got as smoothly as you do the verses you have learned by rote.  Oh, you
will be laughing at me then."

"No, no, Jacob!  I will never laugh at you.  You taught me all I know
about reading, and I shall never forget that, even if I learn to read
ever so well."

Next morning, when Adam came home from fishing, the dame told him the
interest Miss Mary Pemberton seemed to take in Maiden May, and of her
expectation that the Miss Pembertons would wish to have the little girl
up to instruct her better than they could at home.  Adam agreed that it
would not be right to prevent their charge enjoying the benefit which
such instruction would undoubtedly be to her.

"But they must not rob us of her altogether, dame.  I could not bear to
part with the little maiden, and what is more I won't, unless her own
kindred come to claim her, and then it would go sore against the grain
to give her up.  But right is right, and we could not stand out against
that."

"If the Miss Pembertons wish to take the little girl into their house
and make a little lady of her it would not be right, I fear, Adam, to
say `No' to them."

"She is a little lady already," answered Adam, sturdily.  "They could
not make her more so than she is already."

"But I am afraid the way we live, and speak too, Adam, is not like that
of gentlefolks; and though our Maiden May is a little lady, and better
than many little ladies I have known in all her ways, she will become in
time too much like one of us to please those to whom she belongs, I am
afraid," observed the dame, who had from her experience as a domestic
servant in Mr Castleton's family, a clearer perception of the
difference between the habits of her own class and those of the upper
orders of society than her husband.  Still Adam was not to be convinced.

"We are bringing her up as a Christian child should be brought up, to be
good and obedient," he observed, in a determined tone, "and that's more
than many among the gentry are.  You know, Betsy, you wouldn't like her
to be like that Miss Castleton you told me off."

"No more I should," answered the dame; "But though the Pembertons are of
her kindred, they are truly Christian ladies, and Maiden May could only
learn good from them."

As is often the case in a matrimonial discussion, the wife had the best
of the argument, but they were still uncertain whether the Miss
Pembertons would even make the offer which the dame had suggested as
possible.  She, at all events, had promised to take Maiden May up to
them, and Adam could not prohibit her doing so.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

MAY AN APT SCHOLAR.

On Miss Pemberton's return to Downside, while seated at their tea-table,
Miss Mary gave her a description of her young visitor of the morning,
and told her of the proposal she was anxious to make about her.

"I should just like to see the little girl," said Miss Pemberton.  "If
she is really as the dame supposes, of gentle birth, it would be
undoubtedly right to try and give her some of the advantages of which
she has been deprived.  At the same time we should be cautious--perhaps
the dame may have been mistaken, and it will be unnecessary, if not
imprudent, to try and raise her above the position in which she was
born, unless she possesses qualities calculated to make her happier and
better in a higher station."

"Well, Jane, I could only form an opinion from her sweet voice and from
what she said.  Adam Halliburt and his wife are devotedly fond of her,
and do you not think that we may help them by judicious training."

"Well, Mary, I see that you are determined to think highly of the child,
and unless we find that you are mistaken, I shall be very glad to see
her as often as her worthy protectors will allow her to come," said Miss
Pemberton.

"I trust that it will be found that I am right in my opinion of the
sweet little girl," said Miss Mary, nodding her head and smiling.  "I
can always judge best of people by their voices, and I detected in her's
that true tone which can only proceed from a true heart."

"Well, well, we shall see, and I hope that my opinion will agree with
your's, Mary," observed Miss Pemberton.

Next morning Mistress Halliburt arrived with Maiden May.  The little
girl was scrupulously clean and neatly dressed, though her garments were
befitting a fisherman's daughter of plain and somewhat coarse materials,
except that she wore the unusual addition of shoes and stockings.

"I have brought our little maiden to you, ladies, as you desired, and if
you will please to tell me how long you wish to keep her, I will send my
Jacob up to fetch her away at the proper time," said the dame as she
entered the hall into which the Miss Pemberton's had come out to meet
their young guest.

Miss Pemberton scanned her narrowly with her keen grey eyes before
replying.

"Good morning, my dear," said Miss Mary, "come and shake hands."

May ran forward and placed her hand trustfully in that of the blind
lady.  "May I lead you about the garden as I did yesterday, Miss Mary,"
she asked, "and tell you of the birds, and butterflies, and flowers I
see?  I shall like it so much."  Miss Mary smiled and nodded her consent
to the proposal.  "Thank you, thank you," exclaimed Maiden May.  "You
need not send for the child till the evening, Mrs Halliburt," said Miss
Jane, who had been watching May.  "We shall not grow tired of her I
think, and she, I hope, will be happy here."

The dame went away in the hopes that Maiden May had made a favourable
impression on the ladies.  "The elder is a little stiff and won't win
the child's heart like the blind lady; but she is kind and may be thinks
more than her sister," she said to herself.  "She won't spoil the child
or set her up too much--that's a good thing, or maybe she might not like
coming back to us and putting up with our ways, and that would vex Adam
sorely."

The little girl spent a very happy day with the kind ladies.  She led
Miss Mary as she had proposed about the garden, and was as entertaining
to the blind lady as on the previous day, while she gained a
considerable amount of information tending to expand her young mind.

Miss Jane commenced giving her the course of instruction she had
contemplated, and Maiden May proved herself a willing and apt pupil.
When invited to come to dinner, Miss Jane was pleased to see her stand
up with her hands before her, ready to repeat the grace which she
herself uttered.

