Front matter (continued 2)

"What impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Field, as he read the demand, "as if I would bind myself down on paper to anything of the kind. The old man wouldn't budge when I made him the offer, fair and square, nearly a year ago now, and I'm not going to renew it to this scamp of a son, who they tell me has just returned to idle about the place like a vagabond. The next gale will take the house down on to the beach, and the sea will soon eat away the rest of their paltry field, so I'm not likely to pay this ne'er-do-weel a hundred pounds for sitting by to see it go. Once their little bit of land has disappeared I'll be careful to put breakwaters along the shore to prevent the waves doing any further damage to my own property, but the sooner that portion of the cliff falls over the better for me."

"Old Timothy's son says as he'll be much obliged if you could see him for a few minutes," said Jenkins, who had stood meekly by during this tirade. "There's something rather special he wants to say."

"You may send him up then," replied Mr. Field grimly, "and I'll give him a piece of my mind. I don't think he'll favour me with a second call, once I've had my say."

"You'll have a gay old time in there," whispered Jenkins as he ushered Ben into the room. "I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything."

The footman wondered at the strange smile which stole over Ben's face at the words. "I expect I'll get on all right," was the reply.

Vainly did Jenkins apply his eye and ear to the keyhole, hoping to catch something of the interview within, but the apartment was a long one, and the occupants were at the further end, so he had to retire baffled to the hall.

It would have edified him could he have seen what was taking place inside. Mr. Field stood with his back to the fire, ready to let loose the fury of his wrath upon the intruder, but as Ben advanced, the great man's countenance suddenly changed. His jaw fell and his eyes glared like some startled animal when an enemy is near. Ben walked quietly up to him.

"I suppose I'd better introduce myself as you don't seem exactly to remember me. At any rate you don't give the warm sort of welcome an old pal might expect. B. B., Blustering Ben, alias Benjamin Green, at your service, sir."

CHAPTER VIII

Robin Hood's Lair

Contrary to Mr. Field's expectations, this was not by any means Ben's last visit to him. Sometimes he would be absent from the village for a week at a time, but on his return no long period would elapse before he presented himself again at Farncourt, and to the surprise of the household, never failed to gain admittance to their master's presence.

"Oh, I knew him in past days," was Ben's reply in answer to the many questions which were addressed to him. "Why shouldn't a fellow sometimes go up to have a chat with an old friend?"

"It's plain enough those conversations don't agree with him then," was the universal opinion. "He's getting so jumpy and nervous, not half the man he was a little while ago."

There was certainly something wrong with the Silver King. His double chin was fast disappearing, and his waistcoat hung in loose folds, instead of presenting the smooth expanse which had formerly been the wearer's pride. His temper also did not improve as time went on, but became shorter and shorter, until at last even his own son grew afraid of him, and gave him as little of his company as was possible.

"If only I had a better clue I'd drive the nail in harder," said Ben to himself after one of his periodical absences, "as it is, however, I'm apparently on the right tack, and if only I can get him to commit himself a little further by letting out something more definite when he's speaking to me, I may be able to bring him altogether to his knees. I could of course make more public enquiries, but unfortunately I've not got quite a clean sheet myself, and I might perhaps find that I'd made it hot for Number One as well as for Mr. Thomas Algernon Field. Besides, I shall probably squeeze a good deal more out of him by working this little affair on my own hook than by letting someone else poach on my preserves. Whatever it is that he's done, he's in a blue funk over it, and would give anything to hush the matter up. I must just go cautiously to work, and in the meanwhile it's extremely convenient to have such a handy bank to draw on whenever I choose."

Ben jingled some money between his fingers as he spoke, with evident satisfaction, and puffed complacently at his cigar.

"I wonder why he was in such a hurry to get me to sign the document that night," he mused. "If I hadn't been half-seas over I'd have looked at it closer, but as it is I haven't a notion what it was about, though I remember well the colour of the paper, and the burnt penholder. He hints darkly that I have let myself in for something that I'd be sorry for once I was found out, but I can't help thinking that in that case he would be in a worse position than me. Anyhow, if we're both in the same boat it won't be to my advantage if I sink the craft by peaching to the world. I'd better go on as I'm doing for the present and reap the harvest I'm enjoying in consequence of his fears. I think I'll walk up to Farncourt now, and give another twist to the screw. My last week in town was a roaring one, and the sovereigns flew. It's fine fun to live like a millionaire every now and then.

"There's one other thing I can't understand," he added, as he wended his way to the house of his victim. "Why did he look so pleased that same night when he found the letter in old Wattie's coat as it was hanging on the wall? He didn't know I was peeping at him when he took it out and slipped it into his own pocket. I know it was only a few lines the boss had written to his daughter, for he'd read it over to me that very afternoon, and I was to post it when I went off next day. It surely couldn't have had anything to do with the paper I signed? I wish I had asked about it at the time."

As he passed the lodge gates he met Julius hastening to the village.

The voice of conscience, awakened in the boy's heart by the terrors of the hours of darkness and the loneliness, had been stilled and silenced when the morning light arose, and having once overstepped the bounds of truth and obedience, it was easy to continue along the path of wrong.

Two months had passed since that Sunday's talk. The new tutor from Oxford had come and gone, peremptorily ordered out of the house by Mr. Field, who could not brook the superior intellect and independent manner of the young graduate. Thus the lad was left once more to his own devices, and few were the days when he found it impossible to arrange a meeting with his friend at Sea View Cottage. He had almost ceased to look upon his disobedience as a sin, his only fear being that his father would find him out at last.

This morning he found Robin in a great state of excitement, brimful of new ideas and plans. To the unimaginative Julius these continual surprises were an unmixed delight. He never knew what new rôle he would be expected to take up as he joined his comrade in his play. Sometimes it was a knight in armour, going to rescue a captive princess, represented perhaps by old Mother Sheppard or Mrs. Power. These, being supposed to be under the spell of a magician, were naturally unwilling to accompany their youthful deliverers to the shore. Sometimes he had to represent a character in a favourite tale, but more often it was Robin's history lesson which afforded the framework for some entrancing game.

"I'm so glad you've come, Julius," was the welcoming cry now as he appeared at the door, "but what a pity your coat is grey. It's fortunate my old jersey is green, for if I pull it down as low as I can, it almost covers my knickers, and no one would naturally look at them first."

"Why shouldn't my coat be grey?" questioned Julius. "It's a very good colour."

"Because it should be green--Lincoln green," exclaimed Robin. "They all had it. It was their sort of badge."

"What badge?" asked Julius, altogether puzzled by the reply.

"Oh, I forgot you hadn't heard," was Robin's rejoinder. "I've been reading to-day in my history-book about Robin Hood. He was an outlaw--a splendid one--who lived in the woods, and he and his followers were always dressed in green, and had bows and arrows and hunted the king's deer. I'll be Robin Hood, because of course it's my name, and will you be one of my merry men, Julius?"

"I don't think an outlaw is a nice kind of man," was the reply. "They were generally hanged, weren't they?"

"Robin Hood was a good outlaw," responded Robin earnestly. "He used to do all sorts of kind things to the poor, and they loved him and would never tell where he was hid."

"My coat has a greenish lining," remarked Julius. "Do you think if I turned it inside out that it would do?"

"Perhaps it would," answered Robin doubtfully. "I'll ask mother to lend you her green scarf to tie round your waist, and we'll pretend it's all that colour."

This weighty matter arranged, the two boys sallied forth to the little wood which lay at the back of the cottage.

"The first thing to do is to find a cave, or some place to sleep in," was the leader's order, "and then we'll have a look at the king's deer."

"I'm sure there aren't any deer here," remarked Julius, "and if there were, we'd get into a jolly row if we killed them."

"There are lots of rabbits, and they'll do just as well," replied Robin cheerfully. "Of course we won't kill them really, we'll only make-believe they are dead."

It was not long before an ideal site was found for the hiding-place of the merry men.

A high bank had been dug into long ago to obtain gravel, leaving a hollow of about six feet square. Young saplings and briars had sprung up all around making an arch of green above the level floor. Robin gave a shout of triumph when he discovered the spot.

"If we can drag some branches here to make a roof, it will be just like a real house," he said. "We might make a wall in front with these stones which are lying about, and only leave one little hole for the door, so that it will be nice and warm inside, and nobody will be able to see us, even if they pass quite near."

