosphere
,
for
ever
giving
and
receiving
wisdom
and
might
,
beauty
and
bliss
,
and
yet
are
barred
from
their
bliss
by
some
invisible
adamantine
wall
,
against
which
they
must
beat
themselves
to
death
,
like
butterflies
against
the
window-pane
,
gazing
,
and
longing
,
and
unable
to
guess
why
they
are
forbidden
to
enjoy
!
’
Why
did
Argemone
withdraw
her
arm
from
his
?
He
knew
,
and
he
felt
that
she
was
entrusted
to
him
.
He
turned
away
from
the
subject
.
‘I
wonder
whether
they
are
safe
home
by
this
time
?
’
‘I
hope
my
father
will
not
catch
cold
.
How
sad
,
Mr.
Smith
,
that
he
will
swear
so
.
I
do
not
like
to
say
it
;
and
yet
you
must
have
heard
him
too
often
yourself.’
‘It
is
hardly
a
sin
with
him
now
,
I
think
.
He
has
become
so
habituated
to
it
,
that
he
attaches
no
meaning
or
notion
whatsoever
to
his
own
oaths
.
I
have
heard
him
do
it
with
a
smiling
face
to
the
very
beggar
to
whom
he
was
giving
half-a-crown
.
We
must
not
judge
a
man
of
his
school
by
the
standard
of
our
own
day.’
‘Let
us
hope
so
,
’
said
Argemone
,
sadly
.
There
was
another
pause
.
At
a
turn
of
the
hill
road
the
black
masses
of
beech-wood
opened
,
and
showed
the
Priory
lights
twinkling
right
below
.
Strange
that
Argemone
felt
sorry
to
find
herself
so
near
home
.
‘We
shall
go
to
town
next
week
,
’
said
she
;
“
and
then
—
You
are
going
to
Norway
this
summer
,
are
you
not
?
’
‘No
.
I
have
learnt
that
my
duty
lies
nearer
home.’
‘What
are
you
going
to
do
?
’
‘I
wish
this
summer
,
for
the
first
time
in
my
life
,
to
try
and
do
some
good
—
to
examine
a
little
into
the
real
condition
of
English
working
men.’
‘I
am
afraid
,
Mr.
Smith
,
that
I
did
not
teach
you
that
duty.’
‘Oh
,
you
have
taught
me
priceless
things
!
You
have
taught
me
beauty
is
the
sacrament
of
heaven
,
and
love
its
gate
;
that
that
which
is
the
most
luscious
is
also
the
most
pure.’
‘But
I
never
spoke
a
word
to
you
on
such
subjects.’
‘There
are
those
,
Miss
Lavington
,
to
whom
a
human
face
can
speak
truths
too
deep
for
books.’
Argemone
was
silent
;
but
she
understood
him
.
Why
did
she
not
withdraw
her
arm
a
second
time
?
In
a
moment
more
the
colonel
hailed
them
from
the
dog-cart
and
behind
him
came
the
britschka
with
a
relay
of
servants
.
They
parted
with
a
long
,
lingering
pressure
of
the
hand
,
which
haunted
her
young
palm
all
night
in
dreams
.
Argemone
got
into
the
carriage
,
Lancelot
jumped
into
the
dog-cart
,
took
the
reins
,
and
relieved
his
heart
by
galloping
Sandy
up
the
hill
,
and
frightening
the
returning
coachman
down
one
bank
and
his
led
horses
up
the
other
.
‘
Vogue
la
Galère
,
Lancelot
?
I
hope
you
have
made
good
use
of
your
time
?
’
But
Lancelot
spoke
no
word
all
the
way
home
,
and
wandered
till
dawn
in
the
woods
around
his
cottage
,
kissing
the
hand
which
Argemone’s
palm
had
pressed
.
CHAPTER
VIII
:
WHITHER
?
Some
three
months
slipped
away
—
right
dreary
months
for
Lancelot
,
for
the
Lavingtons
went
to
Baden-Baden
for
the
summer
.
‘The
waters
were
necessary
for
their
health.’
...
How
wonderful
it
is
,
by
the
bye
,
that
those
German
Brunnen
are
never
necessary
for
poor
people’s
health
!
...
and
they
did
not
return
till
the
end
of
August
.
So
Lancelot
buried
himself
up
to
the
eyes
in
the
Condition-of-the-Poor
question
—
that
is
,
in
blue
books
,
red
books
,
sanitary
reports
,
mine
reports
,
factory
reports
;
and
came
to
the
conclusion
,
which
is
now
pretty
generally
entertained
,
that
something
was
the
matter
—
but
what
,
no
man
knew
,
or
,
if
they
knew
,
thought
proper
to
declare
.
Hopeless
and
bewildered
,
he
left
the
books
,
and
wandered
day
after
day
from
farm
to
hamlet
,
and
from
field
to
tramper’s
tent
,
in
hopes
of
finding
out
the
secret
for
himself
.
What
he
saw
,
of
course
I
must
not
say
;
for
if
I
did
the
reviewers
would
declare
,
as
usual
,
one
and
all
,
that
I
copied
out
of
the
Morning
Chronicle
;
and
the
fact
that
these
pages
,
ninety-nine
hundredths
of
them
at
least
,
were
written
two
years
before
the
Morning
Chronicle
began
its
invaluable
investigations
,
would
be
contemptuously
put
aside
as
at
once
impossible
and
arrogant
.
I
shall
therefore
only
say
,
that
he
saw
what
every
one
else
has
seen
,
at
least
heard
of
,
and
got
tired
of
hearing
—
though
alas
!
they
have
not
got
tired
of
seeing
it
;
and
so
proceed
with
my
story
,
only
mentioning
therein
certain
particulars
which
folks
seem
,
to
me
,
somewhat
strangely
,
to
have
generally
overlooked
.
But
whatever
Lancelot
saw
,
or
thought
he
saw
,
I
cannot
say
that
it
brought
him
any
nearer
to
a
solution
of
the
question
;
and
he
at
last
ended
by
a
sulky
acquiescence
in
Sam
Weller’s
memorable
dictum
:
‘Who
it
is
I
can’t
say
;
but
all
I
can
say
is
that
somebody
ought
to
be
wopped
for
this
!
’
But
one
day
,
turning
over
,
as
hopelessly
as
he
was
beginning
to
turn
over
everything
else
,
a
new
work
of
Mr.
Carlyle’s
,
he
fell
on
some
such
words
as
these
:
—
‘The
beginning
and
the
end
of
what
is
the
matter
with
us
in
these
days
is
—
that
we
have
forgotten
God
.’
Forgotten
God
?
That
was
at
least
a
defect
of
which
blue
books
had
taken
no
note
.
And
it
was
one
which
,
on
the
whole
—
granting
,
for
the
sake
of
argument
,
any
real
,
living
,
or
practical
existence
to
That
Being
,
might
be
a
radical
one
—
it
brought
him
many
hours
of
thought
,
that
saying
;
and
when
they
were
over
,
he
rose
up
and
went
to
find
—
Tregarva
.
‘Yes
,
he
is
the
man
.
