s Something to

"I have consulted Mrs. Buckley on the sleeves, an

ary, "that she thought

iss Thornton; "so I suppose she did. Mrs. Buckley would never s

Auntie, but she is not very

rs. Buckley is a woman whom I could set before you

vents," said Mary; "and

nt quite beyond her experience. She was considering how much bread and water and backboard she would have felt it her duty t

again. This rain will make up for the dry March with a ve

ng his knees; he had given them about three rubs, when the

please his missis don't expect he'll las

merous tenders of the ship Jewel (74), had just arrived before the wind under bare poles, an attempt to set a rag of umbrella having ended in its being blown out of t

aid the Vicar, entering the kitchen

ys a voice fr

said the Vicar; "it's a t

he ancles, and topped by some sort of head-dress, resembling very closely a small black carpet bag, tied on with a red cotton handkerchief. This was all that was visible, and the good Vicar

ood b

om under the carpet bag, and

e a

hat do you dress yourself in that

ink a'll liv

r with him?"

lian's w

being considered to be Italians in Drumston. An idea they got

will start at once, and c

The Vicar, having been well wrapped up by his sister and daughter, depart

h made it almost impossible to look to windward. Earth and sky seemed mixed together, and each twig and bough sent a sepa

inch of the road, for his knowledge was needed now. There was no turn in the road after he had pass

but his wife only lived a year, and left him with one son, who had likewise married and given to the world seven as barbarous, neglected, young savages as any in the parish. The old man, who was now lying on his deathbed, had been a sort of confidential man to old Hawker, retained in that capacity on account, the old man said once

again, and the good man's thoughts carried into a fresh channel. And he was thinking what a fearful night this would be at sea, and how any ship could live agai

which turned up to the cottage was not so easily found, and when found, not easily kept on such a black wild night as this. But, at length, having hit it, he

across it. Any people but the Jewels would have made some sort of a bridge by now; but

hich, to a man of his age, was no trifle, but at length stood trembling with exertion before a flooded

fore I venture over there. That's the 'Brig of Dread' with a vengeance. H

loed aloud for some one to come. After a short time

Dr. Mulhaus' wellknown

that log. Here goes," he said, as he steadied himself and crossed rapidly, while the Doctor

," said the Doctor. "However, I am sincerely gla

," said the Vicar; "an

line than mine. The man be

ese parts; they are always bothering m

ch as exists to some extent, in every parish, in every country on t

er in a coarse, angry tone. The children, ragged and hungry, fighting for the fireside. The father away, at some unlawful occupation probably, or sitting drinking his wages in an alehouse. That was what they saw, and what

d. The Vicar, after saluting her mother, went gently up to her, and patting the baby's cheek, asked her kindly how she did. T

stened," said the Vicar kindl

oke. And now the woman having lit a fresh ca

. "How this place smells after being in

. Thornton; I'm glad of it; I've got a sad story to tell you; but

said t

o gave

"All people living in a narrow wet valley a

looked me; and all this doctor's stuff is no use, unle

such fancies from your mind, for you are in a serious

r? I'd never forgive her t

mean?" aske

hat lives with old Hawker," said th

njury has sh

hen I left; and so she has, to prevent my speaking. I might a spoke out anytime

ave spoken about?

d me had a fierce quarrel, and I miscalled her awful, and told her of some things she wasn't aware I knew of; and then she said, 'If ever a word

mean by her

tnight before her mistress; and when she bore a still-born child, old Hawker and I buried it in t

ng man, is that true?

ge, 'Your boy shall swing, for I know enough to hang him.' And she sa

him. Enough there was, however, to make the Vicar a very silent and tho

ctor; "you will make yourself ill staying he

ay longer. For my own sake too. What he has le

ist between your daughter and that young man. You have been saved from a terrible misfo

icar. "Strange, only today Major Buckley

too, Vicar, had I been as old a f

id the Vicar; "only of two years' stan

r into the clear morning air. The rain-clouds had broken, though when they had scrambled up out of the narrow little valley where the co

ce home, when they descried a horseman coming slowly towards them. It seemed an early time for any o

e been so early?"

e has not been home all night. Now I sh

d the Doctor, and walked on, while the o

Thornton. You are

ing up all night with

much loss, sir, to the parish. A sort of happy

sure of a few words

nting. "Allow me to walk a lit

, also very disagreeable to all parties. I am going to request you to discont

o understand, sir, that you cannot be induced by

stand that such i

s final, Mr

the Vicar; "nothing on earth shoul

ge. "For I had reason to believe that you

ave come to my ears which render it imperative that you should drop all communication

rge, "let me know what ch

ourse between you and my daughter to cease; and I consider, sir, that when I say that, it

just, sir; I do, in

ich I do not deny, mind you) to spring up between my daughter and yourself. Bu

bid me your

sir. Most distinctly.

side his horse, after the Vicar had left him, till he was fa

d about Nell and her cursed brat. But the daughter ain't

took the Doctor, who was walking slowly till he came up. He felt as though th

ked the Doctor. "Have you given

a man. I shall tell her all I know about him, and after that I can do no more. No more? I never had her confidence. She has always had a life apart from mine. The people in the village, all so far below us in every way, have been to me acquaintances, and only that; bu

ever seen, before Mrs. Buckley and your sister came here, was of a rank inferior to herself, and she has taken her impressions from that

about my own daughter, Doctor, and to you, too, whom I have known so short a time. But one mu

Vicar's offers of breakfast, declined to go in. He walked homeward toward hi

is head. Contrast him with Buckley, and see the difference. Now Buckley, without being a particularly clever man, sees the right thing, and goes at it through fire and water. But our old Vicar sees the right, and leaves it to take care of itself. He can't manage his own family even. That girl is a fine girl, a very fine girl. A good deal o

friend of my heart, who looked on it once for five minutes, and then fled, horror struck, that the first act consists in turning all the furniture upside down, and beating it with brooms. Further than this, I have no information. If any male eye has penetrated these awful secrets beyond that, let the owner of that eye pres

r about his private affairs, which was worse. Nothing irritated the Vicar's temper more than the feeling of having been too free and communicative with people who did not care about him, a thing he was ver

ugh he generally concealed it. But there was a point at which his vexation always took the form of a pro

oalscuttles, he kept his temper like a man, until coming into his study, he found his favourite discourse on the sixth seal lying on the floor

addressed her as a distinguished Jewish lady, a near relation of King Ahab, and, snatching the

te of mind before. So she ran out of the room, and, having fetched

"Why, father," she said, "you have been up all night.

want to speak to you, seriously, about somethin

n me. Let me get you your coffee

"I will have no temporizing until the matter grows

looked in her face, instead of in the fire, he would have seen an expression

egan. "What I say I mean, and will have it attended to. You are very i

?" sh

say it is not well. I

"He has had the run of this house these s

ing in working himself into a passion, "and

tell him so, f

the Vicar. "But I have told

do that. You encouraged him here. And now my love

natural affection, girl. I always hated the man. And now I have hear

aid. "I will ne

here was Jim Stockbridge. Such a noble, handsome, gentlemanly young fellow, and nothing would please you but to dr

out. "Father," she said, "

ago. And all your doing. Poor

ween a sapphire sea and an azure sky. Far aloft in the air is Ruivo, five thousand feet overhead, father of the great ridges and sierras that run down jagged and abrupt, till they end in wild surf-washed promontories. He is watching a m

hite winged ships. And above all, unheeding, century after century, the old monks have vegetated t