"Father always prays before and after meals though he does not say the
same words; but I think God does not care about the words so much as
what comes out of the heart.  Oh, He is very very kind, I always thank
Him for what He gives me.  If He had not taken care of me, I should have
been washed away in the sea with my poor ayah and all the people on
board the ship."

"And you love God my little maiden," asked Miss Pemberton.  "Oh, yes,
how could I not when He has given us His dear Son, and with Him all
things else which we can want to make us happy."

"The child has been well taught by the good fish wife," observed Miss
Mary aside to her sister.  "She has set us an example which we must be
careful to follow."

"Yes, indeed," said Miss Jane, "we can better give her lady-like notions
and habits than the good old woman could have done, but she has acted
faithfully in imparting that knowledge which is above all price."  It is
true May did several things at table not in accordance with the customs
of polite society, but Miss Jane refrained from saying anything for fear
of intimidating the little girl.

"You will observe, May, how I behave at table, and you will try, I am
sure, to do as I do," she said quietly.

May nodded, and after this so narrowly watched all her movements that
Miss Jane began almost to wish that she had not made the remark.  If
Miss Jane helped herself to salt so did Maiden May, when she drank the
little girl lifted her small tumbler to her lips, her knife and fork was
held exactly in the same way she saw Miss Jane doing, or held daintily
in her tiny hand while Susan took her plate for some more chicken.

"Our young friend will prove an apt scholar, I suspect," observed Miss
Jane, to her sister.  "I will tell you why I think so by and bye."

After dinner Miss Jane gave May her first writing lesson.  She had never
before held a pen in her hand, and her attempts to make pot-hooks and
hangers, and even straight lines were not very successful.

"I think I could make some letters like those in a book, if you will let
me, Miss Jane," she said, looking up after surveying her performance.

"I do not want you to make such as those at present; but I will write
some which you can copy."

To her surprise the little girl imitated the letters, as she told Miss
Mary, with a neatness and precision which was truly surprising.

"I like to do them much better than those ugly things," said Maiden May,
and she was spared the task of copying the pot-hooks and hangers, and
was allowed to learn writing more according to her own fancy.

She was so happy that she thought Jacob had arrived sooner than it was
necessary to escort her home.  She went, however, very willingly,
tripping along by his side as she held his big hand, and describing with
glee all she had seen and learned.

"You will soon be thinking little of our home I am afeared, May," said
Jacob with a sigh.

May protested honestly she liked home best.  Jacob felt that in a few
years she would think differently.  He scarcely dared to allow himself
to contemplate the wide gap which would be placed between them.

Day after day May went up to Downside Cottage.

"We ought not to give you the trouble to come for your little girl,
Mistress Halliburt," observed Miss Jane; "Susan can escort her if you do
not think her old enough to go by herself."

"If she were my own daughter, or any other poor person's child, I would
have let her go and come back by herself long ago, but there is one
living not far off, who, for reasons of his own which I cannot fathom,
would, I am afraid, like to spirit her off," said the dame mysteriously.
"I have never lost sight of her except when she has been with you or my
Jacob, besides that time when near Texford Mr Harry saved her from the
wild bull, and I was so frightened then that I made up my mind never to
let her go by herself again.  If she had come to harm I should have
almost died of it, and Adam would never have forgiven me."

"That was an accident not likely to occur again, and surely no one would
injure the child," observed Miss Jane.

"It's no fancy of mine if I think there is," said the dame.  "He came
once and tried to get her from us by fair means, but we would not give
her up for all his promises.  But when he finds out as he is sure to do
before long, that she is with you, and coming backwards and forwards, he
will be on the watch for her.  He is not often here now since the war
began, and Adam thinks he is about no good.  He does come back sometimes
for a day or two, and Satan will be helping him if he thinks of
mischief."

"No doubt about that, Mrs Halliburt," observed Miss Jane.  "But there
is one more powerful than Satan who will protect the innocent."

"True, marm, but He will protect them through the means of their
friends, and it's our business, if we suspect evil to guard against it,"
said the dame.

"You are right.  But who is the person of whom you speak who is likely
to injure our little girl?"

"We must not speak ill of our neighbours, Miss Pemberton," answered the
dame.  "I know that; but if our neighbours do ill we may warn others
against them.  The man I mean is Miles Gaffin, the miller, as he calls
himself.  Now, I cannot say exactly what ill he does, except that I
never heard of his doing any good or saying even a kind word, though he
says many a bad one: but Adam, my husband, has a pretty strong notion of
the sort of business he carries on, and that it's not by his mill he
makes his money.  There are few about here who don't stand in awe of
him, and yet it would be hard for anyone to say exactly why.  Only one
thing is certain, that if he had a mind to do a thing he would do it,
and set the law at defiance.  To say the truth, I cannot tell you more
against him than I have, but I am just afraid of him, and cannot help
feeling as how he would work mischief to our Maiden May if he had the
chance.  But, Miss Pemberton, you will not repeat what I have said?"

"Certainly not, dame, certainly not," said Miss Mary, "but after all I
cannot say that you have brought any serious accusation against the
miller, nor can I understand why you should fancy he is likely to injure
our Maiden May."