He
is
the
only
man
with
whom
I
have
ever
met
,
of
whom
I
could
be
sure
,
that
independent
of
his
own
interest
,
without
the
allurements
of
respectability
and
decency
,
of
habit
and
custom
,
he
believes
in
God
.
And
he
too
is
a
poor
man
;
he
has
known
the
struggles
,
temptations
,
sorrows
of
the
poor
.
I
will
go
to
him.’
But
as
Lancelot
rose
to
find
him
,
there
was
put
into
his
hand
a
letter
,
which
kept
him
at
home
a
while
longer
—
none
other
,
in
fact
,
than
the
long-expected
answer
from
Luke
.
‘WELL
,
MY
DEAR
COUSIN
—
You
may
possibly
have
some
logical
ground
from
which
to
deny
Popery
,
if
you
deny
all
other
religions
with
it
;
but
how
those
who
hold
any
received
form
of
Christianity
whatsoever
can
fairly
side
with
you
against
Rome
,
I
cannot
see
.
I
am
sure
I
have
been
sent
to
Rome
by
them
,
not
drawn
thither
by
Jesuits
.
Not
merely
by
their
defects
and
inconsistencies
;
not
merely
because
they
go
on
taunting
us
,
and
shrieking
at
us
with
the
cry
that
we
ought
to
go
to
Rome
,
till
we
at
last
,
wearied
out
,
take
them
at
their
word
,
and
do
at
their
bidding
the
thing
we
used
to
shrink
from
with
terror
—
not
this
merely
but
the
very
doctrines
we
hold
in
common
with
them
,
have
sent
me
to
Rome
.
For
would
these
men
have
known
of
them
if
Rome
had
not
been
?
The
Trinity
—
the
Atonement
—
the
Inspiration
of
Scripture
.
—
A
future
state
—
that
point
on
which
the
present
generation
,
without
a
smattering
of
psychological
science
,
without
even
the
old
belief
in
apparitions
,
dogmatises
so
narrowly
and
arrogantly
—
what
would
they
have
known
of
them
but
for
Rome
?
And
she
says
there
are
three
realms
in
the
future
state
...
heaven
,
hell
,
and
purgatory
...
What
right
have
they
to
throw
away
the
latter
,
and
arbitrarily
retain
the
two
former
?
I
am
told
that
Scripture
gives
no
warrant
for
a
third
state
.
She
says
that
it
does
—
that
it
teaches
that
implicitly
,
as
it
teaches
other
,
the
very
highest
doctrines
;
some
hold
,
the
Trinity
itself
...
It
may
be
proved
from
Scripture
;
for
it
may
be
proved
from
the
love
and
justice
of
God
revealed
in
Scripture
.
The
Protestants
divide
—
in
theory
,
that
is
—
mankind
into
two
classes
,
the
righteous
,
who
are
destined
to
infinite
bliss
;
the
wicked
,
who
are
doomed
to
infinite
torment
;
in
which
latter
class
,
to
make
their
arbitrary
division
exhaustive
,
they
put
of
course
nine
hundred
and
ninety-nine
out
of
the
thousand
,
and
doom
to
everlasting
companionship
with
Borgias
and
Cagliostros
,
the
gentle
,
frivolous
girl
,
or
the
peevish
boy
,
who
would
have
shrunk
,
in
life
,
with
horror
from
the
contact
...
Well
,
at
least
,
their
hell
is
hellish
enough
...
if
it
were
but
just
...
But
I
,
Lancelot
,
I
cannot
believe
it
!
I
will
not
believe
it
!
I
had
a
brother
once
—
affectionate
,
simple
,
generous
,
full
of
noble
aspirations
—
but
without
,
alas
!
a
thought
of
God
;
yielding
in
a
hundred
little
points
,
and
some
great
ones
,
to
the
infernal
temptations
of
a
public
school
...
He
died
at
seventeen
.
Where
is
he
now
?
Lancelot
!
where
is
he
now
?
Never
for
a
day
has
that
thought
left
my
mind
for
years
.
Not
in
heaven
—
for
he
has
no
right
there
;
Protestants
would
say
that
as
well
as
I
...
Where
,
then
?
—
Lancelot
!
not
in
that
other
place
.
I
cannot
,
I
will
not
believe
it
.
For
the
sake
of
God’s
honour
,
as
well
as
of
my
own
sanity
,
I
will
not
believe
it
!
There
must
be
some
third
place
—
some
intermediate
chance
,
some
door
of
hope
—
some
purifying
and
redeeming
process
beyond
the
grave
...
Why
not
a
purifying
fire
?
Ages
of
that
are
surely
punishment
enough
—
and
if
there
be
a
fire
of
hell
,
why
not
a
fire
of
purgatory
?
...
After
all
,
the
idea
of
purgatory
as
a
fire
is
only
an
opinion
,
not
a
dogma
of
the
Church
...
But
if
the
gross
flesh
which
has
sinned
is
to
be
punished
by
the
matter
which
it
has
abused
,
why
may
it
not
be
purified
by
it
?
’
‘You
may
laugh
,
if
you
will
,
at
both
,
and
say
again
,
as
I
have
heard
you
say
ere
now
,
that
the
popular
Christian
paradise
and
hell
are
but
a
Pagan
Olympus
and
Tartarus
,
as
grossly
material
as
Mahomet’s
,
without
the
honest
thorough-going
sexuality
,
which
you
thought
made
his
notion
logical
and
consistent
...
Well
,
you
may
say
that
,
but
Protestants
cannot
;
for
their
idea
of
heaven
and
ours
is
the
same
—
with
this
exception
,
that
theirs
will
contain
but
a
thin
band
of
saved
ones
,
while
ours
will
fill
and
grow
to
all
eternity
...
I
tell
you
,
Lancelot
,
it
is
just
the
very
doctrines
for
which
England
most
curses
Rome
,
and
this
very
purgatory
at
the
head
of
them
,
which
constitute
her
strength
and
her
allurement
;
which
appeal
to
the
reason
,
the
conscience
,
the
heart
of
men
,
like
me
,
who
have
revolted
from
the
novel
superstition
which
looks
pitilessly
on
at
the
fond
memories
of
the
brother
,
the
prayers
of
the
orphan
,
the
doubled
desolation
of
the
widow
,
with
its
cold
terrible
assurance
,
“
There
is
no
hope
for
thy
loved
and
lost
ones
—
no
hope
,
but
hell
for
evermore
!
”
‘I
do
not
expect
to
convert
you
.
You
have
your
metempsychosis
,
and
your
theories
of
progressive
incarnation
,
and
your
monads
,
and
your
spirits
of
the
stars
and
flowers
.
I
have
not
forgotten
a
certain
talk
of
ours
over
Falk
Von
Müller’s
Recollections
of
Goethe
,
and
how
you
materialists
are
often
the
most
fantastic
of
theorists
...
I
do
not
expect
,
I
say
,
to
convert
you
.
I
only
want
to
show
you
there
is
no
use
trying
to
show
the
self-satisfied
Pharisees
of
the
popular
sect
—
why
,
in
spite
of
all
their
curses
,
men
still
go
back
to
Rome.’