It took longer than he had calculated to carry out the grand idea--indeed for a whole week the king's deer were permitted to go unmolested, Robin Hood and his follower being too busily engaged in building operations to turn their thoughts to the chase.

It was a proud day when Mrs. Power was invited to inspect the result of the boys' labours. True, the wall was of such an unstable nature that their guest had to be well warned not to lean even her hand against it, in case it should fall. What did it matter that the stone part of it only attained to about the height of Robin's elbow? The rest of it was satisfactorily completed by a dilapidated wooden gate perched on the top, and interwoven with fern and twigs, so as to form an impenetrable screen from the outer world. An old rug had been suspended by its corners across the top of the pit, making a grand roof when supplemented by branches laid in thick layers above. Moss had been laboriously collected from all parts of the wood wherewith to cover the floor, and ferns were ingeniously planted in crannies in the sandy walls to make it look more natural, Julius said.

It was a glorious moment when the kettle at length boiled upon the camp-fire kindled at the entrance, and still more delightful when Mrs. Power and the two boys all squeezed inside the hut to enjoy smoked tea in enamelled mugs, and regale themselves with ginger biscuits and toffee.

"You told us to get what we liked with the sixpence, mother," explained Robin, "so Julius chose the toffee, and I took the biscuits."

"It is hardly what I should have selected myself," answered Mrs. Power, "but if it's what you like, I'm more than satisfied."

"What do you think we ought to call the house?" asked Julius. "Robin says 'The Outlaw's Castle' would be a good name, but I think it's a very silly one, as we've no battlements or dungeons, not even a drawbridge."

"Julius wanted to call it 'Farncourt Arbour,'" said Robin contemptuously, "which would be simply awful."

"What do you say to 'Robin Hood's Lair'?" suggested Mrs. Power. "I believe that was really the name of one of his retreats."

"It's better than 'Farncourt Arbour,'" responded Robin. "Let us call it that."

"I wish we had a cupboard for the mugs and the kettle," remarked Julius, "but perhaps the tramps might find them and take them away. It does seem a pity we can't sleep here, for I'm sure not a drop of rain would come through the roof."

"There is just one thing I shall bring to leave here always," said Robin, "and that's the text I painted the first Sunday Julius was with us. If you will lend me two of your long hat-pins, mother, I shall stick it up on that smooth piece of the wall, so that if anyone did happen to come in he would see it at once. It will make the inside of the house quite bright and cheerful and much more home-like. And you know, mother," he added shyly, "the words might do a poor tramp good."

CHAPTER IX

The Tramp

"Julius," said Robin in an awestruck voice a few days later, when they met as usual at the entrance of the wood, "I do believe the tramp has really come. You said you would be here at ten o'clock punctually, but I waited and waited and you never turned up, so I thought you had forgotten all about it and that I had better go on to the hut by myself. When I had got quite close up to it I saw a boot sticking out of the door, and it gave me such a fright, I simply scooted back into the road again. I was jolly glad to see you coming along, I can tell you."

"I thought you wanted a tramp to come," said Julius rather scornfully. "The best thing we can do is to tell the policeman, and he'll send the fellow about his business pretty quick. I call it cheek for a nasty dirty beggar to go and rest in our nice house."

"It looked quite a good boot," replied Robin, "not all over holes like some of them have. Perhaps he's only a poor clean wanderer who wouldn't do any harm."

"Let us have another look," said Julius. "We needn't go very near."

With much care and precaution the boys crept silently through the undergrowth until they came in sight of Robin Hood's Lair, taking the greatest pains to avoid treading on dead sticks or twigs, after the manner of Red Indians tracking their prey.

"There are two boots now," said Robin under his breath, "and they're quite tidy, both of them. Perhaps he's not a tramp after all."

As he spoke, there was a movement inside the hut, and a man emerged into the open. The youthful spies crouched low among the bracken to watch the intruder.

He was a tall, well-knit figure, but with a droop in his shoulders which told of ill-health and fatigue. His face bore out the same story, for it was white and drawn as if with long suffering, and his somewhat weather-worn clothes only emphasized the frailty of the form beneath. His cap was off, and the sun glinted down upon his fair hair and short well-trimmed beard, revealing a shapely head and thoughtful brow.

"He's the nicest tramp I ever saw," remarked Julius, "but he looks awfully ill."

"I don't believe he's a beggar," rejoined Robin. "I expect he's just someone come to stay at the village so as to get sea-air after having been in a hospital. They often do that. He must be very poor, however, for though he seems quite respectable, his coat is all patched and frayed."

The intruder had turned and was contemplating the architecture of the hut with an amused countenance. He now replaced his cap and walked away in an irresolute manner, as if he did not know exactly in which direction to bend his steps. To the boys' dismay he finally bore down straight towards their hiding-place.

"Keep still, Julius," whispered Robin. "That's the way wild animals do when danger is near. If we run, we're sure to be seen."

Alas for his hopes! Wild animals do not usually wear clean white collars, and in this instance two snowy spots gleamed clearly and distinctly through the thick screen of fern. In another moment Robin felt his arm suddenly seized, and glanced hastily up into the face that bent above him, anxious to read his fate.

It was a reassuring sight, for the blue eyes that looked down upon him were full of sparkle, and a merry smile was stealing round the corners of the mouth.

"I'm afraid I've been trespassing," was his captor's remark, as he held the boy with a firm but gentle grip, "and worse than trespassing--actually taking possession of a man's house during his absence and making use of it as if it were my own."

Julius had bolted like a hare at the sight of his comrade's capture, but seeing that a friendly conference was evidently taking place, he gradually drew nearer to hear what was being said, being very careful, nevertheless, to keep well out of harm's way.

"I'm glad you used our house, sir," answered Robin, gaining confidence by the kindly tone. "I hope you found it comfortable."

"Most luxurious," responded the stranger. "Indeed I must confess to having spent most of the night there. I fell asleep yesterday evening on that delicious carpet of moss, and when I at last awoke it was actually morning and broad daylight."

"Were you really there all night?" exclaimed Robin delightedly, "just as if it was a proper house! I rather wish it had rained a little though."

"I'm very glad it didn't," was the reply. "I hardly think that is a charitable desire of yours!"

"I only mean that it would have been so jolly to hear the rain outside, and yet to know you had such a good roof over your head that it couldn't get through," explained Robin.

"I am glad to learn that you had no worse motive than that for your wish," laughed the stranger. "Now, my little chap, can you tell me which direction I must take to get to the high-road, as I haven't had my breakfast yet and I'm growing hungrier every moment. I don't want to go back to the village, but to strike out for the next hamlet, as I'm tramping to London and don't want to spend more time than I can help upon the way."

"You are a tramp, then?" exclaimed Julius, who was now standing near, "even though you haven't got holes in your boots."

"Well, I suppose I am," was the reply. "Perhaps it would sound better if you said I was on a walking tour. It comes to much the same thing."

"I thought you were a poor man just arrived at Sunbury to get sea-air after you had been ill," remarked Robin. "You looked so frightfully thin."

"A regular scarecrow!" said the stranger. "I congratulate you as well as your friend on being right in your guesses. I am a poor man and I have been ill, and I certainly had hoped to stay in Sunbury for a few days to try and get up my strength a little; but I heard something at the Bull Inn yesterday afternoon on my arrival which made me change my mind and resolve to move on. I mustn't waste time talking, though, for I'm getting quite faint for want of food, and must ask the next good woman I meet to make me a cup of tea in her kitchen."

His looks certainly corroborated his statement, for a deadly pallor had overspread his countenance and he almost fell as he staggered up against a tree.

"I'm weaker than I thought," he murmured. "I wish I had gone on last night instead of stopping here."

"If you will wait a minute," said Robin eagerly, "I'll fetch you a glass of milk and some biscuits. Mother always gives them to me for my lunch, but I'd much rather you had them than me."

"It's too bad to rob you of your lunch, my boy," was the grateful answer, "but really I should be very glad of a bite. It would just help me to get along. By the way," he called out as Robin was darting off, "could you manage to bring the refreshments without letting everyone know I'm here? I have particular reasons for asking. I'll tell you why when you come back."