"That's just it, Miss Mary, no one about here can say exactly what he
does, or why they don't like him.  Still, no one does like him, and I
feel a sort of tremble whenever I set my eyes on him, just as I should,
begging your pardon, ladies, if I was to meet Satan himself, though I
know well he cannot hurt me, for I trust in one who is able to keep evil
at a distance."

"Though I still remain in the dark as to why we should be cautious of
this man Gaffin, we will always keep a careful watch over Maiden May,
and when you or your son cannot come for her we will send her home with
some prudent person who will take care that neither he nor anyone else
runs off with her," answered Miss Jane.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

AT PORTSMOUTH.

Portsmouth was a busy place in those stirring times of warfare, and as
the coach, on the top of which Harry was seated, rattled and rumbled
down the High Street, parties of sailors came rolling along, laughing
and talking, several in their heedlessness almost running against the
horses in spite of the shouts of the coachman, who had more than once to
pull up to avoid driving over them.  Now a pressgang passed along,
dragging a number of unwilling captives to serve on board the fleet,
some resigned to their fate, others with frowning brows resenting the
treatment they had received, and some glancing round, hoping against
hope for an opportunity to escape.  Officers in cocked hats and
glittering epaulets were walking quickly along, while post-chaises came
driving in bringing Admiralty officials or Captains to join their ships.
Groups were collected in front of the different inns, and Jews were
looking out for customers, certain of obtaining a ready sale for their
trumpery wares.  Ballad singers, especially those who could troll forth
one of Dibdin's new songs, were collecting a good harvest from eager
listeners, and the apple-stall women were driving a thriving trade; as
were the shopkeepers of high and low degree, judging by their smiling
countenances, while the sound of revelry which came forth from the
numerous inns showed that the landlords were rejoicing in the abundance
of custom: in short, there was little chance of grass growing in
Portsmouth streets in those days.

As Harry leaped down from his seat he found his hand grasped by another
midshipman, a handsome looking youth, somewhat taller and older than
himself, who had made his way through the crowd gathered round the
coach.

"I have been on the look-out for you, Harry, with a message from the
Captain," said the latter, as they cordially shook hands.  "You are to
come on board at once, for we are all ataunto and the frigate goes out
of harbour this evening."

I have to order a few things at my tailor's, and shall be quite ready,
answered Harry.

"Well, Headland," he added, taking his friend's arm after he had given
his portmanteau into charge of a porter, "I was so glad to find that you
had joined the Triton, and as the captain knows and esteems you, he is
sure to give you a lift whenever he can.  We shall see some more service
together, and I hope that you, at all events, will mount a swab on your
shoulder before the ship is paid off."

"Your uncle will get you promoted first, I should think," answered
Headland, "though I hope some day my turn will come."

"You are my senior, and have done not a few things to merit it, and
Captain Fancourt is the last man to favour a relation by passing over
another with greater merits."

"Come, come, you have learned to flatter while you were studying French
on shore.  We shall both do our duty, I have no doubt about that."

Harry having called at his tailor's, he and Headland went down to the
point now so crowded with men-of-war's boats, and wherries coming in and
shoving off marines and sailors, watermen, and boat-women, and gaily
dressed females and persons of all description, that they had no little
difficulty in gaining one of the wherries.  Reaching her, however, at
last, they off to the frigate lying mid-channel, with her sails loose,
ready to get under way.

Harry, having reported himself, had some old friends to greet, and a
number of new acquaintances to make, and he soon found himself at home
in a midshipman's berth.

As soon as the captain came on board, the frigate, slipping her
moorings, glided out of harbour, and took up a berth near Lord Howe's
fleet, which had a short time before arrived after the glorious victory
of the 1st June.

Captain Fancourt having sent for Harry, gave him a kind welcome, and
said:--

"You shall go on shore with me to-morrow to attend the king and queen,
who are coming on board the fleet.  It is the best opportunity you may
have of seeing their majesties till you go to court on your promotion,
which I hope, however, you will gain before many years are over."

Accordingly, the next morning the captain went on shore in his boat,
taking Harry with him, and pulled to the dockyard.

Never had Portsmouth harbour presented a gayer scene.  Every vessel
afloat was dressed with as many flags as could be mustered, from the
proud line of battle ship to the humble lighter, while banners waved
from numberless flagstaff's on shore.  The shores were everywhere lined
with people on the watch for the flotilla of boats which were collecting
before the Commissioner's house in the dockyard.  The whole garrison was
under arms, and the Lords of the Admiralty, whose flag was hoisted on
board the Queen, and most of the Ministers of State were present.

Shouts rent the air as at length the king issued from the Commissioner's
house, carrying in his own hand a magnificent diamond-hilted sword,
accompanied by the queen, and followed by several of the princes and
princesses.  He thus proceeded down to his barge waiting at the steps,
when, amid the shouts of the multitude, and the firing of guns, he
embarked with his family and attendants.  The barge, then urged by the
strong arms of her crew, proceeded down the harbour, followed by a vast
fleet of boats, and steered for the Queen Charlotte, the most
conspicuous of the ships at Spithead.

As soon as the barge arrived alongside, the royal standard was hoisted,
that of the venerable admiral being shifted to a frigate, and a royal
salute thundered forth from all the ships, while hearty cheers rose from
the throats of the gallant crews as they stood on the outstretched
yards.