Lancelot
read
this
,
and
re-read
it
;
and
smiled
,
but
sadly
—
and
the
more
he
read
,
the
stronger
its
arguments
seemed
to
him
,
and
he
rejoiced
thereat
.
For
there
is
a
bad
pleasure
—
happy
he
who
has
not
felt
it
—
in
a
pitiless
reductio
ad
absurdum
,
which
asks
tauntingly
,
‘Why
do
you
not
follow
out
your
own
conclusions
?
’
—
instead
of
thanking
God
that
people
do
not
follow
them
out
,
and
that
their
hearts
are
sounder
than
their
heads
.
Was
it
with
this
feeling
that
the
fancy
took
possession
of
him
,
to
show
the
letter
to
Tregarva
?
I
hope
not
—
perhaps
he
did
not
altogether
wish
to
lead
him
into
temptation
,
any
more
than
I
wish
to
lead
my
readers
,
but
only
to
make
him
,
just
as
I
wish
to
make
them
,
face
manfully
a
real
awful
question
now
racking
the
hearts
of
hundreds
,
and
see
how
they
will
be
able
to
answer
the
sophist
fiend
—
for
honestly
,
such
he
is
—
when
their
time
comes
,
as
come
it
will
.
At
least
he
wanted
to
test
at
once
Tregarva’s
knowledge
and
his
logic
.
As
for
his
‘faith
,
’
alas
!
he
had
not
so
much
reverence
for
it
as
to
care
what
effect
Luke’s
arguments
might
have
there
.
‘The
whole
man
,
’
quoth
Lancelot
to
himself
,
‘is
a
novel
phenomenon
;
and
all
phenomena
,
however
magnificent
,
are
surely
fair
subjects
for
experiment
.
Magendie
may
have
gone
too
far
,
certainly
,
in
dissecting
a
live
dog
—
but
what
harm
in
my
pulling
the
mane
of
a
dead
lion
?
’
So
he
showed
the
letter
to
Tregarva
as
they
were
fishing
together
one
day
—
for
Lancelot
had
been
installed
duly
in
the
Whitford
trout
preserves’
—
Tregarva
read
it
slowly
;
asked
,
shrewdly
enough
,
the
meaning
of
a
word
or
two
as
he
went
on
;
at
last
folded
it
up
deliberately
,
and
returned
it
to
its
owner
with
a
deep
sigh
.
Lancelot
said
nothing
for
a
few
minutes
;
but
the
giant
seemed
so
little
inclined
to
open
the
conversation
,
that
he
was
forced
at
last
to
ask
him
what
he
thought
of
it
.
‘It
isn’t
a
matter
for
thinking
,
sir
,
to
my
mind
—
There’s
a
nice
fish
on
the
feed
there
,
just
over-right
that
alder.’
‘Hang
the
fish
!
Why
not
a
matter
for
thinking
?
’
‘To
my
mind
,
sir
,
a
man
may
think
a
deal
too
much
about
many
matters
that
come
in
his
way.’
‘What
should
he
do
with
them
,
then
?
’
‘Mind
his
own
business.’
‘Pleasant
for
those
whom
they
concern
!
—
That’s
rather
a
cold-blooded
speech
for
you
,
Tregarva
!
’
The
Cornishman
looked
up
at
him
earnestly
.
His
eyes
were
glittering
—
was
it
with
tears
?
‘Don’t
fancy
I
don’t
feel
for
the
poor
young
gentleman
—
God
help
him
!
—
I’ve
been
through
it
all
—
or
not
through
it
,
that’s
to
say
.
I
had
a
brother
once
,
as
fine
a
young
fellow
as
ever
handled
pick
,
as
kind-hearted
as
a
woman
,
and
as
honest
as
the
sun
in
Heaven
.
—
But
he
would
drink
,
sir
;
—
that
one
temptation
,
he
never
could
stand
it
.
And
one
day
at
the
shaft’s
mouth
,
reaching
after
the
kibble-chain
—
maybe
he
was
in
liquor
,
maybe
not
—
the
Lord
knows
;
but
—
’
‘I
didn’t
know
him
again
,
sir
,
when
we
picked
him
up
,
any
more
than
—
’
and
the
strong
man
shuddered
from
head
to
foot
,
and
beat
impatiently
on
the
ground
with
his
heavy
heel
,
as
if
to
crush
down
the
rising
horror
.
‘Where
is
he
,
sir
?
’
A
long
pause
.
‘Do
you
think
I
didn’t
ask
that
,
sir
,
for
years
and
years
after
,
of
God
,
and
my
own
soul
,
and
heaven
and
earth
,
and
the
things
under
the
earth
,
too
?
For
many
a
night
did
I
go
down
that
mine
out
of
my
turn
,
and
sat
for
hours
in
that
level
,
watching
and
watching
,
if
perhaps
the
spirit
of
him
might
haunt
about
,
and
tell
his
poor
brother
one
word
of
news
—
one
way
or
the
other
—
anything
would
have
been
a
comfort
—
but
the
doubt
I
couldn’t
bear
.
And
yet
at
last
I
learnt
to
bear
it
—
and
what’s
more
,
I
learnt
not
to
care
for
it
.
It’s
a
bold
word
—
there’s
one
who
knows
whether
or
not
it
is
a
true
one.’
‘Good
Heavens
!
—
and
what
then
did
you
say
to
yourself
?
’
‘I
said
this
,
sir
—
or
rather
,
one
came
as
I
was
on
my
knees
,
and
said
it
to
me
—
What’s
done
you
can’t
mend
.
What’s
left
,
you
can
.
Whatever
has
happened
is
God’s
concern
now
,
and
none
but
His
.
Do
you
see
that
as
far
as
you
can
no
such
thing
ever
happen
again
,
on
the
face
of
His
earth
.
And
from
that
day
,
sir
,
I
gave
myself
up
to
that
one
thing
,
and
will
until
I
die
,
to
save
the
poor
young
fellows
like
myself
,
who
are
left
now-a-days
to
the
Devil
,
body
and
soul
,
just
when
they
are
in
the
prime
of
their
power
to
work
for
God.’
‘Ah
!
’
said
Lancelot
—
‘if
poor
Luke’s
spirit
were
but
as
strong
as
yours
!
’
‘I
strong
?
’
answered
he
,
with
a
sad
smile
;
‘and
so
you
think
,
sir
.
But
it’s
written
,
and
it’s
true
—
“
The
heart
knoweth
its
own
bitterness
.
”
’
‘Then
you
absolutely
refuse
to
try
to
fancy
your
—
his
present
state
?
’
‘Yes
,
sir
,
because
if
I
did
fancy
it
,
that
would
be
a
certain
sign
I
didn’t
know
it
.
If
we
can’t
conceive
what
God
has
prepared
for
those
that
we
know
loved
Him
,
how
much
less
can
we
for
them
of
whom
we
don’t
know
whether
they
loved
Him
or
not
?
’
‘Well
,
’
thought
Lancelot
to
himself
,
‘I
did
not
do
so
very
wrong
in
trusting
your
intellect
to
cut
through
a
sophism.’
