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have thrashed the editor of that vile sheet within an inch of
his life. I should have thrashed the man, sir. It would

have been the action of an ass; but it would have shown that
I had the blood and the natural affections of a man. Son?

You are no son, no son of mine, sir!'
'Sir!' said Dick.

'I'll tell you what you are, sir,' pursued the Squire.
'You're a Benthamite. I disown you. Your mother would have

died for shame; there was no modern cant about your mother;
she thought - she said to me, sir - I'm glad she's in her

grave, Dick Naseby. Misinformed! Misinformed, sir? Have
you no loyalty, no spring, no natural affections? Are you

clockwork, hey? Away! This is no place for you. Away!'
(waving his hands in the air). 'Go away! Leave me!'

At this moment Dick beat a retreat in a disarray of nerves, a
whistling and clamour of his own arteries, and in short in

such a final bodilydisorder as made him alike incapable of
speech or hearing. And in the midst of all this turmoil, a

sense of unpardonable injustice remained graven in his
memory.

CHAPTER III - IN THE ADMIRAL'S NAME
THERE was no return to the subject. Dick and his father were

henceforth on terms of coldness. The upright old gentleman
grew more upright when he met his son, buckrammed with

immortal anger; he asked after Dick's health, and discussed
the weather and the crops with an appallingcourtesy; his

pronunciation was POINT-DE-VICE, his voice was distant,
distinct, and sometimes almost trembling with suppressed

indignation.
As for Dick, it seemed to him as if his life had come

abruptly to an end. He came out of his theories and
clevernesses; his premature man-of-the-worldness, on which he

had prided himself on his travels, 'shrank like a thing
ashamed' before this real sorrow. Pride, wounded honour,

pity and respect tussled together daily in his heart; and now
he was within an ace of throwing himself upon his father's

mercy, and now of slipping forth at night and coming back no
more to Naseby House. He suffered from the sight of his

father, nay, even from the neighbourhood of this familiar
valley, where every corner had its legend, and he was

besieged with memories of childhood. If he fled into a new
land, and among none but strangers, he might escape his

destiny, who knew? and begin again light-heartedly. From
that chief peak of the hills, that now and then, like an

uplifted finger, shone in an arrow of sunlight through the
broken clouds, the shepherd in clear weather might perceive

the shining of the sea. There, he thought, was hope. But
his heart failed him when he saw the Squire; and he remained.

His fate was not that of the voyager by sea and land; he was
to travel in the spirit, and begin his journey sooner than he

supposed.
For it chanced one day that his walk led him into a portion

of the uplands which was almost unknown to him. Scrambling
through some rough woods, he came out upon a moorland

reaching towards the hills. A few lofty Scotch firs grew
hard by upon a knoll; a clear fountain near the foot of the

knoll sent up a miniature streamlet which meandered in the
heather. A shower had just skimmed by, but now the sun shone

brightly, and the air smelt of the pines and the grass. On a
stone under the trees sat a young lady sketching. We have

learned to think of women in a sort of symbolic
transfiguration, based on clothes; and one of the readiest

ways in which we conceive our mistress is as a composite
thing, principally petticoats. But humanity has triumphed

over clothes; the look, the touch of a dress has become
alive; and the woman who stitched herself into these material

integuments has now permeated right through and gone out to
the tip of her skirt. It was only a black dress that caught

Dick Naseby's eye; but it took possession of his mind, and
all other thoughts departed. He drew near, and the girl

turned round. Her face startled him; it was a face he
wanted; and he took it in at once like breathing air.

'I beg your pardon,' he said, taking off his hat, 'you are
sketching.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'for my own amusement. I despise the
thing.'

'Ten to one, you do yourself injustice,' returned Dick.
'Besides, it's a freemasonry. I sketch myself, and you know

what that implies.'
'No. What?' she asked.

'Two things,' he answered. 'First, that I am no very
difficult critic; and second, that I have a right to see your

picture.'
She covered the block with both her hands. 'Oh no,' she

said; 'I am ashamed.'
'Indeed, I might give you a hint,' said Dick. 'Although no

artist myself, I have known many; in Paris I had many for
friends, and used to prowl among studios.'

'In Paris?' she cried, with a leap of light into her eyes.
'Did you ever meet Mr. Van Tromp?'

'I? Yes. Why, you're not the Admiral's daughter, are you?'
'The Admiral? Do they call him that?' she cried. 'Oh, how

nice, how nice of them! It is the younger men who call him
so, is it not?'

'Yes,' said Dick, somewhat heavily.
'You can understand now,' she said, with an unspeakable

accent of contented noble-minded pride, 'why it is I do not
choose to show my sketch. Van Tromp's daughter! The

Admiral's daughter! I delight in that name. The Admiral!
And so you know my father?'

'Well,' said Dick, 'I met him often; we were even intimate.
He may have mentioned my name - Naseby.'