On the deck of the Queen Charlotte were collected the gallant admirals
and captains, by whose courage and seamanship the first of that long
series of victories which contributed so greatly to England's naval
glory had been won.

The king would allow no one to take the sword from him, but as soon as
he reached the deck, eagerly advanced towards Lord Howe.  He presented
it to him as a mark of his satisfaction and entire approbation of his
conduct.  Rich gold chains were then presented by the king to Sir
Alexander Hood, to Admiral Gardener, and also to Lord Howe's first
captain, Sir Roger Curtis.

"I am sorry that their wounds prevent Admiral Bower and Admiral Paisley
from attending," said the king.  "I must have the satisfaction of
presenting them with gold chains; and as soon as medals can be cast to
commemorate the victory, I will send them that they may be attached to
the chains."

It was an interesting sight when, on that occasion, the flower of the
English navy, with the gallant men who had fought that glorious action,
were presented by the venerable admiral, for Lord Howe was then seventy
years of age, to the good king on the quarter-deck of the flag ship.
His Majesty exhibited much genuine feeling as the admirals captains and
lieutenants in succession came up to him.  He had a kind word for
everyone, and one of sympathy for those who had so far recovered from
their wounds as to be able to be presented.

"Who would not be ready to shed the last drop of his blood when we have
our dear country to fight for, and so first-rate a king to reign over
us," exclaimed Harry, enthusiastically to his friend Headland, for they
both had accompanied their captain on board, and witnessed the spectacle
from a distant part of the ship.

The levee being concluded, the king dined with the admiral on board, and
then returned in his barge to the harbour, accompanied as before by a
squadron of boats.

His Majesty was so eager to see the prizes captured by his fleet, that,
before going on shore, he insisted on pulling up the harbour to have a
look at them.  There, at their moorings, lay the six huge line of battle
ships which had lately belonged to the republican French, now the prize
of English valour.  The Northumberland, Achille, La Just, Impetueux, and
America, the two latter the finest seventy-fours that had ever been seen
in the British harbour, the Sans-Pareille, almost equalling in size the
Queen Charlotte, and noted for her swift sailing.  The Venguer would
have been among them had she not sunk just after she struck her colours.

In the evening the town was brilliantly illuminated, and the next day
the king attended the launch of a line of battle ship, the Prince of
Wales.  Directly afterwards, the indefatigable monarch, with the queen
and princess, rowed out to Spithead, embarked on board the Aquilon
frigate, royal salutes firing from all the ships while the crews manned
yards and cheered, and the bands played their most lively music.

The Aquilon getting under way stood towards the Needles, when the king
returned to Portsmouth to spend the Sunday.

On the following Monday he sailed in the Niger frigate for Southampton,
whence the royal family proceeded in carriages for Windsor.

Such is a description of one of the many visits the king delighted to
pay to the fleets of England, so that both the officers and men of the
navy were well acquainted with his person, and very many could boast of
having had the honour of conversing with him.

The Triton, however, was soon to be far away from such scenes, and to be
engaged in the stern reality of warfare.  Her destination was the
Mediterranean, and her captain and crew being eager to distinguish
themselves, the grass was not allowed to grow on her keel.  Still,
though a bright look-out was kept, and leagues of water had been
ploughed by her, a couple of privateers, a few merchantmen, and Gunda
costas, only had been captured, she having hitherto encountered no
worthy antagonist.

Unhappily fever broke out on board, and going into Gibraltar she was
compelled to leave thirty men at the hospital.  Even after she sailed
again, a considerable number remained on the sick list; indeed, she had
almost an equal number with those left behind unable to do duty.

Though his crew were thus reduced in strength, Captain Fancourt
continued his cruise in search of the enemy.

The Triton, approaching the neighbourhood of Carthagena, a number of
large ships were seen hull down between her and the land.  They were
known to be the Spanish fleet.  Their movements were watched, and they
were observed standing back to port.  The Triton kept them in sight, and
then standing away, continued cruising on the ground they had before
occupied.  In vain, however, Captain Fancourt watched for their return,
that he might carry information of their whereabouts to the admiral.

Day after day went by and not a sail was seen.

"This is vexatious work," exclaimed Harry, as he and Headland were
walking the quarter-deck during the first watch, when the frigate lay
becalmed about ten or a dozen miles off the coast.

"It's more than vexatious to me who have no friends to help me, and who,
unless I get the opportunity of fighting my way up the ratlines, have
but little hope of promotion," answered Headland.  "You who have a
father in Parliament are sure of yours as soon as you have served your
time."

"That may be the case, but I would rather gain my promotion in hard
service, than as a matter of favour.  I am sure that you will make
opportunities for yourself, and I hope to find them too, though they may
not come as willingly as we may desire," said Harry.  "But how is it,
Headland, that you speak of having no friends?  You know me well enough,
to be sure, that I could not wish to pry into your affairs from idle
curiosity; but the truth is, that being known to be your friend, I have
several times been asked about you, and I have been compelled to confess
that I know nothing of your history.  That has made people fancy that
there is something you would desire to conceal, though, as I know you,
my dear fellow, to be the soul of honour, I am very sure there is
nothing, as far as you are personally concerned, which you would desire
to be kept secret."