"It will be quite easy," asseverated Robin. "I often eat my lunch in the wood, so nobody will think it funny if I carry it away."

Julius considered it wiser to accompany the messenger rather than remain with the man, and many were the conjectures of the two boys as they went together upon their quest.

"I think he is in hiding from someone," said Robin, "and is afraid to risk going into the village in case he is taken prisoner. I wish he was a cavalier on some secret errand from the king. How splendid it would be to help him in some glorious adventure like one reads about in books!"

"He's much more likely to be a fugitive from justice," replied the more matter-of-fact Julius. "It's rather queer of him sleeping in Robin Hood's Lair all night, and not wanting to go to Sunbury again. I've half a mind to tell father about him and get him to send one of the game-keepers round."

"If you betray him I'll never play with you again! Never!" exclaimed Robin indignantly. "It would be mean after he's trusted us like this. I wouldn't have a traitor for my friend for anything, and that's what you would be if you told!"

When the pair returned to the house in the wood with a plentiful supply of the promised food, they found the stranger almost in a state of collapse.

With the greatest difficulty they got him to swallow a little milk, which revived him somewhat, so that with their assistance he was able at length to regain the shelter of the hut.

"I'll be all right soon," he said to them. "It's only my silly old heart. I've let myself run down rather too much, that's all."

To the boys' relief, in about twenty minutes he was able to sit up, and partake sparingly of their provisions.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to let me lodge another night in your mansion," he said. "I don't think my legs would carry me far to-day."

"Why don't you go to 'The Bull'?" asked Julius. "You'd be much more comfortable in a bed. I know there is lots of room now, for the season is over, and all the visitors have gone."

"It was my intention to stay there when I came to Sunbury," was the answer, "but I heard that somebody was now living in the neighbourhood whom I would rather not meet again, and therefore as I did not wish him to recognize me I thought it best to go away. I tried to take a short cut through the wood which I remembered of old, but happening to come across your little hut, it looked so inviting that I just stumbled in and went to sleep. I never woke till you found me this morning."

"We must go home to dinner now," remarked Robin, "and Julius won't be able to come again, as he's got to go out with his father this afternoon, but I'll look in later and see if I can bring you some more food."

"Keep my secret, then, like good boys," said the stranger. "I won't harm anybody or anything, and I shall be off to-morrow by the break of day, and not trouble either of you any more."

Many a time it was on the tip of Julius' tongue to let fall some remark about their strange guest, but the fear of losing Robin's fellowship held him back. It is not nice to be called a "traitor," and the flash in his friend's eyes when he said the word lingered unpleasantly in Julius' memory. There was also the ever-haunting terror that his father would discover the deception which he so consistently practised in utter disregard to the parental commands. It was no feeling of honour that checked the sentences as they rose to his lips, but dread of the consequences which might perchance recoil upon himself.

"I'm going to read to old Timothy this evening," said Mrs. Power to her little son, "and may be out rather late, as I shall stop at the Vicarage on my way back. You can take your supper when you like, as I shall not be home in time to give it to you."

Never before or after was Robin known to have such an abnormal appetite. Fully half the loaf and the whole of the butter vanished as if by magic from the table. He surprised Mother Sheppard also by a polite request for cheese, and to her astonishment the whole piece was finished when she came to clear away after Robin had left the room.

"If that boy doesn't burst with the supper he's took to-night, my name's not Jemima Ann," she exclaimed, "and every drop of the milk gone as I heated specially, expecting as there would be a good cupful left for me when he'd done. I'm blessed if the boy don't seem to have swallowed the jug too. Anyhow it's disappeared as well as the milk."

Robin in the meanwhile was curled up contentedly in a corner of the hut, watching its inmate ravenously devour the supplies which he had so successfully secured. A thick rug had also been obtained by the boy and carried up in triumph to the Lair. The ground was still dry after an exceptionally long hot summer, and the little bower certainly made an excellent shelter with its firm sandy walls and mossy floor. Many another wayfarer has been less comfortably lodged.

"I don't think you can be a wicked man," remarked Robin, after a careful scrutiny of the worn face before him, "but I wonder why you are so anxious not to meet the other fellow you told us of. Perhaps it's he who is the bad one, and not you."

"No," answered the stranger, with a sad attempt at a smile which went to Robin's heart. "I'm sorry to say that I'm the bad one, as you put it, but I am thankful I needn't stop there. The sinner has been forgiven by the grace of God, though the consequences of his sin on earth cannot be rubbed out."

"Then you're not afraid of that?" said Robin, nodding his head towards the text on the wall.

"I rejoice because of it," was the reply. "He Who knows all can forgive all."

The blue eyes gazed out into the tangle of wood, where the sun was setting behind the interwoven branches, brown now with the touch of coming whiter.

"A great sinner needs a great Saviour," he murmured half to himself. "Perhaps He can even help me to put right some of the wrong before the end comes."

CHAPTER X

A Flash of Lightning

When Robin awoke next morning he found that the weather had completely changed during the night. Gusts of wind howled round the little cottage and rattled the casement, as if angry foes sought admittance to his room. From his bed he could hear the hollow boom of the waves upon the shore, and the old apple-tree outside his window creaked and groaned as it was forced to bend its aged limbs before the gale.

His first thought was of the house in the wood and its mysterious occupant.

"I'll run up at once and see how the man has got on," he decided. "I don't think it looks as if it had rained yet, and it's pretty sheltered in the coppice, so I hope he has had a good night. I wonder if he is still there, or if he went at break of day as he said he would."

It was not long before he was peeping through the doorway of the little hut, his hair blown like an aureole about his forehead and his cheeks flushed by the buffeting of the wind.

"Of such is the kingdom of heaven," were the words that rose spontaneously to the stranger's lips as he glanced up at the fair vision before him.

"I'm not gone yet, Robin," he said as he held out his hand to the boy. "I am afraid I must ask you to put up with me for a few hours longer. I didn't feel quite up to an early start this morning."

Robin flew to his side and took the thin fingers in his.

"Of course you may stay here as long as you like," he replied. "I'm only afraid there's a storm coming on, and if it's very bad the roof might perhaps let in a little rain, supposing, you know, it came down in torrents."

The stranger smiled. "It's worth feeling ill to get another glimpse of you, my boy," he said. "I must confess that the longing for it rather weighed with me when I debated about my departure in the early dawn. I shall have to start soon, however, so as to be sure to catch the evening train to London, as it is hopeless to think of getting there on foot after this attack. It is six miles to the station, isn't it, Robin?"

"Six and a quarter," answered the lad, "and there are two hills on the way."

"I shall be lucky if I arrive there before midnight," was the reply, "but I'll have a try, anyhow. Meanwhile, I've still got some of the bread and butter you brought me last night, and a little milk in the bottom of the jug, so I shall do very well. Don't you bother about me, little chap. I'm used to roughing it a bit."

"I will bring you my lunch again at eleven o'clock," said Robin, "but I do wish you would let me tell mother about you, as she would know so much better than I do what you ought to have. I promise you, honour bright, that I wouldn't tell anyone else."

"Not even mother," answered the stranger, "though I am sure she must be a true and good woman who owns you as her son. God bless you both--if a prayer from such as I can bring you a benediction."

He watched the boy disappear among the trees, and then, turning over with his face to the earth, he groaned aloud.

"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed. "What might not have been! Truly the way of transgressors is hard."

There were traces of tears in his eyes when he at length rose and proceeded languidly to finish the provisions lying beside him.

"Julius, I want you to come with me to Westmarket to-day," said Mr. Field as he sat at the breakfast-table that morning. "Be ready at eleven o'clock sharp. A grand bazaar is being held there in aid of the Town Hall, and no end of swells are to be present. The Countess of Monfort is taking a great interest in the cause, and I must certainly put in an appearance, or they might think it rude. Money is not a bad thing, after all, and I have no doubt they will be glad enough to see me, even though neither her ladyship nor the earl have taken the trouble to return my call."

"I don't want to go," was the sulky reply. "I hate bazaars, and swells, and countesses, and it's beastly rot driving in the motor, with nothing to do but to sit still."

"Don't let me hear you speak like that again, Julius," said his father sternly. "Those are my orders and it is your part to obey."

"Couldn't you go a little later?" pleaded the boy. "Eleven o'clock is so very early."