‘But
what
do
you
believe
,
Tregarva
?
’
‘I
believe
this
,
sir
—
and
your
cousin
will
believe
the
same
,
if
he
will
only
give
up
,
as
I
am
sore
afraid
he
will
need
to
some
day
,
sticking
to
arguments
and
doctrines
about
the
Lord
,
and
love
and
trust
the
Lord
himself
.
I
believe
,
sir
,
that
the
judge
of
all
the
earth
will
do
right
—
and
what’s
right
can’t
be
wrong
,
nor
cruel
either
,
else
it
would
not
be
like
Him
who
loved
us
to
the
death
,
that’s
all
I
know
;
and
that’s
enough
for
me
.
To
whom
little
is
given
,
of
him
is
little
required
.
He
that
didn’t
know
his
Master’s
will
,
will
be
beaten
with
few
stripes
,
and
he
that
did
know
it
,
as
I
do
,
will
be
beaten
with
many
,
if
he
neglects
it
—
and
that
latter
,
not
the
former
,
is
my
concern.’
‘Well
,
’
thought
Lancelot
to
himself
,
‘this
great
heart
has
gone
down
to
the
root
of
the
matter
—
the
right
and
wrong
of
it
.
He
,
at
least
,
has
not
forgotten
God
.
Well
,
I
would
give
up
all
the
Teleologies
and
cosmogonies
that
I
ever
dreamt
or
read
,
just
to
believe
what
he
believes
—
Heigho
and
well-a-day
!
—
Paul
!
hist
?
I’ll
swear
that
was
an
otter
!
’
‘I
hope
not
,
sir
,
I’m
sure
.
I
haven’t
seen
the
spraint
of
one
here
this
two
years.’
‘There
again
—
don’t
you
see
something
move
under
that
marl
bank
?
’
Tregarva
watched
a
moment
,
and
then
ran
up
to
the
spot
,
and
throwing
himself
on
his
face
on
the
edge
,
leant
over
,
grappled
something
—
and
was
instantly
,
to
Lancelot’s
astonishment
,
grappled
in
his
turn
by
a
rough
,
lank
,
white
dog
,
whose
teeth
,
however
,
could
not
get
through
the
velveteen
sleeve
.
‘I’ll
give
in
,
keeper
!
I’ll
give
in
.
Doan’t
ye
harm
the
dog
!
he’s
deaf
as
a
post
,
you
knows.’
‘I
won’t
harm
him
if
you
take
him
off
,
and
come
up
quietly.’
This
mysterious
conversation
was
carried
on
with
a
human
head
,
which
peeped
above
the
water
,
its
arms
supporting
from
beneath
the
growling
cur
—
such
a
visage
as
only
worn-out
poachers
,
or
trampling
drovers
,
or
London
chiffonniers
carry
;
pear-shaped
and
retreating
to
a
narrow
peak
above
,
while
below
,
the
bleared
cheeks
,
and
drooping
lips
,
and
peering
purblind
eyes
,
perplexed
,
hopeless
,
defiant
,
and
yet
sneaking
,
bespeak
their
share
in
the
‘inheritance
of
the
kingdom
of
heaven.’
—
Savages
without
the
resources
of
a
savage
—
slaves
without
the
protection
of
a
master
—
to
whom
the
cart-whip
and
the
rice-swamp
would
be
a
change
for
the
better
—
for
there
,
at
least
,
is
food
and
shelter
.
Slowly
and
distrustfully
a
dripping
scarecrow
of
rags
and
bones
rose
from
his
hiding-place
in
the
water
,
and
then
stopped
suddenly
,
and
seemed
inclined
to
dash
through
the
river
;
but
Tregarva
held
him
fast
.
‘There’s
two
on
ye
!
That’s
a
shame
!
I’ll
surrender
to
no
man
but
you
,
Paul
.
Hold
off
,
or
I’ll
set
the
dog
on
ye
!
’
‘It’s
a
gentleman
fishing
.
He
won’t
tell
—
will
you
,
sir
?
’
And
he
turned
to
Lancelot
.
‘Have
pity
on
the
poor
creature
,
sir
,
for
God’s
sake
—
it
isn’t
often
he
gets
it.’
‘I
won’t
tell
,
my
man
.
I’ve
not
seen
you
doing
any
harm
.
Come
out
like
a
man
,
and
let’s
have
a
look
at
you.’
The
creature
crawled
up
the
bank
,
and
stood
,
abject
and
shivering
,
with
the
dog
growling
from
between
his
legs
.
‘I
was
only
looking
for
a
kingfisher’s
nest
:
indeed
now
,
I
was
,
Paul
Tregarva.’
‘Don’t
lie
,
you
were
setting
night-lines
.
I
saw
a
minnow
lie
on
the
bank
as
I
came
up
.
Don’t
lie
;
I
hate
liars.’
‘Well
indeed
,
then
—
a
man
must
live
somehow.’
‘You
don’t
seem
to
live
by
this
trade
,
my
friend
,
’
quoth
Lancelot
;
‘I
cannot
say
it
seems
a
prosperous
business
,
by
the
look
of
your
coat
and
trousers.’
‘That
Tim
Goddard
stole
all
my
clothes
,
and
no
good
may
they
do
him
;
last
time
as
I
went
to
gaol
I
gave
them
him
to
kep
,
and
he
went
off
for
a
navvy
meantime
;
so
there
I
am.’
‘If
you
will
play
with
the
dogs
,
’
quoth
Tregarva
,
‘you
know
what
you
will
be
bit
by
.
Haven’t
I
warned
you
?
Of
course
you
won’t
prosper
:
as
you
make
your
bed
,
so
you
must
lie
in
it
.
The
Lord
can’t
be
expected
to
let
those
prosper
that
forget
Him
.
What
mercy
would
it
be
to
you
if
He
did
let
you
prosper
by
setting
snares
all
church-time
,
as
you
were
last
Sunday
,
instead
of
going
to
church
?
’
‘I
say
,
Paul
Tregarva
,
I’ve
told
you
my
mind
about
that
afore
.
If
I
don’t
do
what
I
knows
to
be
right
and
good
already
,
there
ain’t
no
use
in
me
a
damning
myself
all
the
deeper
by
going
to
church
to
hear
more.’
‘God
help
you
!
’
quoth
poor
Paul
.
‘Now
,
I
say
,
’
quoth
Crawy
,
with
the
air
of
a
man
who
took
the
whole
thing
as
a
matter
of
course
,
no
more
to
be
repined
at
than
the
rain
and
wind
—
‘what
be
you
a
going
to
do
with
me
this
time
?
I
do
hope
you
won’t
have
me
up
to
bench
.
’Tain’t
a
month
now
as
I’m
out
o’
prizzum
along
o’
they
fir-toppings
,
and
I
should
,
you
see
—
’
with
a
look
up
and
down
and
round
at
the
gay
hay-meadows
,
and
the
fleet
water
,
and
the
soft
gleaming
clouds
,
which
to
Lancelot
seemed
most
pathetic
,
—
‘I
should
like
to
ha’
a
spell
o’
fresh
air
,
like
,
afore
I
goes
in
again.’