"You do me no more than justice, Harry," answered Headland, in a tone
which denoted honest pride--a very different feeling to vanity.  "There
is nothing in my history which I wish to conceal.  On the contrary, I
would rather have it as widely known as possible, though the fear of
being considered egotistical has prevented me talking about myself.  For
this reason alone I have hitherto, even to you, never spoken about my
early days, and now you put the question to me, I can scarcely otherwise
account for my silence on the subject."

"You have spoken at times of a kind-hearted seaman who took care of you
as a child, and of having served as a ship's boy before you were placed
on the quarter-deck, and of other circumstances which have made me
suspect that your early history was not a little romantic.  From
strangers being present, or from other causes, I have, however, always
been prevented from questioning you more particularly on the subject,
and even now, as I honour you for yourself, I would not ask you to tell
me anything, but that I believe it would be for your advantage, and
certainly, as I said before, not to satisfy my own curiosity."

"I am sure of that, my dear Harry," answered Headland, "and I will try
to give you as much of my early history as I possess myself.  To do so I
must exert my memory, and help it out with the information I have
obtained from my early protector and devoted friend, Jack Headland,
whose name I bear, though I know from him that it is not my proper one.
I have no reason, however, to be ashamed of the name, and therefore
gladly retain it, hoping some day to make it known with honour.  I
confess, however, did I possess any means of being recognised, my
earnest wish would have been to discover my parents and family, but as
you will learn, from what I am going to tell you, all possible clue that
would enable me to do so has been lost, and I have therefore made up my
mind to be content with my position, and to gain a name for myself."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A YARN AT SEA.

"If it gives you no painful recollections, my dear Headland, I shall
much like to hear your history," said Harry.  "On this calm night the
thread of your narrative is not likely to be broken."

"I will try to go back, then, as far as my memory will help me," said
Headland.

I have a dim recollection of living in a large Eastern style of house,
with a number of black servants dressed in white, and a black woman who
spoke in a language which has now become strange, though I think I then
understood it.  She attended especially on me.  There was a tall
gentleman of a slight figure, and a very fair lady, who was, I am sure,
my mother.  I have a faint recollection of her blue eyes and sweet smile
as she took me in her arms, or looked down upon me as I played at her
feet.  Still, it is only now and then like the vision in a dream that
her countenance rises to my memory.  After that there comes a blank, and
I found myself on board a ship--brought there by my black nurse,
accompanied by the tall gentleman.  I remember him clearly in the cabin,
talking to a lady who then took charge of me, my nurse, I conclude,
returning on shore, for she disappears from my recollection.  While the
gentleman was on deck, as I was afterwards told by Jack Headland, he
suddenly, looking at the mate, asked him if he was not somebody he had
known in England.  The mate seemed for a moment taken aback, but,
recovering himself, replied quite quietly that the gentleman was
mistaken; that he had never heard of such a person, and that his name
was Michael Golding, which, as Jack said, as far as he knew to the
contrary, was the case, for that was the name he went by on board,
though he was generally spoken of as the mate.  The gentleman at last
seemed satisfied, and returned on shore.

The ship sailed, and I remember seeing the blue water bubbling and
hissing alongside as she clove her way through it, and playing with a
ball on deck, which rolled out through one of the ports.  The lady was
very kind, and used to sing to me, and tell me stories, and, I fancied,
tried to teach me my letters, though I was somewhat young to learn them.
She was, however, very different to my mother, much older I suspect,
and I did not love her half so much.

It came on to blow after a time, the sea got up and the ship tumbled
about, and the poor lady was unable to watch over me.

There were other passengers, but they were all ill, and the stewardess
was too busy to attend to me, but the mate came one day and told the
lady that he would watch over me, or get some one else to do so when he
was engaged.

From the first I did not like him, for he was a dark, black bearded man,
with an unpleasant expression of countenance, so I cried out whenever he
came near me.  The captain must, I think, therefore, have given me in
charge to Jack Headland, a young apprentice, whose looks I liked much
better than the mate's.  At all events, I was frequently with Jack, and
no one could have taken better care of me.

There were not many English seamen, most of the crew being dark-skinned
fellows--Malays, I suppose.

The vessel was, I know, not an Indiaman, but a country trader bound to
Calcutta or Bombay.

I told Jack--so I learned from him--that I did not like the mate.  He
advised me not to say that to any one else, and promised that he would
be my friend.

Most thoroughly he fulfilled his promise.  Strange as it may seem, the
mate intentionally left me near an open port several times, in the hopes
that I might by chance slip through, so Jack thought, though he could
not guess at his motive.  Still it was clear that the mate had a bitter
spite against me.

We had been some time at sea when we were caught in a fearful hurricane.
The ship was dismasted, and I remember hearing a dreadful crash, when
all was confusion on board.  The sea broke over the ship, and a number
of people were washed away.  Even then Jack did not forget me.  He found
me in the cabin, and seizing me in his arms carried me to the fore part
of the ship, which still hung to the rocks, while the after part,
directly we had left it, broke up, and the poor lady who had had charge
of me with many others was lost.  The mate, who had made his way forward
with half-a-dozen men, advised Jack to let me go, as it was impossible I
should survive, and that he would probably lose his own life in
attempting to save mine.

"No, no," answered Jack.  "I promised to take care of the youngster, and
I will as long as I have life in me."