It certainly was a little hard upon him, for he had set his heart on going down to the wood immediately after breakfast. The tramp, as he still called him, fascinated the lad strangely and he longed to find out more about the lonely stranger.

"The countess herself opens the bazaar at noon," replied his father, "and we shall need all our time to get there before the ceremony. So not a moment later shall I start. If you are not standing on the doorstep waiting for me, it will be the worse for you."

As Mr. Field left the apartment, Julius stamped his foot in impotent anger.

"It's too bad!" he exclaimed. "Why should I have to dress up like a doll in my best clothes, and waste the day like that, when Robin is allowed to run about in the wood just as he likes. I wonder if there would be time for me to slip down before I have to get ready for the car. There is just an hour. If I ran all the way I think I could do it. I should like to see if the man is still there."

Eleven o'clock came, and the motor was at the door. So was Mr. Field, but no Julius. For five minutes there was ominous silence, as butler and chauffeur stood motionless, awaiting their master's pleasure.

"Drive on," said Mr. Field at length, as he flung himself into the car, and the look on his face was not agreeable as he passed out of sight.

"I'm sorry for the little fellow, even though he is such a spoilt puppy," volunteered the footman who had come in Jenkins' place. "I expect he'll catch it hot before the day is out."

It was difficult for Mr. Field to regain his composure before he arrived at the end of the drive. To be openly defied by his son in the presence of his servants was an offence not to be lightly passed over. The unctuous smile which illumined his features was forced and unnatural as he officiously went up to the countess to congratulate her on the success of her undertaking.

"What an impossible man he is," she remarked later to a friend. "He seems to have 'money' written all over him, and nothing else apparently to recommend him to the world. I really am honestly grateful to him for the way he is showering sovereigns about, but it doesn't make me any more anxious to have him as my next-door neighbour. I shouldn't mind his being uneducated or plain, some of the best of nature's gentlemen are that--it's the pretentious vulgarity of the man I can't stand."

Mr. Field fared no better with the earl. A few cold words of welcome in response to the effusive greeting bestowed upon him by the millionaire, and Lord Monfort turned away to escort a new-comer to his wife's stall. It was pleasant, however, to feel that in spite of it all, he was undoubtedly considered a person of importance at the sale. Fair ladies crowded round to persuade him to buy absolutely useless things at utterly exorbitant prices, and his circuit of the hall was a sort of triumphal progress, delightful while it lasted, but leaving him somewhat exhausted at the close.

He had other business in Westmarket besides his social duties, which detained him there some hours, but he returned to the bazaar to have a cup of tea before leaving the town. He was resting comfortably in the refreshment marquee, enjoying the band, when a sudden drop in the music caused the voice of someone sitting at a distant table to resound distinctly across the room. Mr. Field would not have noticed his companions, had he not happened to look up hastily and so caught the eye of a young man, one of the group, who was facing him. He recognized him as the countess's nephew, and saw him give a quick sign to his friend to cease speaking, but not before a few isolated remarks had reached the listener's ear. He could not follow the whole sentence, but he was sure he heard the name of Judge Simmons mentioned in connection with a certain money affair. There was no doubt about the concluding words--"distinctly shady"--for the band stopped suddenly as they were uttered, and there was nothing to veil the unpleasant insinuation of the phrase.

"What possible reason could that young fellow have had in checking his companion when he saw me, unless it was because I was the subject of their conversation, and they did not want me to hear?" So he mused as he absently stirred his tea.

The band struck up once more, but to Mr. Field the music this time sounded intolerably harsh and grating. The jingle of the tune set his teeth on edge, and he felt he could endure it no longer. It was a relief when the crowded hall was left behind, and he felt the cool air again upon his brow.

It was nearly four o'clock now and the day was closing in. Heavy clouds were massed over the sea, looking black and thundery, and the dust blew in fitful eddies around.

"I think we're driving into a storm, sir," said the chauffeur.

The simple words jarred strangely on Mr. Field.

"Don't speak till you're spoken to," he snapped. "What you have got to do is to attend to your business and not make remarks about the weather."

At that moment the motor reached a steep part of the last hill, necessitating dropping into a lower gear. The chauffeur, irritated by the uncourteous taunt, plied pedal and lever with quite uncalled-for vehemence. There was a harsh grinding sound and the car stopped with a sudden jerk.

"It's no use, sir," he said, after a few moments tinkering at the machinery. "The gears are jambed and she won't move an inch. I'm afraid I'll have to get her towed home."

"Not here a fortnight, and you've broken the car already," exclaimed Mr. Field, his fury rising to boiling-point as he realized that he should have to yield to the inevitable and walk ignominiously back to Farncourt. "I give you warning on the spot, and no character; so you may leave when you choose."

Discarding his fur coat as too heavy, he turned his back on the damaged vehicle and set out upon the way home.

"Driving into a storm!" he repeated to himself as he plodded along the road. "I only hope not. If I was superstitious I should call it a horribly bad omen. Curious how nervous I feel to-day! It surely must be something in the air. But bad gales have been weathered before now, and I think I'm pretty safe, considering all things. I confess it was a nasty shock when Ben Green first turned up, but he evidently knows very little, or he would have had me in a hole long ago. There is no one else I need fear. I fancied Simmons had a queer look in his eye that day I saw him at the Abbey, but he's powerless to do any real harm. Even if he raked up unpleasant questions about the papers, not a soul was witness of what led up to it all. That is a secret known to no one in the wide world but myself. The past is too deeply buried by this time for any spectres to rise from the grave now."

As he spoke, a peal of thunder reverberated forth, so unexpectedly that it caused him to give an involuntary start.

"I shall take the short cut through the wood," he said, "and I must be quick about it, for it's looking rather bad all round."

The sky was becoming more and more threatening every moment, and darkness seemed to descend almost at once upon the land. Mr. Field shivered as the air grew chill, and regretted the warm garment he had left behind in the car.

"I'm feeling out of sorts," he added. "Those silly remarks at the bazaar upset me a good deal, though there is really no need for me to mind. I wish, however, I hadn't come by the wood, especially as I seem to have lost the right path, and wandered rather out of my way. It is eerie all by myself in the gloom, with such a tempest brewing too. Bother! There's the rain!" he exclaimed, as two or three big drops splashed against his face.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, revealing to his anxious gaze the rough hut which the boys had constructed with so much care, and which stood only a few paces from the narrow track.

"A woodman's shed, I suppose," he said. "I may as well take refuge inside, for it looks as if there was going to be a regular deluge."

He was right. Down came the rain, pattering loudly on the crisp autumn leaves, first with a sort of measured beat, then more rapidly, as if driven fiercely by an ever-compelling force from behind. Suddenly with a mighty rush, it seemed as though the cloud had burst overhead, and hissing torrents poured in straight unbroken lines from the clouds.

The little house was empty, and Mr. Field stood looking out of the door, while the lightning played about the tops of the trees, illuminating the depths of the dark copse as with the brightness of day. His was not a brave nature at the best, and the scene was terrific enough to strike awe into the heart of a bolder man than he claimed to be. He withdrew further into the shed, as the thunder continued to roll above him in long deafening crashes.

"Who is it says that thunder is the voice of the Almighty?" he muttered. "It is in the Bible, I believe. It sounds awful enough for anything."

Just then a flash of more than usually vivid character lit up the interior of the shelter, and to Mr. Field's consternation, words of fire appeared to blaze out before his eyes. For a moment, to his excited imagination it seemed like the writing on the wall at Belshazzar's feast. Could this be the Hand as well as the Voice of God?

It was the text which Robin had pinned up inside the hut--

"THE EYES OF THE LORD ARE IN EVERY PLACE, BEHOLDING THE EVIL AND THE GOOD."

It came like a message from an unseen Power, an answer to the thoughts which had so lately filled his mind, and the words burnt into his very soul.

"In every place--in every place. Beholding the evil--beholding the evil."

The sentence echoed through his brain until he could bear it no longer.

"Will that verse never cease to haunt me?" he exclaimed. "Is there truly a Witness in Heaven Who sees all--all--and Who can, when He wills, bring even our hidden sins into the light?"

He made as though he would leave the hut, when suddenly to his horrified gaze, a second flash revealed a pale emaciated face peering in through the door.

With a loud cry, Mr. Field rushed at the opening, and with superhuman strength hurled the apparition from him as he dashed past.