'He writes so little. He is so busy, so devoted to his art!
I have had a half wish,' she added laughing, 'that my father

was a plainer man, whom I could help - to whom I could be a
credit; but only sometimes, you know, and with only half my

heart. For a great painter! You have seen his works?'
'I have seen some of them,' returned Dick; 'they - they are

very nice.'
She laughed aloud. 'Nice?' she repeated. 'I see you don't

care much for art.'
'Not much,' he admitted; 'but I know that many people are

glad to buy Mr. Van Tromp's pictures.'
'Call him the Admiral!' she cried. 'It sounds kindly and

familiar; and I like to think that he is appreciated and
looked up to by young painters. He has not always been

appreciated; he had a cruel life for many years; and when I
think' - there were tears in her eyes - 'when I think of

that, I feel incline to be a fool,' she broke off. 'And now
I shall go home. You have filled me full of happiness; for

think, Mr. Naseby, I have not seen my father since I was six
years old; and yet he is in my thoughts all day! You must

come and call on me; my aunt will be delighted, I am sure;
and then you will tell me all - all about my father, will you

not?'
Dick helped her to get her sketching traps together; and when

all was ready, she gave Dick her hand and a frank return of
pressure.

'You are my father's friend,' she said; 'we shall be great
friends too. You must come and see me soon.'

Then she was gone down the hillside at a run; and Dick stood
by himself in a state of some bewilderment and even distress.

There were elements of laughter in the business; but the
black dress, and the face that belonged to it, and the hand

that he had held in his, inclined him to a serious view.
What was he, under the circumstances, called upon to do?

Perhaps to avoid the girl? Well, he would think about that.
Perhaps to break the truth to her? Why, ten to one, such was

her infatuation, he would fail. Perhaps to keep up the
illusion, to colour the raw facts; to help her to false

ideas, while yet not plainly stating falsehoods? Well, he
would see about that; he would also see about avoiding the

girl. He saw about this last so well, that the next
afternoon beheld him on his way to visit her.

In the meantime the girl had gone straight home, light as a
bird, tremulous with joy, to the little cottage where she

lived alone with a maiden aunt; and to that lady, a grim,
sixty years old Scotchwoman, with a nodding head,

communicated news of her encounter and invitation.
'A friend of his?' cried the aunt. 'What like is he? What

did ye say was his name?'
She was dead silent, and stared at the old woman darkling.

Then very slowly, 'I said he was my father's friend; I have
invited him to my house, and come he shall,' she said; and

with that she walked off to her room, where she sat staring
at the wall all the evening. Miss M'Glashan, for that was

the aunt's name, read a large bible in the kitchen with some
of the joys of martyrdom.

It was perhaps half-past three when Dick presented himself,
rather scrupulously dressed, before the cottage door; he

knocked, and a voice bade him enter. The kitchen, which
opened directly off the garden, was somewhat darkened by

foliage; but he could see her as she approached from the far
end to meet him. This second sight of her surprised him.

Her strong black brows spoke of temper easily aroused and
hard to quiet; her mouth was small, nervous and weak; there

was something dangerous and sulky underlying, in her nature,
much that was honest, compassionate, and even noble.

'My father's name,' she said, 'has made you very welcome.'
And she gave him her hand, with a sort of curtsy. It was a

pretty greeting, although somewhat mannered; and Dick felt
himself among the gods. She led him through the kitchen to a

parlour, and presented him to Miss M'Glashan.
'Esther,' said the aunt, 'see and make Mr. Naseby his tea.'

And as soon as the girl was gone upon this hospitable intent,
the old woman crossed the room and came quite near to Dick as

if in menace.
'Ye know that man?' she asked in an imperious whisper.

'Mr. Van Tromp?' said Dick. 'Yes, I know him.'
'Well, and what brings ye here?' she said. 'I couldn't save

the mother - her that's dead - but the bairn!' She had a
note in her voice that filled poor Dick with consternation.

'Man,' she went on, 'what is it now? Is it money?'
'My dear lady,' said Dick, 'I think you misinterpret my

position. I am young Mr. Naseby of Naseby House. My
acquaintance with Mr. Van Tromp is really very slender; I am

only afraid that Miss Van Tromp has exaggerated our intimacy
in her own imagination. I know positively nothing of his

private affairs, and do not care to know. I met him casually
in Paris - that is all.'

Miss M'Glashan drew along breath. 'In Paris?' she said.
'Well, and what do you think of him? - what do ye think of

him?' she repeated, with a different scansion, as Richard,
who had not much taste for such a question, kept her waiting

for an answer.
'I found him a very agreeable companion,' he said.

'Ay,' said she, 'did ye! And how does he win his bread?'
'I fancy,' he gasped, 'that Mr. Van Tromp has many generous

friends.'
'I'll warrant!' she sneered; and before Dick could find more

to say, she was gone from the room.


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