Tregarva
stood
over
him
and
looked
down
at
him
,
like
some
huge
stately
bloodhound
on
a
trembling
mangy
cur
.
‘Good
heavens
!
’
thought
Lancelot
,
as
his
eye
wandered
from
the
sad
steadfast
dignity
of
the
one
,
to
the
dogged
helpless
misery
of
the
other
—
‘can
those
two
be
really
fellow-citizens
?
fellow-Christians
?
—
even
animals
of
the
same
species
?
Hard
to
believe
!
’
True
,
Lancelot
;
but
to
quote
you
against
yourself
,
Bacon
,
or
rather
the
instinct
which
taught
Bacon
,
teaches
you
to
discern
the
invisible
common
law
under
the
deceitful
phenomena
of
sense
.
‘I
must
have
those
night-lines
,
Crawy
,
’
quoth
Tregarva
,
at
length
.
‘Then
I
must
starve
.
You
might
ever
so
well
take
away
the
dog
.
They’re
the
life
of
me.’
‘They’re
the
death
of
you
.
Why
don’t
you
go
and
work
,
instead
of
idling
about
,
stealing
trout
?
’
‘Be
you
a
laughing
at
a
poor
fellow
in
his
trouble
?
Who’d
gie
me
a
day’s
work
,
I’d
like
to
know
?
It’s
twenty
year
too
late
for
that
!
’
Lancelot
stood
listening
.
Yes
,
that
wretch
,
too
,
was
a
man
and
a
brother
—
at
least
so
books
used
to
say
.
Time
was
,
when
he
had
looked
on
a
poacher
as
a
Pariah
‘hostem
humani
generis’
—
and
only
deplored
that
the
law
forbade
him
to
shoot
them
down
,
like
cats
and
otters
;
but
he
had
begun
to
change
his
mind
.
He
had
learnt
,
and
learnt
rightly
,
the
self-indulgence
,
the
danger
,
the
cruelty
,
of
indiscriminate
alms
.
It
looked
well
enough
in
theory
,
on
paper
.
‘But
—
but
—
but
,
’
thought
Lancelot
,
‘in
practice
,
one
can’t
help
feeling
a
little
of
that
un-economic
feeling
called
pity
.
No
doubt
the
fellow
has
committed
an
unpardonable
sin
in
daring
to
come
into
the
world
when
there
was
no
call
for
him
;
one
used
to
think
,
certainly
,
that
children’s
opinions
were
not
consulted
on
such
points
before
they
were
born
,
and
that
therefore
it
might
be
hard
to
visit
the
sins
of
the
fathers
on
the
children
,
even
though
the
labour-market
were
a
little
overstocked
—
“
mais
nous
avons
changé
tout
cela
,
”
like
M
.
Jourdain’s
doctors
.
No
doubt
,
too
,
the
fellow
might
have
got
work
if
he
had
chosen
—
in
Kamschatka
or
the
Cannibal
Islands
;
for
the
political
economists
have
proved
,
beyond
a
doubt
,
that
there
is
work
somewhere
or
other
for
every
one
who
chooses
to
work
.
But
as
,
unfortunately
,
society
has
neglected
to
inform
him
of
the
state
of
the
Cannibal
Island
labour-market
,
or
to
pay
his
passage
thither
when
informed
thereof
,
he
has
had
to
choose
in
the
somewhat
limited
labour-field
of
the
Whitford
Priors’
union
,
whose
workhouse
is
already
every
winter
filled
with
abler-bodied
men
than
he
,
between
starvation
—
and
this
—
.
Well
,
as
for
employing
him
,
one
would
have
thought
that
there
was
a
little
work
waiting
to
be
done
in
those
five
miles
of
heather
and
snipe-bog
,
which
I
used
to
tramp
over
last
winter
—
but
those
,
it
seems
,
are
still
on
the
“
margin
of
cultivation
,
”
and
not
a
remunerative
investment
—
that
is
,
to
capitalists
.
I
wonder
if
any
one
had
made
Crawy
a
present
of
ten
acres
of
them
when
he
came
of
age
,
and
commanded
him
to
till
that
or
be
hanged
,
whether
he
would
not
have
found
it
a
profitable
investment
?
But
bygones
are
bygones
,
and
there
he
is
,
and
the
moors
,
thanks
to
the
rights
of
property
—
in
this
case
the
rights
of
the
dog
in
the
manger
—
belong
to
poor
old
Lavington
—
that
is
,
the
game
and
timber
on
them
;
and
neither
Crawy
nor
any
one
else
can
touch
them
.
What
can
I
do
for
him
?
Convert
him
?
to
what
?
For
the
next
life
,
even
Tregarva’s
talisman
seems
to
fail
.
And
for
this
life
—
perhaps
if
he
had
had
a
few
more
practical
proofs
of
a
divine
justice
and
government
—
that
“
kingdom
of
heaven
”
of
which
Luke
talks
,
in
the
sensible
bodily
matters
which
he
does
appreciate
,
he
might
not
be
so
unwilling
to
trust
to
it
for
the
invisible
spiritual
matters
which
he
does
not
appreciate
.
At
all
events
,
one
has
but
one
chance
of
winning
him
,
and
that
is
,
through
those
five
senses
which
he
has
left
.
What
if
he
does
spend
the
money
in
gross
animal
enjoyment
?
What
will
the
amount
of
it
be
,
compared
with
the
animal
enjoyments
which
my
station
allows
me
daily
without
reproach
!
A
little
more
bacon
—
a
little
more
beer
—
a
little
more
tobacco
;
at
all
events
they
will
be
more
important
to
him
than
a
pair
of
new
boots
or
an
extra
box
of
cigars
to
me.’
—
And
Lancelot
put
his
hand
in
his
pocket
,
and
pulled
out
a
sovereign
.
No
doubt
he
was
a
great
goose
;
but
if
you
can
answer
his
arguments
,
reader
,
I
cannot
.
‘Look
here
—
what
are
your
night-lines
worth
?
’
‘A
matter
of
seven
shilling
;
ain’t
they
now
,
Paul
Tregarva
?
’
‘I
should
suppose
they
are.’
‘Then
do
you
give
me
the
lines
,
one
and
all
,
and
there’s
a
sovereign
for
you
.
—
No
,
I
can’t
trust
you
with
it
all
at
once
.
I’ll
give
it
to
Tregarva
,
and
he
shall
allow
you
four
shillings
a
week
as
long
as
it
lasts
,
if
you’ll
promise
to
keep
off
Squire
Lavington’s
river.’
It
was
pathetic
,
and
yet
disgusting
,
to
see
the
abject
joy
of
the
poor
creature
.
‘Well
,
’
thought
Lancelot
,
‘if
he
deserves
to
be
wretched
,
so
do
I
—
why
,
therefore
,
if
we
are
one
as
bad
as
the
other
,
should
I
not
make
his
wretchedness
a
little
less
for
the
time
being
?
’
‘I
waint
come
a-near
the
water
.
You
trust
me
—
I
minds
them
as
is
kind
to
me’
—
and
a
thought
seemed
suddenly
to
lighten
up
his
dull
intelligence
.