A dark form fell heavily into the bushes, but he stayed not to see. Scrambling, falling in the inky blackness, he at last gained the edge of the wood--how, he never knew. Drenched to the skin and with his eyes staring wildly before him, he reached his home. Speechless and trembling, he passed his astonished butler on the stairs, and paused not till he had locked himself into the safety of his own room.

There, at length, he was able to regain his composure, and think more calmly of the events of the preceding hour.

CHAPTER XI

The Treacherous Shore

It was about seven o'clock when a tap came at Mr. Field's door.

"Is that you, Burns?" was the response from within. "I am not feeling very well this evening, so I shall not come downstairs to dinner. You can bring me up something on a tray."

"Very good, sir," replied the butler, "but I wanted to ask you about master Julius. He has not been home all day, and we don't know where he's gone."

"Not been home all day," exclaimed Mr. Field, unlocking the door. "Surely with a houseful of servants you might have looked better after the boy than that."

Burns was relieved to find that his master appeared more like himself than when he had last encountered him, though still strangely perturbed, as if he had recently undergone some severe shock.

"Master Julius never turned up all the morning," answered Burns, "so we came to the conclusion that you must have met him as you were going down the drive, and taken him on with you to Westmarket. The chauffeur has only now returned with the car, and he says master Julius never accompanied you at all, so we thought it better to come and tell you at once."

Messengers were sent out to make enquiries whether the lad had been seen by anyone during the day, but neither garden, stables, nor farm could contribute even the slightest clue to his movements.

Mr. Field was standing in the hall making arrangements to send search-parties in other directions, when there was a ring at the bell, and a lady was ushered in. She was dripping wet, and the light veil over her head clung closely round her troubled and agitated face.

"I must apologize for intruding in this manner," she said, "but I am dreadfully anxious about my little boy. He and your son left me about two o'clock, and I have seen neither of them since. I hoped he might have taken shelter here from the storm, so I just came up to see."

"It is Mrs. Power, sir, from Sea View Cottage," explained the butler, in answer to Mr. Field's mystified look. "I believe master Julius often goes to play with the young gentleman."

"The impertinent rascal sets all my commands at defiance, it appears," was the angry reply. "It is directly against my wishes, madam, that Julius has made your acquaintance, and I have not the slightest notion where either of the two lads have gone. Your son is certainly not here, and neither is mine, for that matter."

"It is a dreadful night for anybody to be out," said Mrs. Power. "I could scarcely battle against the wind and rain as I came along. The lightning has ceased, but there is a regular hurricane blowing from the sea. Robin would not willingly keep me in suspense, as he knows how disturbed I should be, and I can't help fearing some accident may have happened to them both."

All at once Mr. Field's heart seemed to well up with a sudden rush of fatherly love, such as he had not experienced for years. He had allowed such a thick crust of ambition and avarice to overgrow the softer qualities of his character, that they had been well-nigh extinguished.

"What would all my wealth be without my little lad?" was the thought that flashed across him as Mrs. Power spoke, and an agony of apprehension filled his mind. "We must rouse the place at once," he said aloud, "and I will turn out all my men. Surely it can't be long before we discover the runaways."

The wood was thoroughly searched first, but with no result, and every cottage in the village was applied to, but all in vain.

Suddenly a sickening fear seized Mrs. Power. "Was it possible that they could have gone upon the beach?"

A brawny fisherman shrugged his shoulders hopelessly as he heard her question.

"We've thought of that before," he replied, "but we didn't like to suggest it to you, m'am. Some of us have been along the top of the cliff already, to see if we could make out anything. They're beyond help now if they went there, poor little chaps."

"Let us go to the shore," said Mrs. Power, but the men shook their heads as they accompanied her upon her fruitless errand.

The long wall of cliff which extended for so many miles towards the south came to an abrupt termination near the hamlet, and a flat extent of coast reached thence to the next headland. A narrow lane at right angles to the sea, and bordered by high hedges, led direct to the beach at the point where the cliff ended. So long as the search-party kept within the comparative shelter of this lane, all went well, but when they emerged from it, they were met by the full strength of the gale.

The rain was over now, though the wind still raged with tempestuous force. A full moon peeped out now and then through the rapidly driving clouds, lighting up the wild expanse of waters which heaved and surged in ceaseless turmoil as far as eye could reach.

"Could the boys have been caught between the cliff and the sea?" gasped Mrs. Power. "Shall we go a little way along the shore in case they may have taken refuge somewhere, and are afraid to move on?"

For answer one of the men pointed silently in the direction she had indicated.

It was enough--no words were needed to prove the impossibility of the task.

The moon gave sufficient light to show up the long dark line, at the foot of which the yellow ribbon of sand was wont to lie. In its place now tumbled a white mass of foaming waves. Here and there great billows, lashed by the wind, would hurl themselves half-way up the steep incline, breaking with thunderous noise upon the rampart which barred their way, and sending up sheets of spray into the air, like the steam from a boiling cauldron.

Mrs. Power covered her face with her hands.

"My boy!" she said. "Oh, my boy!"

Unresisting, she allowed herself to be led back to the silent cottage, where all that long dreary night she sat, a pale and broken-hearted watcher, waiting with dread for the only tidings which it seemed possible could reach her now.

To understand what had happened to the boys, we must follow Julius as he ran off to the wood on the morning of that long day. To do him justice he had really meant to be back in time to go with his father in the car; but an hour is short in the days of youth, and the time went all too rapidly.

He had just passed the lodge gates on his return when he heard the motor approaching, and quick as thought he had hidden himself behind the laurels at the entrance of the drive. His heart beat as he meditated on the punishment which doubtless awaited him for his disobedience, but a reckless feeling soon intervened. "In for a penny, in for a pound." He knew his father was not to return till dusk, for he had heard him tell the butler so, therefore he might as well have a jolly day before the reckoning came.

"I'll go back to Robin," he said, "and see if I can't do something specially nice, as I needn't be home for ages."

It was with rather forced merriment, however, that he joined in the games, for an uncomfortable feeling would obtrude itself even in the most exciting moments, that something was hanging over him which sooner or later must be faced.

Mrs. Power had asked him to stay for lunch, hearing that his father was away for the day, and not knowing of the interdict which had been laid upon the boy.

"Let us go for a walk, Robin," said Julius afterwards, the restless mood increasing as the day wore on. "The tide is coming in strong, and I shouldn't wonder if we found some buckles and things washed up on the beach. You know the fishermen pick up lots of treasures along the shore."

"Yes," answered Robin, "it is just like a fairy tale to hear of that ancient city which once stood where the ocean now rolls. Old Timothy has been telling me all about it--how there were churches, and streets, and battlements there in the days of old, but the waves gradually ate away the cliff, just as they are doing now, until one after another the buildings fell into the sea, and the whole town was buried beneath the water."

"I know a man who got quite a number of things which had been washed up," remarked Julius, "seals, with people's names on them, and rings, and dear little bronze brooches, besides crowds of coins. Couldn't we go and have a hunt now?"

"I simply ache to find something," said Robin, "even if it is only an old pin, but I'm not sure whether mother would like me to go without her, as it is rather a dangerous beach when the tide is coming in."

"We're not babies," answered Julius, "surely we can keep a look-out so as to get back in plenty of time. Besides, we needn't go far. The man told me that the best place to find the things is just under the ruined church, and it won't take us ten minutes to walk there."

"Well, if we only go a very little way," said Robin, "and come back when the waves get at all near the cliff, I don't think there can be any harm. Mother has never forbidden me to go, and I should like awfully to find a brooch for her to wear."

Did no friendly eye watch the two young figures as they wandered further and further along the treacherous shore? Time and tide were forgotten in the excitement of searching for the spoil. When at length the gloom of the coming storm caused them to look up, to their distress, they saw that the white line of breakers had almost closed the pathway of their return.

"Run, Julius," said Robin. "We may just do it, but the wind seems to be driving the waves in fast, and there is not a minute to lose."

Their feet sank in the loose pebbles and sand! as they hurried along, impeding their progress so that the inflowing tide gained upon them every moment.

"I didn't know we had come so far," panted Julius. "I feel as if my legs were made of lead. I don't think I can run any more."

