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‘In the pony carriage?’ asked the Admiral, with the silliness of extreme surprise.

‘Yes,’ Dick answered.

‘Why, what the devil was she running away from?’

Dick found the question unusually hard to answer.

‘Why,’ said he, ‘you know, you’re a bit of a rip.’

‘I behave to that girl, sir, like an archdeacon,’ replied Van Tromp warmly.

‘Well – excuse me – but you know you drink,’ insisted Dick.

‘I know that I was a sheet in the wind’s eye, sir, once – once only, since I reached this place,’ retorted the Admiral. ‘And even then I was fit for any drawing-room. I should like you to tell me how many fathers, lay and clerical, go upstairs every day with a face like a lobster and cod’s eyes – and are dull, upon the back of it – not even mirth for the money! No, if that’s what she runs for, all I say is, let her run.’

‘You see,’ Dick tried it again, ‘she has fancies – ‘

‘Confound her fancies!’ cried Van Tromp. ‘I used her kindly; she had her own way; I was her father. Besides I had taken quite a liking to the girl, and meant to stay with her for good. But I tell you what it is, Dick, since she has trifled with you – Oh, yes, she did though! – and since her old papa’s not good enough for her – the devil take her, say I.’

‘You will be kind to her at least?’ said Dick.

‘I never was unkind to a living soul,’ replied the Admiral. ‘Firm I can be, but not unkind.’

‘Well,’ said Dick, offering his hand, ‘God bless you, and farewell.’

The Admiral swore by all his gods he should not go. ‘Dick,’ he said, ‘You are a selfish dog; you forget your old Admiral. You wouldn’t leave him alone, would you?’

It was useless to remind him that the house was not his to dispose of, that being a class of considerations to which his intelligence was closed; so Dick tore himself off by force, and, shouting a good-bye, made off along the lane to Thymebury.

CHAPTER IX – IN WHICH THE LIBERAL EDITOR RE-APPEARS AS ‘DEUS EX MACHINA’

IT was perhaps a week later, as old Mr. Naseby sat brooding in his study, that there was shown in upon him, on urgent business, a little hectic gentleman shabbily attired.

‘I have to ask pardon for this intrusion, Mr. Naseby,’ he said; ‘but I come here to perform a duty. My card has been sent in, but perhaps you may not know, what it does not tell you, that I am the editor of the THYMEBURY STAR.’

Mr. Naseby looked up, indignant.

‘I cannot fancy,’ he said, ‘that we have much in common to discuss.’

‘I have only a word to say – one piece of information to communicate. Some months ago, we had – you will pardon my referring to it, it is absolutely necessary – but we had an unfortunate difference as to facts.’

‘Have you come to apologise?’ asked the Squire, sternly.

‘No, sir; to mention a circumstance. On the morning in question, your son, Mr. Richard Naseby – ‘

‘I do not permit his name to be mentioned.’

‘You will, however, permit me,’ replied the Editor.

‘You are cruel,’ said the Squire. He was right, he was a broken man.

Then the Editor described Dick’s warning visit; and how he had seen in the lad’s eye that there was a thrashing in the wind, and had escaped through pity only – so the Editor put it – ‘through pity only sir. And oh, sir,’ he went on, ‘if you had seen him speaking up for you, I am sure you would have been proud of your son. I know I admired the lad myself, and indeed that’s what brings me here.’

‘I have misjudged him,’ said the Squire. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘Yes, sir, he lies sick at Thymebury.’

‘You can take me to him?’