‘I
say
,
Paul
,
hark
you
here
.
I
see
that
Bantam
into
D
*
*
*
t’other
day.’
‘What
!
is
he
down
already
?
’
‘With
a
dog-cart
;
he
and
another
of
his
pals
;
and
I
see
’em
take
out
a
silk
flue
,
I
did
.
So
,
says
I
,
you
maunt
be
trying
that
ere
along
o’
the
Whitford
trout
;
they
kepers
is
out
o’
nights
so
sure
as
the
moon.’
‘You
didn’t
know
that
.
Lying
again
!
’
‘No
,
but
I
sayed
it
in
course
.
I
didn’t
want
they
a-robbing
here
;
so
I
think
they
worked
mainly
up
Squire
Vaurien’s
water.’
‘I
wish
I’d
caught
them
here
,
’
quoth
Tregarva
,
grimly
enough
;
‘though
I
don’t
think
they
came
,
or
I
should
have
seen
the
track
on
the
banks.’
‘But
he
sayed
like
,
as
how
he
should
be
down
here
again
about
pheasant
shooting.’
‘Trust
him
for
it
.
Let
us
know
,
now
,
if
you
see
him.’
‘And
that
I
will
,
too
.
I
wouldn’t
save
a
feather
for
that
’ere
old
rascal
,
Harry
.
If
the
devil
don’t
have
he
,
I
don’t
see
no
use
in
keeping
no
devil
.
But
I
minds
them
as
has
mercy
on
me
,
though
my
name
is
Crawy
.
Ay
,
’
he
added
,
bitterly
,
‘’tain’t
so
many
kind
turns
as
I
gets
in
this
life
,
that
I
can
afford
to
forget
e’er
a
one.’
And
he
sneaked
off
,
with
the
deaf
dog
at
his
heels
.
‘How
did
that
fellow
get
his
name
,
Tregarva
?
’
‘Oh
,
most
of
them
have
nicknames
round
here
.
Some
of
them
hardly
know
their
own
real
names
,
sir.’
(
‘A
sure
sign
of
low
civilisation
,
’
thought
Lancelot
.
)
‘But
he
got
his
a
foolish
way
;
and
yet
it
was
the
ruin
of
him
.
When
he
was
a
boy
of
fifteen
,
he
got
miching
away
in
church-time
,
as
boys
will
,
and
took
off
his
clothes
to
get
in
somewhere
here
in
this
very
river
,
groping
in
the
banks
after
craw-fish
;
and
as
the
devil
—
for
I
can
think
no
less
—
would
have
it
,
a
big
one
catches
hold
of
him
by
the
fingers
with
one
claw
,
and
a
root
with
the
other
,
and
holds
him
there
till
Squire
Lavington
comes
out
to
take
his
walk
after
church
,
and
there
he
caught
the
boy
,
and
gave
him
a
thrashing
there
and
then
,
naked
as
he
stood
.
And
the
story
got
wind
,
and
all
the
chaps
round
called
him
Crawy
ever
afterwards
,
and
the
poor
fellow
got
quite
reckless
from
that
day
,
and
never
looked
any
one
in
the
face
again
;
and
being
ashamed
of
himself
,
you
see
,
sir
,
was
never
ashamed
of
anything
else
—
and
there
he
is
.
That
dog’s
his
only
friend
,
and
gets
a
livelihood
for
them
both
.
It’s
growing
old
now
;
and
when
it
dies
,
he’ll
starve.’
‘Well
—
the
world
has
no
right
to
blame
him
for
not
doing
his
duty
,
till
it
has
done
its
own
by
him
a
little
better.’
‘But
the
world
will
,
sir
,
because
it
hates
its
duty
,
and
cries
all
day
long
,
like
Cain
,
“
Am
I
my
brother’s
keeper
?
”
’
‘Do
you
think
it
knows
its
duty
?
I
have
found
it
easy
enough
to
see
that
something
is
diseased
,
Tregarva
;
but
to
find
the
medicine
first
,
and
to
administer
it
afterwards
,
is
a
very
different
matter.’
‘Well
—
I
suppose
the
world
will
never
be
mended
till
the
day
of
judgment.’
‘In
plain
English
,
not
mended
till
it
is
destroyed
.
Hopeful
for
the
poor
world
!
I
should
fancy
,
if
I
believed
that
,
that
the
devil
in
the
old
history
—
which
you
believe
—
had
had
the
best
of
it
with
a
vengeance
,
when
he
brought
sin
into
the
world
,
and
ruined
it
.
I
dare
not
believe
that
.
How
dare
you
,
who
say
that
God
sent
His
Son
into
the
world
to
defeat
the
devil
?
’
Tregarva
was
silent
a
while
.
‘Learning
and
the
Gospel
together
ought
to
do
something
,
sir
,
towards
mending
it
.
One
would
think
so
.
But
the
prophecies
are
against
that.’
‘As
folks
happen
to
read
them
just
now
.
A
hundred
years
hence
they
may
be
finding
the
very
opposite
meaning
in
them
.
Come
,
Tregarva
,
—
Suppose
I
teach
you
a
little
of
the
learning
,
and
you
teach
me
a
little
of
the
Gospel
—
do
you
think
we
two
could
mend
the
world
between
us
,
or
even
mend
Whitford
Priors
?
’
‘God
knows
,
sir
,
’
said
Tregarva
.
*
*
*
*
*
‘Tregarva
,
’
said
Lancelot
,
as
they
were
landing
the
next
trout
,
‘where
will
that
Crawy
go
,
when
he
dies
?
’
‘God
knows
,
sir
,
’
said
Tregarva
.
*
*
*
*
*
Lancelot
went
thoughtful
home
,
and
sat
down
—
not
to
answer
Luke’s
letter
—
for
he
knew
no
answer
but
Tregarva’s
,
and
that
,
alas
!
he
could
not
give
,
for
he
did
not
believe
it
,
but
only
longed
to
believe
it
.
So
he
turned
off
the
subject
by
a
question
—
‘You
speak
of
yourself
as
being
already
a
member
of
the
Romish
communion
.
How
is
this
?
Have
you
given
up
your
curacy
?
Have
you
told
your
father
?
I
fancy
that
if
you
had
done
so
I
must
have
heard
of
it
ere
now
.
I
entreat
you
to
tell
me
the
state
of
the
case
,
for
,
heathen
as
I
am
,
I
am
still
an
Englishman
;
and
there
are
certain
old
superstitions
still
lingering
among
us
—
whencesoever
we
may
have
got
them
first
—
about
truth
and
common
honesty
—
you
understand
me
.
—
‘Do
not
be
angry
.
But
there
is
a
prejudice
against
the
truthfulness
of
Romish
priests
and
Romish
converts
.
—
It’s
no
affair
of
mine
.
I
see
quite
enough
Protestant
rogues
and
liars
,
to
prevent
my
having
any
pleasure
in
proving
Romanists
,
or
any
other
persons
,
rogues
and
liars
also
.
But
I
am
—
if
not
fond
of
you
—
at
least
sufficiently
fond
to
be
anxious
for
your
good
name
.