They glanced up at the cliff, hoping against hope that some way might reveal itself by which they could scramble up its face, out of the danger zone below, but the sheer and crumbling surface offered no foothold.

By this time some of the foremost waves were sweeping up in long cruel rushes right across their track. It was only by waiting till they sank back again and then making a dash before another came up, that the boys were able to get on at all. Even then they were overtaken again and again by the relentless waters, and had to wade as best they could through the surf, the strong receding current threatening to carry them off their feet into the sea.

To add to their terror, the storm which had surprised Mr. Field, now burst above their heads, and the crash of thunder drowned even the roar of the breakers upon the beach. It suddenly grew so dark that they were unable to distinguish anything more than a few yards away, and the rain coming down in torrents soon completed the drenching which the waves had begun.

Just as they were about to give up in despair, Robin caught sight of a feeble light glimmering upon the cliff above.

"I do believe it is Timothy's cottage," he exclaimed, "and if so, we must be quite near the stair. Yes, here it is, Julius, I am holding the railing in my hand."

In another moment two woebegone little objects were standing before the old man's fire, too exhausted and miserable even to explain what had brought them there in such a plight.

CHAPTER XII

Death and the Tide

The grey dawn was creeping in through the windows of Sea View Cottage, eclipsing the yellow glow of the lamp which had burned all night in the little sitting-room.

Madelaine rose from her chair and pulled up the blind. The wind had abated somewhat, though a stiff breeze still blew from the sea. Dead twigs and fallen leaves were littered over the lawn, and the plants in the border were bent and broken from the effects of the late gale. A great sheaf of white chrysanthemums lay prostrate on the ground just in front of where she stood, the pure blossoms all draggled and smirched.

"How Robin admired those flowers yesterday," she said to herself. "I think I can see him now as he stood beside them, looking back at me with his own bright, happy smile. Shall I never see him run to meet me again--my precious little son!"

As she spoke, she heard the click of the garden gate, and there, right before her on the path, was Robin himself--a pale, rather dishevelled Robin, it is true, but there was no doubt about the reality of the sight.

Madelaine felt almost delirious with joy as she held him in her arms, and showered kisses upon his cheeks, his hands, his hair. She could scarcely believe that the terrible dream of the night had passed away, and that her treasure had been restored to her again.

"Mother," he said, looking anxiously up into her face, "I wish you would go to Julius. I'm sure he is very ill, he looks so funny, and he is talking such nonsense too. I couldn't get him even to sit up."

"Where is he, Robin, and what have you been doing with yourselves all this time?"

"I was afraid you'd be worrying about us," answered the boy. "I wanted to come on to you at once, after we had got rested a little in the cottage, but the wind was so bad, I really don't think I could have walked along the cliff by myself, even if it had been daylight. Then my clothes were so sopping wet, old Timothy made me take them off and get into his bed. I was dreadfully tired, mother, and I fell asleep in about a minute, and didn't wake up until it was morning."

"Old Timothy!" repeated Mrs. Power. "Have you been in his house all night, then?"

"Yes," replied Robin, "but I don't think it's at all safe for him and Julius to be there now. A great piece of the wall fell down just as it began to get light. I rather fancy it was that which woke me. There is only one end of the cottage left, and a big hole came in the ceiling of the kitchen just as I was going out at the door."

Mrs. Power rose to her feet.

"I must go to the village at once and rouse the men," she said. "The rest of the house may fall at any minute. Oh, Robin my boy, to think what you have escaped! It makes me shudder, even to imagine it!"

"It was nothing to the awful time we had upon the beach, before we got into shelter," answered the child, "but I'll tell you all about it, mother, after you come back. I do so want you to go and look at Julius."

Leaving Robin to be fed and cared for by Mrs. Sheppard, Madelaine Power sallied forth without further delay.

Only one or two were stirring in the hamlet at that early hour, but among these she gladly recognized Benjamin Green as he opportunely issued from "The Bull." He had wakened that morning with a strange feeling of guilt upon his conscience. It seemed to lie like a heavy burden, not to be easily shaken off. For a moment he was unable to account for such an unwonted sensation, when suddenly recollection returned to him, and leaping up, he hastily put on his clothes.

"I ought to have gone last night," he said. "Such a storm as it was, and poor old father all alone up there in that dangerous place!"

Tardy thoughts of duty rose within his breast, and faint pulses of filial affection, long passed away, began once more to make themselves felt. He willingly joined Mrs. Power as with rapid steps she trod the narrow path which led along the top of the cliff.

The storm had passed away, but the sea still flung itself sullenly upon the shore. As they neared the spot, Madelaine gave an exclamation of distress.

"Look what a huge piece of the crag has gone!" she said. "I thought Robin was exaggerating when he told me half the cottage had fallen down, but it is much worse than I expected."

"It's a good thing the kitchen is at the landward end," remarked Ben. "I see it is standing yet."

They were soon at the little garden gate, but though it was wide open, they found their way barred. It now hung uselessly over a great empty gap, its broken rails flapping drearily in the wind. A long crack down the middle of what remained of the house showed where the next slip would probably come. The portion next the cliff had already given way and the rafters were even now overhanging the edge. Some bricks from the chimney loosened as they approached, and they heard them clatter down the roof and fall with a dull thud on the beach below.

"Surely father will not be against leaving the place now!" said Ben. "If we get him out before the whole thing goes down, we shall be lucky."

He vaulted over the low wall, and in a few strides had crossed the garden plot. Mrs. Power scrambled after him and reached the door almost as soon as he did. In spite of the peril and the ominous sounds of sliding and cracking which surrounded them on every hand their steps were arrested on the threshold.

Old Timothy was lying asleep on his pillow as they entered, his white hair scarcely whiter than his face. No sign of fear was on it, and he seemed breathing as peacefully as a child upon its mother's arm. Beside him in the bed lay Julius, flushed and feverish, moving his head restlessly from side to side.

As they stood, the first rays of the rising sun burst through the little latticed window and shone full on the old man's face. He felt the glow through his closed eyelids, and opened them with a startled glance. Springing up in his bed, he stretched out his arms to the light, apparently dazzled with the sudden brightness.

"It is the glory of God!" he cried--and to Madelaine his homely features seemed transfigured with a radiance that was divine. "It is the blessed Angel of Death, and he has come to bear me up to the city of gold."

Folding his hands as if in prayer, he closed his eyes and reverently bowed his head.

"I'm waiting, old friend," he said. "I'm waiting, and I'm wholly ready to go."

Suddenly the frail figure relaxed its tension and fell back upon the pillow.

"He's gone," whispered Ben.

Madelaine went forward and gently smoothed his brow. "We can do no more for him now," she said.

"His poor body must not be left here," remarked Ben. "I shall take it to some safer resting-place than this. If I carried him, do you think that you would be able to manage the boy?"

"Easily," replied Madelaine, as she gathered up the lad in her strong motherly arms. Ben wrapped the still form of his father in a blanket and followed her out of the room.

Some fishermen had by this time arrived at the cottage and were standing beside the garden fence. Gladly they relieved Mrs. Power and her companion of their burdens and bore them away from the dangerous spot.

They had not proceeded many yards, when a low rumble, growing louder as they listened, caused them to turn quickly round in the direction whence the sound came.

All at once a noise like thunder smote upon their ears, and to their horror they saw a long chasm yawn between them and the cottage wall. It widened as they gazed, until with a crash, a great slice of the cliff suddenly disappeared from before their eyes. Where the old house had so lately stood, the edge of the cliff now cut straight across the horizon--there was nothing to break the level line where earth joined sky.

"I'm glad father didn't see it go," said Ben. "It would have fairly broken his heart. Queer fancies he used to take about some things!"

"We need not mourn for him," replied Mrs. Power. "His faith has been rewarded, and he has now a more enduring dwelling-place above. He was quite right about his friends. The Tide has had its will in the end, but the Angel of Death came for him first. Old Timothy has been received into the eternal home, and has seen the glorious face of Him he called 'The Best Friend of all.' Truly we could not wish him back."

CHAPTER XIII

Near Death's Door

Leaving Ben and his comrades to continue their sad procession to the village, Mrs. Power and one of the men made their way straight to Farncourt, carrying little Julius with them. The boy was evidently very ill, and quite unconscious of what was passing around him.