The noble fellow held me the faster with one arm, while he clung to the
wreck with the other.  Scarcely had the mate spoken than he was washed
away; but Jack saw him gain a piece of the wreck to which he was
clinging, when he disappeared in the gloom at night.

When morning broke, the shore was seen.  The hurricane was over, and the
sea was becoming calmer.  Jack securing me to the stump of the bowsprit
with three or four of our surviving shipmates, contrived to form a raft.
When this was launched he came for me, and fed me with some biscuit
which he had in his pocket, I conclude.  We then embarked, and partly by
paddling with pieces of plank, and partly by sailing, we reached the
shore.

We had not long landed when a number of natives came, and made the whole
party prisoners.  While they were consulting what to do with us, some
others were seen along the shore dragging the mate in their midst.
Three Malays had been saved on the raft, who, poor fellows, were quickly
knocked on the head.  The lives of the white men were spared.  Jack kept
me tightly in his arms, and entreated the natives not to take me from
him.  The mate, however, seemed to be able to make them understand him,
and Jack said that he was certain from the way he looked at me, that he
was endeavouring to persuade the natives to separate us.  Though we had
fallen among a tribe of murderous pirates, such as frequent the coasts
of many of the Indian Islands, they had still some of the kinder
feelings of human nature lingering in their breasts.  Notwithstanding
what the mate might have said Jack was allowed to keep possession of me,
and our captors making signs to us to accompany them, we proceeded to
their village, situated on the shores of a creek, on the bank of which
several piratical proas lay moored.

By this time I was suffering dreadfully from thirst.  Jack seeing this
entreated the natives to give me some water.  The houses were raised on
platforms, with steps leading to them some height from the ground.

One of the natives, a headman, calling out a pleasant-looking young
woman, brought down a calabash of water, which she gave me to drink.
She smiled as she watched me.  As soon as I had satisfied my thirst, I
put it to Jack's mouth, and he swallowed the remainder.  The young woman
seemed to have taken a fancy to me, and saying something to the head
man, who was her husband, the latter made signs to Jack that he was to
give me to her.  On this she seemed highly pleased, and Jack, thinking I
should be safe in her keeping, made no resistance.

As soon as she got me, she carried me up into the house.  Jack was going
to follow, when some of the natives seized him and dragged him away.  My
new nurse brought me some dry native clothing, and while doing so
discovered round my neck a gold chain to which an ornament was attached;
but she did not attempt to take it off, and I have ever since carefully
preserved it in the hopes that it might assist to identify me.  She then
gave me food, and placed me on a mat, where I soon fell asleep.

Day after day passed by, and though I frequently asked for Jack, he did
not appear.  The young woman who had no children of her own, treated me
with great kindness, and dressed me up like a native.  I do not remember
having had my own clothes restored.

I remember once, if not twice, seeing the mate while I was playing in
front of the house; but my protectress, fancying that he wanted to take
me from her, ran out and carried me inside.

I was beginning to learn the language of the people with whom I was
thrown, and could make my wants known, so that I must have been some
time with them.  I had not forgotten Jack, however, and continued hoping
that he would come back for me; and whenever I went out I was on the
watch for him.  Once I fancied I saw him in the distance, but as I was
dressed as a native child, he did not recognise me.

Many months went by.  I afterwards found that the white men had been
compelled to labour as slaves, though the mate had managed to gain the
confidence of one of the chiefs, and had risen in his favour.  The proas
frequently went out of harbour, and were absent often for a considerable
time.  When they came back they brought all sorts of things, which were
placed in their store houses, and were certainly not obtained by
peaceable commerce.

One day the young woman who had charge of me seemed very unhappy.  I was
now able to understand all she said, so I asked her the cause of her
grief, and she told me that the chief whose slave the mate had become,
wanted to persuade her husband to give me up to him, and that she could
not bear the thoughts of parting from me.  I entreated her to keep me,
and promised that if I was taken away I would run back to her.  I then
asked her if she knew what had become of my friend Jack.  She said he
was not far off, but that his master would not let him come to see me.
I begged her, at all events, not to let me be given up to the mate.  She
at last told me one day that I need have no fear of the mate, as he had
disappeared, and was supposed to have made his way out to sea in a canoe
to a vessel which had appeared off the coast.

The pirates lived tolerably easy lives on shore, apparently believing
that though they must have made enemies in all directions, their village
was so securely hidden, they were not likely to be molested.

Thus time went on, when one night I was awoke by hearing a fearful
uproar, rapid reports of firearms, shouts and shrieks of men fighting
desperately.  Presently flames burst forth from different parts of the
village.  They were approaching the house where I was.  The one next to
it was on fire.  My kind protectress did not forget me.  At first, not
knowing what to do, she had remained watching the progress of events,
hoping probably that the enemy would be driven back.  When, however, the
fire surrounded her house, she saw that it was time to fly.  Seizing me
in her arms she was about to do so, when the crackling and hissing
flames burst forth around us.  At that moment a man leaped up the steps.
Though so long a time had passed since we had parted, I at once
recognised my friend Jack.  Snatching me from the woman's arms, he
sprang down to the ground, telling her to follow him.  Bullets were
whizzing through the air in all directions.  He made his way as fast as
his legs could carry him out of the range of fire, and then directed his
course towards the river, where he sat down on the ground beneath some
bushes, and I believe I fell asleep.