You
used
to
be
an
open-hearted
fellow
enough
.
Do
prove
to
the
world
that
cœlum
,
non
animum
mutant
,
qui
trans
mare
currunt.’
CHAPTER
IX
:
HARRY
VERNEY
HEARS
HIS
LAST
SHOT
FIRED
The
day
after
the
Lavingtons’
return
,
when
Lancelot
walked
up
to
the
Priory
with
a
fluttering
heart
to
inquire
after
all
parties
,
and
see
one
,
he
found
the
squire
in
a
great
state
of
excitement
.
A
large
gang
of
poachers
,
who
had
come
down
from
London
by
rail
,
had
been
devastating
all
the
covers
round
,
to
stock
the
London
markets
by
the
first
of
October
,
and
intended
,
as
Tregarva
had
discovered
,
to
pay
Mr.
Lavington’s
preserves
a
visit
that
night
.
They
didn’t
care
for
country
justices
,
not
they
.
Weren’t
all
their
fines
paid
by
highly
respectable
game-dealers
at
the
West
end
?
They
owned
three
dog-carts
among
them
;
a
parcel
by
railway
would
bring
them
down
bail
to
any
amount
;
they
tossed
their
money
away
at
the
public-houses
,
like
gentlemen
;
thanks
to
the
Game
Laws
,
their
profits
ran
high
,
and
when
they
had
swept
the
country
pretty
clean
of
game
,
why
,
they
would
just
finish
off
the
season
by
a
stray
highway
robbery
or
two
,
and
vanish
into
Babylon
and
their
native
night
.
Such
was
Harry
Verney’s
information
as
he
strutted
about
the
courtyard
waiting
for
the
squire’s
orders
.
‘But
they’ve
put
their
nose
into
a
furze-bush
,
Muster
Smith
,
they
have
.
We’ve
got
our
posse-commontaturs
,
fourteen
men
,
sir
,
as’ll
play
the
whole
vale
to
cricket
,
and
whap
them
;
and
every
one’ll
fight
,
for
they’re
half
poachers
themselves
,
you
see’
(
and
Harry
winked
and
chuckled
)
;
‘and
they
can’t
abide
no
interlopers
to
come
down
and
take
the
sport
out
of
their
mouths.’
‘But
are
you
sure
they’ll
come
to-night
?
’
‘That
’ere
Paul
says
so
.
Wonder
how
he
found
out
—
some
of
his
underhand
,
colloguing
,
Methodist
ways
,
I’ll
warrant
.
I
seed
him
preaching
to
that
’ere
Crawy
,
three
or
four
times
when
he
ought
to
have
hauled
him
up
.
He
consorts
with
them
poachers
,
sir
,
uncommon
.
I
hope
he
ben’t
one
himself
,
that’s
all.’
‘Nonsense
,
Harry
!
’
‘Oh
?
Eh
?
Don’t
say
old
Harry
don’t
know
nothing
,
that’s
all
.
I’ve
fixed
his
flint
,
anyhow.’
‘Ah
!
Smith
!
’
shouted
the
squire
out
of
his
study
window
,
with
a
cheerful
and
appropriate
oath
.
‘The
very
man
I
wanted
to
see
!
You
must
lead
these
keepers
for
me
to-night
.
They
always
fight
better
with
a
gentleman
among
them
.
Breeding
tells
,
you
know
—
breeding
tells.’
Lancelot
felt
a
strong
disgust
at
the
occupation
,
but
he
was
under
too
many
obligations
to
the
squire
to
refuse
.
‘Ay
,
I
knew
you
were
game
,
’
said
the
old
man
.
‘And
you’ll
find
it
capital
fun
.
I
used
to
think
it
so
,
I
know
,
when
I
was
young
.
Many
a
shindy
have
I
had
here
in
my
uncle’s
time
,
under
the
very
windows
,
before
the
chase
was
disparked
,
when
the
fellows
used
to
come
down
after
the
deer.’
Just
then
Lancelot
turned
and
saw
Argemone
standing
close
to
him
.
He
almost
sprang
towards
her
—
and
retreated
,
for
he
saw
that
she
had
overheard
the
conversation
between
him
and
her
father
.
‘What
!
Mr.
Smith
!
’
said
she
in
a
tone
in
which
tenderness
and
contempt
,
pity
and
affected
carelessness
,
were
strangely
mingled
.
‘So
!
you
are
going
to
turn
gamekeeper
to-night
?
’
Lancelot
was
blundering
out
something
,
when
the
squire
interposed
.
‘Let
her
alone
,
Smith
.
Women
will
be
tender-hearted
,
you
know
.
Quite
right
—
but
they
don’t
understand
these
things
.
They
fight
with
their
tongues
,
and
we
with
our
fists
;
and
then
they
fancy
their
weapons
don’t
hurt
—
Ha
!
ha
!
ha
!
’
‘Mr
.
Smith
,
’
said
Argemone
,
in
a
low
,
determined
voice
,
‘if
you
have
promised
my
father
to
go
on
this
horrid
business
—
go
.
But
promise
me
,
too
,
that
you
will
only
look
on
,
or
I
will
never
—
’
Argemone
had
not
time
to
finish
her
sentence
before
Lancelot
had
promised
seven
times
over
,
and
meant
to
keep
his
promise
,
as
we
all
do
.
About
ten
o’clock
that
evening
Lancelot
and
Tregarva
were
walking
stealthily
up
a
ride
in
one
of
the
home-covers
,
at
the
head
of
some
fifteen
fine
young
fellows
,
keepers
,
grooms
,
and
not
extempore
‘watchers
,
’
whom
old
Harry
was
marshalling
and
tutoring
,
with
exhortations
as
many
and
as
animated
as
if
their
ambition
was
‘
Mourir
pour
la
patrie
.’
‘How
does
this
sort
of
work
suit
you
,
Tregarva
,
for
I
don’t
like
it
at
all
!
The
fighting’s
all
very
well
,
but
it’s
a
poor
cause.’
‘Oh
,
sir
,
I
have
no
mercy
on
these
Londoners
.
If
it
was
these
poor
half-starved
labourers
,
that
snare
the
same
hares
that
have
been
eating
up
their
garden-stuff
all
the
week
,
I
can’t
touch
them
,
sir
,
and
that’s
truth
;
but
these
ruffians
—
And
yet
,
sir
,
wouldn’t
it
be
better
for
the
parsons
to
preach
to
them
,
than
for
the
keepers
to
break
their
heads
?
’
‘Oh
?
’
said
Lancelot
,
‘the
parsons
say
all
to
them
that
they
can.’
Tregarva
shook
his
head
.
‘I
doubt
that
,
sir
.
But
,
no
doubt
,
there’s
a
great
change
for
the
better
in
the
parsons
.
I
remember
the
time
,
sir
,
that
there
wasn’t
an
earnest
clergyman
in
the
vale
;
and
now
every
other
man
you
meet
is
trying
to
do
his
best
.
But
those
London
parsons
,
sir
,
what’s
the
matter
with
them
?
For
all
their
societies
and
their
schools
,
the
devil
seems
to
keep
ahead
of
them
sadly
.