It grieved Madelaine sorely when she had to give up her charge at the door of the large comfortless house, where no mother awaited the child to give him the gentle care he so much needed.

"Of course he will have the best doctors and attendance in the kingdom, and everything that money can provide," she said to herself as she walked down the drive, "but something more is wanted than that. I can't bear to think of that poor little fellow with no loving woman's face bending over him to draw him back into life again."

Certainly, as Madelaine had surmised, nothing was left untried which skill could suggest or riches procure. A famous London physician was summoned, regardless of cost, to the bedside of the child, and trained nurses watched unceasingly day and night, combating the fever that threatened to sap the strength from out the feeble frame.

The horrors of that awful race against the tide, combined with the drenching sustained both from sea and rain, proved almost more than the boy's body and mind could withstand. Again and again he screamed aloud in his terror, calling out that the waves had got hold of him, and starting up in his bed, he would try to escape from the clutches of the monsters he seemed always to have before his eyes, ready to seize him in their deadly grasp.

When at length the frenzy passed away and reason appeared to be returning once more to the overwrought brain, the efforts of his attendants were still baffled by a strange restlessness which took possession of the little invalid and which all their care could not dispel.

"He is always repeating the same words," said the nurse in charge, to Mr. Field, when he enquired anxiously for the boy. "I wonder whether you could give me a clue to what he means, so that we might know how to quiet him. Often in an illness of this sort the mind dwells on something that took place immediately before the fever came on."

"What are the words?" asked Mr. Field.

"He is continually saying 'I want to make him my friend,'" answered the nurse. "All last night he did nothing but moan out this one sentence. It was quite pitiful to hear him, poor child."

Mr. Field's heart smote him. "He was very disobedient the day of the catastrophe," he said. "Perhaps he is still thinking of it, and is afraid of my anger--I know I have sometimes been harsh with the boy. Do you suppose if I went to him and told him it was all right, that the fear would be allayed?"

"It may be that," replied the nurse, "at any rate it is worth trying. There, do you hear him?" she added, as they entered the darkened room and advanced towards the small tossing figure on the bed.

Vainly did the poor father stand at his son's side and assure him of his love and forgiveness. The unnaturally bright eyes which were fixed upon him softened with no answering light, and to his distress, the weak voice took up once again its monotonous refrain.

"Whom can he mean?" pondered Mr. Field. "I wonder if he wants the lad who was with him that dreadful afternoon. I remember Burns told me they had often played together. I forbade Julius ever to speak to him, but if anyone could do my boy good, I should welcome him, even if he were a chimney sweep."

A polite note was at once written to Mrs. Power, requesting that Robin might be allowed to come up to Farncourt, in the hope that his little companion's presence might satisfy the restless longings of the child.

A faint smile played over Julius' features as Robin entered the room, and for a moment a gleam of recognition leapt into his eyes, but it soon faded away, and the pathetic moan recommenced--the feverish limbs moving wearily to and fro upon the couch.

"If he could only get some sleep he would do well," remarked the nurse, "but I fear his strength will not hold out if this goes on much longer."

"We had hoped the sight of your little boy would have soothed Julius, but it seems to have done no good," said Mr. Field, as he led Robin back to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Power awaited his return. "We thought he missed his playfellow, for he never ceases speaking of someone he wants as his friend. If only we could find out what he desires, we might manage to bring peace to his mind."

"I know what he means," replied Madelaine with a sudden inspiration. "If you will let me go up to him, I believe I shall be able to help."

Gladly did the stricken father retrace his steps to the sick chamber, and as Mrs. Power followed, her heart was lifted up in prayer to God that she might be given the right words to say. Unhesitatingly she went up to the bed and knelt beside the child. Taking his burning hands in hers, she held them firmly as she looked into his face.

"I want to make him my friend," reiterated the boy.

"It is God Whom you want to make your Friend, is it not, little Julius?" asked Madelaine.

A relieved expression flashed across the sufferer's countenance as the question seemed to reach him through the darkness of his delirium, and a look of intelligence dawned in the poor anxious eyes.

"Yes," he answered, "I want Him very much."

"He is your Friend already, Julius," continued Mrs. Power. "He loved us so much that He sent His Son to die for us. He has been your Friend all along, Julius. It is you who have been running away from Him."

"Do you mean God really wanted to be my Friend all along?" questioned the boy earnestly.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Power, "that is the comfort of it. Just say to yourself, 'God loves me,' and ask Him to wash away your sins, and to keep you for Jesus Christ's sake. Only a Friend can love, Julius, so you need not be afraid of Him."

"God loves me," repeated the child. "God loves me. He was my Friend all along, only I didn't know."

He closed his eyes contentedly, and nestled his head into the pillow. Mrs. Power held his hands in hers for a few minutes longer, and then gently laid them down upon the bed. "I think he is sleeping," she whispered, as she rose to her feet.

The nurse nodded silently with a pleased smile, and Madelaine noiselessly left the room.

Many an anxious hour was still to come as Julius slowly struggled back to health and strength, but as the doctor said, it was to that sleep the child owed his life. There were no more objections made by Mr. Field to the intercourse between Farncourt and the dwellers in Sea View Cottage. Every morning did Robin and his mother walk up to enquire for the invalid, and as often as not, one or both of them stayed with him for the rest of the day. Mr. Field indeed was not often present when Mrs. Power sat with his son, but he would constantly join the two boys as they played together, watching them as they made endless scrapbooks out of old illustrated papers, or constructed wonderful models with bits of wood and an unlimited supply of glue.

The great London physician came no longer to look wisely over his gold-rimmed spectacles at the now convalescent lad, but the village doctor still made friendly visits, to the benefit of his patient as well as of his own pocket.

"We'll soon have you flying about as lively as ever," he said cheerily to Julius during one of these calls. "You've got on quicker than the other patient I was summoned to attend the same day that you got bowled over."

"Who was that?" asked Mrs. Power, who was standing near. "I had not heard that any of the villagers were ill just now."

"I know how good you are in going to see the sick ones," responded the doctor, "and I longed to ask you to minister to this poor fellow, but he's a queer self-contained mortal, and apparently prefers to be left to himself. He is a stranger here--arrived the night of the storm--and appeared, sopping wet and utterly tired out at Mrs. Potter's door, with no luggage but a knapsack, being apparently upon some sort of walking tour. She let him in out of pity, and he's been laid up at her house ever since. It's the Mrs. Potter who lives on the high road just beyond the wood. She's a good soul, and has done all she could for him, but it's been a close shave, his getting through at all."

The boys exchanged glances.

"I expect it's the tramp," whispered Julius. "I'm glad he's got a real bed to sleep in, and that he didn't have to stay in the hut while he was ill."

"Our nice house is all broken down now," replied Robin. "The rain of that night beat it to pieces. The roof fell in, and the wall gave way, and the moss floor got into a nasty sloppy mess. I looked for my text, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I think it must have been completely washed away."

"I shouldn't be afraid of that text now," remarked Julius. "I have told father all about my going to make Peter's hutch, and our house in the wood, and our games and everything. He wasn't a bit angry, only sorry I had deceived him so often. I'm not going to do sneaky things again, but I'm jolly glad he doesn't mind me playing with you now, Robin."

During the anguish of the first days of Julius' illness, Mr. Field's thoughts were concentrated wholly upon his suffering boy, but as the tension became relaxed and the child regained his vigour, the terrible time which he had spent in the wood came back with full force and vividness to his mind.

"Could I have been mad for the moment?" he would ask himself again and again. "First the words--and then the face! It was too awful. People used to have visions in the old days--is it possible that they sometimes come to men still?"

He had never believed in ghosts, but he felt curiously nervous now as the dusk gathered round, and to Burn's astonishment, gave orders that the electric light was to be left on all night in the passages and hall. It had never been his custom to wander much alone even within the borders of his own property, but since that memorable evening he had taken exercise only upon the terrace in front of the house, and when obliged to go to Westmarket upon business, had motored in with the hood up and the blinds drawn.

"I have got bad neuralgia," he explained by way of excuse, "and the glare hurts my eyes."

"I wonder why he wants such an illumination at night then?" remarked the butler. "I can't tell what's come to him lately. It seems almost as if he were going crazy."