It was just daylight when I awoke, and Jack creeping with me down to the
water's edge, we saw several boats full of men.  Jack shouted to them,
and one of them put in and took us on board.  They were, he afterwards
told me, the boats of two Dutch men-of-war, which had been sent up the
river to destroy the nest of pirates.  This they had done effectually,
and were now on their way back to their ships.  Jack was the only one of
the shipwrecked crew who had escaped; what had become of the others he
could not tell, but concluded that they had been murdered.

It was a long time, however, before I could speak to him or understand
what he said, for I had been so long without hearing a word of English
that I had almost forgotten it, while he knew but very little of the
native language in which I had in the meantime learned to express my
wants.

We were kindly received on board one of the Dutch frigates.  Jack tried
to tell the captain the little he knew about me, but as the Dutchman
spoke no English, and Jack was ignorant of Dutch, he did not, I suspect,
give him a very lucid account.  Jack having been but a short time at the
port from which we sailed, as he had joined the ship from a vessel which
had arrived only the day before, had entirely forgotten its name, and
being no navigator he had not the slightest notion from what direction
we had come.  He was not much happier in recollecting the name of the
vessel, except that there were two of them both ending, as he said, in
"jee."

Before long a Dutch seaman who spoke English was found on board, and
through his interpretation Jack was able to give a rather more clear
account of me than at first.  The captain was at all events satisfied
that I was the child of English parents of a good position in life, and
taking compassion on my destitute condition, he desired Jack to leave me
in the cabin, giving him permission, however, to come aft and attend to
me.  Jack would rather have kept me forward with himself, but believing
that this arrangement was for my good, he submitted to it.  I was soon
rigged out like a young Dutchman by the ship's tailor, and Jack used to
come into the cabin to look after me in the morning, and to attend to me
at my meals, while he watched during the best part of the day as I ran
about the deck.

The frigates were bound for Batavia.  As soon as we arrived there the
captain took me on shore, and he so interested a wealthy Dutch merchant
and his wife in my favour that they offered to receive me into their
house and adopt me should my parents not be discovered.  I at once
became a great favourite of the lady's, who had no children of her own,
and for my sake they sent for Jack and asked if he would wish to remain
on shore and enter their service.  As he was very unwilling to part with
me he accepted their offer, though, as he afterwards said, kind as they
were, he did not like the thoughts of my being turned into a Dutchman.
He was my constant companion when I was not with Mynheer Vanderveldt or
his excellent Frau, and he did his best to teach me English.  They,
however, did not neglect either my education or my manners, but took
great pains to bring me up as a young gentleman.

Three or four years more passed by, and I had become a biggish boy, and
should, in spite of Jack's efforts, have been soon turned into a
Dutchman, when my kind friends determined to return to Europe.  I
suspect that all this time, from their wish to keep me, they had taken
no great pains to discover to whom I belonged; indeed, the only clue
that Jack could give them was so slight that I feel that they really had
a sufficient excuse for their negligence.  My faithful friend Jack,
still unwilling to part from me, accompanied my friends in the _Prinz
Mauritz_, on board which we embarked.  He and I were doomed, however, to
be unfortunate in our voyages, though more fortunate than our
companions.

We had been some weeks at sea when, during a dark and blowing night, a
terrific crash was heard.  I sprang out of my berth and dressed, and
within a minute my faithful Jack was by my side.

"The ship is on shore and will go to pieces before daylight, but I will
not desert you, my boy," he said.  "As I came aft I made out a rock
close aboard of us, and as the masts are sure to go over we may manage
to gain it if we take the proper time.  I wish I could help Mynheer and
the Frau, but I must look after you first."

Scarcely had he said this when another and another crashing sound
reached our ears.

"There go the masts!" he exclaimed.  "Come along!" and seizing me by the
arm he dragged me on deck.

As he had expected, the head of the mainmast rested on the rock, which
could now be seen as a bright flash of lightning darted from the sky.
We were the first on the spar, and making our way along it gained the
rock.  A few others seeing us followed.  I entreated Jack to look after
my friends, forgetting the danger to which he would be exposed in doing
so.  The people coming along the mast prevented him from going, and just
then a heavy sea rolling in sent a sheet of spray over us, completely
hiding the ship.  When we looked again she was gone.  The sea had lifted
her, and falling off the rock she had sunk, dragging her fallen masts
with those still clinging to them.

Six people, besides Jack and me, had alone escaped, all the other human
beings on board, including my kind friends, had perished.  We remained
till daylight on the rock, and at daybreak managed to get to the island,
partly by wading and partly by swimming.  It was itself only a huge
rock, about three miles long, rising in some places to the height of a
couple of hundred feet above the sea.

We employed the whole day in collecting provisions and part of the cargo
washed ashore.  We went in search of water and found a spring, so that
we had no fear of dying from hunger or thirst for some time to come.
One of our first cares was to erect a flagstaff as a signal to any
passing ship.  I felt deeply grieved for the loss of my friends; but I
did not think so much about the fact that I was reduced from affluence
to perfect poverty.  Jack told me that he knew Mynheer Vanderveldt
intended to leave me all his property.

"He made his will before he left Batavia, and I am pretty sure he had it
with him, so that if any of his chests are washed on shore, as I should
know them, there may still be a chance of finding it.  Though I am no
scholar myself, you might make it out, and some day get what the good
man intended to be yours."