I
doubt
they
haven’t
found
the
right
fly
yet
for
publicans
and
sinners
to
rise
at.’
A
distant
shot
in
the
cover
.
‘There
they
are
,
sir
.
I
thought
that
Crawy
wouldn’t
lead
me
false
when
I
let
him
off.’
‘Well
,
fight
away
,
then
,
and
win
.
I
have
promised
Miss
Lavington
not
to
lift
a
hand
in
the
business.’
‘Then
you’re
a
lucky
man
,
sir
.
But
the
squire’s
game
is
his
own
,
and
we
must
do
our
duty
by
our
master.’
There
was
a
rustle
in
the
bushes
,
and
a
tramp
of
feet
on
the
turf
.
‘There
they
are
,
sir
,
sure
enough
.
The
Lord
keep
us
from
murder
this
night
!
’
And
Tregarva
pulled
off
his
neckcloth
,
and
shook
his
huge
limbs
,
as
if
to
feel
that
they
were
all
in
their
places
,
in
a
way
that
augured
ill
for
the
man
who
came
across
him
.
They
turned
the
corner
of
a
ride
,
and
,
in
an
instant
,
found
themselves
face
to
face
with
five
or
six
armed
men
,
with
blackened
faces
,
who
,
without
speaking
a
word
,
dashed
at
them
,
and
the
fight
began
;
reinforcements
came
up
on
each
side
,
and
the
engagement
became
general
.
‘The
forest-laws
were
sharp
and
stern
,
The
forest
blood
was
keen
,
They
lashed
together
for
life
and
death
Beneath
the
hollies
green
.
‘The
metal
good
and
the
walnut-wood
Did
soon
in
splinters
flee
;
They
tossed
the
orts
to
south
and
north
,
And
grappled
knee
to
knee
.
‘They
wrestled
up
,
they
wrestled
down
,
They
wrestled
still
and
sore
;
The
herbage
sweet
beneath
their
feet
Was
stamped
to
mud
and
gore.’
And
all
the
while
the
broad
still
moon
stared
down
on
them
grim
and
cold
,
as
if
with
a
saturnine
sneer
at
the
whole
humbug
;
and
the
silly
birds
about
whom
all
this
butchery
went
on
,
slept
quietly
over
their
heads
,
every
one
with
his
head
under
his
wing
.
Oh
!
if
pheasants
had
but
understanding
,
how
they
would
split
their
sides
with
chuckling
and
crowing
at
the
follies
which
civilised
Christian
men
perpetrate
for
their
precious
sake
!
Had
I
the
pen
of
Homer
(
though
they
say
he
never
used
one
)
,
or
even
that
of
the
worthy
who
wasted
precious
years
in
writing
a
Homer
Burlesqued
,
what
heroic
exploits
might
not
I
immortalise
!
In
every
stupid
serf
and
cunning
ruffian
there
,
there
was
a
heart
as
brave
as
Ajax’s
own
;
but
then
they
fought
with
sticks
instead
of
lances
,
and
hammered
away
on
fustian
jackets
instead
of
brazen
shields
;
and
,
therefore
,
poor
fellows
,
they
were
beneath
‘the
dignity
of
poetry
,
’
whatever
that
may
mean
.
If
one
of
your
squeamish
‘dignity-of-poetry’
critics
had
just
had
his
head
among
the
gun-stocks
for
five
minutes
that
night
,
he
would
have
found
it
grim
tragic
earnest
enough
;
not
without
a
touch
of
fun
though
,
here
and
there
.
Lancelot
leant
against
a
tree
and
watched
the
riot
with
folded
arms
,
mindful
of
his
promise
to
Argemone
,
and
envied
Tregarva
as
he
hurled
his
assailants
right
and
left
with
immense
strength
,
and
led
the
van
of
battle
royally
.
Little
would
Argemone
have
valued
the
real
proof
of
love
which
he
was
giving
her
as
he
looked
on
sulkily
,
while
his
fingers
tingled
with
longing
to
be
up
and
doing
.
Strange
—
that
mere
lust
of
fighting
,
common
to
man
and
animals
,
whose
traces
even
the
lamb
and
the
civilised
child
evince
in
their
mock-fights
,
the
earliest
and
most
natural
form
of
play
.
Is
it
,
after
all
,
the
one
human
propensity
which
is
utterly
evil
,
incapable
of
being
turned
to
any
righteous
use
?
Gross
and
animal
,
no
doubt
it
is
,
but
not
the
less
really
pleasant
,
as
every
Irishman
and
many
an
Englishman
knows
well
enough
.
A
curious
instance
of
this
,
by
the
bye
,
occurred
in
Paris
during
the
February
Revolution
.
A
fat
English
coachman
went
out
,
from
mere
curiosity
,
to
see
the
fighting
.
As
he
stood
and
watched
,
a
new
passion
crept
over
him
;
he
grew
madder
and
madder
as
the
bullets
whistled
past
him
;
at
last
,
when
men
began
to
drop
by
his
side
,
he
could
stand
it
no
longer
,
seized
a
musket
,
and
rushed
in
,
careless
which
side
he
took
,
—
‘To
drink
delight
of
battle
with
his
peers.’
He
was
not
heard
of
for
a
day
or
two
,
and
then
they
found
him
stiff
and
cold
,
lying
on
his
face
across
a
barricade
,
with
a
bullet
through
his
heart
.
Sedentary
persons
may
call
him
a
sinful
fool
.
Be
it
so
.
Homo
sum
:
humani
nihil
à
me
alienum
puto
.
Lancelot
,
I
verily
believe
,
would
have
kept
his
promise
,
though
he
saw
that
the
keepers
gave
ground
,
finding
Cockney
skill
too
much
for
their
clumsy
strength
;
but
at
last
Harry
Verney
,
who
had
been
fighting
as
venomously
as
a
wild
cat
,
and
had
been
once
before
saved
from
a
broken
skull
by
Tregarva
,
rolled
over
at
his
very
feet
with
a
couple
of
poachers
on
him
.
‘You
won’t
see
an
old
man
murdered
,
Mr.
Smith
?
’
cried
he
,
imploringly
.
Lancelot
tore
the
ruffians
off
the
old
man
right
and
left
.
One
of
them
struck
him
;
he
returned
the
blow
;
and
,
in
an
instant
,
promises
and
Argemone
,
philosophy
and
anti-game-law
prejudices
,
were
swept
out
of
his
head
,
and
‘he
went
,
’
as
the
old
romances
say
,
‘hurling
into
the
midst
of
the
press
,
’
as
mere
a
wild
animal
for
the
moment
as
angry
bull
or
boar
.
An
instant
afterwards
,
though
,
he
burst
out
laughing
,
in
spite
of
himself
,
as
‘The
Battersea
Bantam
,
’
who
had
been
ineffectually
dancing
round
Tregarva
like
a
gamecock
spurring
at
a
bull
,
turned
off
with
a
voice
of
ineffable
disgust
,
—
‘That
big
cove’s
a
yokel
;
ta’nt
creditable
to
waste
science
on
him
.
You’re
my
man
,
if
you
please
,
sir
,
’