So impressed was Jack with this idea that he employed a considerable
portion of his time in hunting along the shore for my friend's chests.

Though we did not get them, we found several articles which were of more
use to us just then, so that the time was not fruitlessly spent.

We lived in a hut built partly of stones and partly of the wreck, and
thus suffered no great hardship.  After we had spent three months on the
rock we saw a sail in the distance.  She approached--our signal was
discovered.  A boat came and took us off, when we found ourselves on
board an English frigate, the _Nymph_, which had been driven by a gale
out of her course.  Had it not been for this circumstance we might have
remained on the rock many months longer, or till we had all died of
starvation.

Captain Biddell sent for me, and desired to know who I was.

"That's more than I can very well tell you, sir," I answered in the
broken English I then spoke; "but my friend Jack Headland can tell you
more about me than I can."

He accordingly sent for Jack, who told him all he knew.  He seemed, by
his remarks, to have some doubts of the truth of the story.

"Well, all I can do is to enter you both on the ship's books," he
observed.  "I shall see how the boy behaves himself and act
accordingly."

Jack was asked by what name I should be entered.

"I'll give him mine," he answered.  "I don't want him to be a Dutchman,
and I don't know any other to call him by."

And so I was entered as young Jack Headland, and young Jack I was called
ever afterwards, while he was known as old Jack, though he was not very
old either, for he was still a fine active young fellow.

"You heard what the captain said," observed old Jack to me.  "What you
have got to look after is to behave yourself and to do your duty.
Though he is somewhat cross-grained in his manner, he is all right at
bottom, or the ship would not be in the good order she is, or the men so
well contented.  Though I have never served on board a man-of-war before
I can judge of that."

I followed Jack's advice, and having shifted my shore-going clothes,
which were pretty nearly worn out, for a seaman's suit, I was soon able
to do my duty as well as any of the other boys in the ship.

Captain Fancourt was then first lieutenant of the frigate, and having
heard Jack's account he spoke to me and found that at all events I was a
young gentleman in manners and education.

"Do you wish to keep your present knowledge, my lad?" he asked one day,
calling me to him.  "It is a pity you should lose what you know."

I replied that I especially wished to do so, but that I had no books,
and should find it a hard matter to read them for'ard, even if I had.

"Very well," he answered.  "You shall come to my cabin every day, and I
will assist you in your studies."

The other officers following his example, also took me in hand.  The
master gave me lessons in mathematics and navigation, and the purser
taught me writing and arithmetic, so that though I was still berthed
for'ard I had advantages which even the midshipmen did not possess.
They, in a short time, finding I was a gentleman in manners, applied for
leave to the captain, and I was admitted into their berth.  I do not
know that I gained much by the change in some respects, but I was glad
to escape from the rough boys with whom I had at first to associate.  I
still did duty as a ship's boy, and by this means Jack was able to
instruct me in knotting and splicing, and other minutiae of a seaman's
education, which I found especially useful.

We had been in the Indian Seas about three years, chiefly engaged in
protecting British merchantmen from the pirates which swarmed there.
The boats had been sent away in chase of three or four of their craft,
cut off from a piratical fleet which were endeavouring to make their
escape along shore.  My friend Jack belonged to the second cutter.
Night came on, and the frigate stood after the boats, making signals for
their return.  Three of the boats at length got alongside, but the
second cutter did not appear.  The weather changed--a heavy gale sprang
up, and we were compelled to stand out to sea.  As soon as the weather
moderated, we returned and cruised up and down the coast, the boats
being sent on shore at various places; but nothing could be seen of the
second cutter, and we had every reason to fear that the officer in
charge of her and all hands, had either been killed or fallen into the
power of the pirates.  I was very much cut up at the loss of my kind
friend, who had indeed acted like a father towards me.  The captain sent
for me into his cabin, and expressed his regret at the loss of my old
protector.

"I wish to make all the amends I can to you, my lad," he said.  "As your
conduct has been thoroughly to my satisfaction since you came on board,
and as there is now a vacancy by the death of Mr Watson (the midshipman
lost in the boat), I will place you on the quarter-deck and give you the
rating of a midshipman."

I thanked him very much; but I remember saying, "I would rather old Jack
were alive though."

"I appreciate your feeling, my lad," he answered; "but even if he does
return I won't disrate you, and I will see how we can best manage to get
you an outfit."

Thus by the loss of my honest friend, whom I greatly lamented, I got my
first step on the ratlines.

After a further search for the missing boat we left the coast, and soon
afterwards going to Calcutta received our orders to return home.

Your uncle has been my friend ever since.  He obtained his promotion on
our arrival in England, and was at once appointed to the command of the
_Ariel_, corvette, in which I accompanied him to the West Indies, where
we were actively engaged, and I had there the opportunity I had so much
wished for of performing two or three acts which gained me credit.  I
was still more anxious than ever to make a name for myself, as since the
loss of my protector, Jack Headland, I had no possible clue by which to
discover my parents with the exception of the gold chain, which I wore
round my neck, and which I still preserved.  A small bundle containing a
child's clothes and shoes, and the figure of an Indian tumbler, which
were found in Jack's kit, I felt sure had belonged to me.  Whether or
not they are sufficient to identify me I am very doubtful.  Not wishing
to throw a chance away I deposited them for safety with my agents in
London.

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.