Do what he could, Mr. Field was unable to banish the unpleasant adventure from his thoughts. Night and day his mind was filled with strange and terrifying questionings, which he sought to meet by commonplace answers and logical explanations, but all in vain.

"It must just have been some fellow seeking shelter from the rain, as I was doing myself," he would argue. "There is no doubt there was an extraordinary likeness, but it cannot be anything more. Probably if I had seen the same face in broad daylight it would have had no effect upon me, but that night my nerves were completely unhinged by the storm. I wish I could get the dreadful death-look of those eyes out of my mind. There is only one other face that would be worse to see again, and I think I should go off my head altogether if that appeared to me in the same manner as this one did. It is bad enough to be obliged to meet it in my dreams."

Once the thought crossed Mr. Field's brain that the apparition was some prank of Ben's, another practical joke, based upon some shrewd supposition, and perpetrated in order to extort more money out of the apparently bottomless coffers of his prey. Some judicious questioning, however, set his fears at rest in that quarter.

"If Ben did know all, it would be far too good a lever not to make use of against me, and he is not the man to hesitate to try it," Mr. Field decided. "If he hasn't played his trump-card by this time, I don't think he's got one in his hand at all. It's my belief that there is more bluff than anything else in what he says, and if so, why should I knuckle under to him every time he comes sponging on me as he does. I have been far too weak with him in the past. I shall see what effect a little firmness will have upon my gentleman. I don't so much mind having to pay for what he knows, but I do draw the line at giving anything for threats in the dark."

CHAPTER XIV

Pin-pricks and Pellets

This change of front did not at all suit Benjamin Green, when he at last realized that the worm had turned, and that his visits to Farncourt did not produce the same golden results which they had been wont to do in the past. Afraid to press the blackmailing process too far in case he should find he was involved in unsuspected difficulties himself, his thoughts reverted to what remained of his father's property, and his ingenious mind set about devising means by which Mr. Field's ambition could be turned to account.

"There's a good piece of the land still left," he said, as he contemplated the scene, "and it will be many a long day till the waves claim it as they did the old house. I'll see what can be done in the meanwhile to squeeze out of the squire that same hundred pounds which he promised my father before he died."

For a week or two after Timothy's cottage had disappeared it had been unmitigated satisfaction to Mr. Field to gaze upon the view from his dining-room windows. True, a portion of the coveted ground could still be discerned through the gap in the little wood which intervened between Farncourt and the shore--a gap which no amount of planting would fill up for many years to come--but at least the human habitation was away which had been such a vexation to the purse-proud man.

There was nothing now to rouse his ire as he looked out upon the prospect before him. The sky and sea were certainly beyond his reach, but on earth, only the possessions of the master of Farncourt could be seen.

His feelings of irritation and disgust therefore can be imagined when, one fine morning, on going as usual to the casement to enjoy the view, he became aware of a tall flagstaff planted on the edge of the cliff, just in the centre of the vista which he desired so much to ignore.

It literally glittered in the glory of the whitest of white paint, and to add to its conspicuousness a brilliant scarlet flag fluttered tauntingly from it in the breeze.

"I suppose it's some maliciousness on the part of that wretched Ben Green," he exclaimed. "He threatened that he would get even with me somehow, when I refused to give him what he asked for last time he was here. This is even worse than the cottage! That flaring red thing catches your eye wherever you look. He's hoisted it half-mast high too! I wonder what he means by that? Sign of some misfortune of course, but I don't see how he expects to bring it about. I'd like to go to law, and take the fellow down a peg, but I daren't threaten him too much, or he might retaliate by stirring up things I would rather let alone."

The evening post brought him a few lines from Ben, coolly placing the alternative before him of purchasing the land which he desired, but at double the price originally offered to old Timothy.

"The value of the property has risen since my father's death," wrote Ben, "as I am in treaty with someone for whom I intend to erect business premises thereon. This is absolutely the last chance for you to secure it at this figure, for from to-day the sum I shall ask must necessarily be considerably higher."

"Ridiculous!" fumed Mr. Field. "I'm not going to be coerced into doing things against my will. Double the price, indeed! He may whistle for the two hundred pounds, but he'll not get them! As for the building scheme, of course it's only a ruse to force me into giving him the money. He can't bluff me into believing for a minute that anyone really means to build on that crumbling cliff."

It was a distinct shock to the millionaire when, a day or two later, he noticed bricks of a particularly virulent hue being piled up beside the flagstaff in full sight of his window. Apparently Ben was in earnest this time, for almost before Mr. Field could realize the full extent of the calamity, foundations had been laid, and the walls of a house rose as if by magic upon the edge of the cliff.

Such an erection too, as it was! Every morning he woke to find it even more appalling than he had dreamed of in the night. When it was finished, an ugly square dwelling stared him in the face. The bottom half was built of red bricks, dotted here and there with yellow ones. The top half consisted of yellow bricks, variegated with red. A couple of long, unsightly chimneys stood like rabbit's ears at each end of the roof, while two curtainless windows seemed to glare at him like bold, unblinking eyes from either side of the gaudy emerald-green door.

"Could anything be worse?" he groaned, as he went to bed one evening after a long and dismal survey of the eyesore from the top of the tower.

But worse was still to come.

On the morrow when he rose as usual, and, drawn by a strange fascination, went at once to gaze upon the torturing sight, he almost choked with the mortification and fury which filled his breast.

On the long, sloping roof of shiny slates were painted in huge white letters the words--

LAUNDRY WASHING DONE CHEAP

It was in vain for him to grind his teeth with rage; before the day was out, lines of fluttering garments stretched from side to side across the field, waving mocking hands, so it appeared to him as he gazed.

As if this were not enough, a row of small wooden sheds presently sprang up next the fence which bounded Ben's property upon the side nearest to Farncourt.

"Is he going to set up a zoological garden?" enquired Mr. Field indignantly, as he watched while a pen of wire-netting was carefully erected in front of each little hut.

"No, sir, it's pigs," answered the butler solemnly. "A number of them are on their way from Westmarket, I believe, and will arrive to-day."

There was no doubt when the occupants of the styes took possession of their new quarters. For two mortal hours did Mr. Field sit in misery, listening to the squeals of the rebellious porkers as they were driven into the meadow and hustled unceremoniously into their several dwellings. Each squeak seemed to go through him like a knife, and he shut himself up in his study, dreading to detect a smile upon the faces of the servants to whom he knew his humiliation must be matter of amusement, instead of the anguish which it certainly was to him.

"Anything come besides pigs?" he asked Burns, when the butler entered the room to enquire if there were letters for the post.

"They do say as Benjamin Green has bought the grocer's donkey, which he was parting with, owing to it's being such a nuisance to his neighbours, sir," replied Burns. "Never ceases braying all night, so I was told. I don't know if it's correct, but we'll soon find out for ourselves if there's any truth in the story."

It was not long before the authenticity of the report was confirmed. That very evening the hours of darkness were made hideous by the melancholy voice of the disconsolate ass, as he poured forth his woes with discordant emphasis in the ears of the sympathetic pigs.

"I suppose Ben thinks he'll pile it on until he makes me give in," said Mr. Field to himself, as he paced up and down the terrace next morning. "Rather than do that I'll sell Farncourt and take another place. A good idea too! I wonder I never thought of it before. There is no doubt people about here have given me the cold shoulder--those I should care to meet, I mean--and I'm pretty well sick of it by this time. I shan't be sorry to be rid of that ramrod of an earl and his stuck-up friends. I saw there was a nice estate in Gloucestershire advertised for sale the other day. I'll take a run over and see what it's like. Julius is getting on well now, and I suppose I shall soon have to be thinking of sending him to some good public school. It seems the right thing to do, if he is to take his proper place in the world. I should be glad of a pleasant neighbour or two, when he is gone, who would join me in a shoot now and then, or come in sometimes to have a chat. It's rather monotonous always going about by myself, and things are apt to get on one's mind a bit."

Mr. Field took a few more turns and then threw away his cigar. "I think I'll go and have a pot at the pheasants before lunch," he said. "At any rate, I'll get a little relief from the noise of that abominable donkey. He seems to have a throat of iron, the way he goes on making that everlasting row!"

He went into the house and fetched his gun. He was rather proud of his pheasants, having introduced a rare and much-talked-of breed into his coverts. The worst was, that at present the birds were so tame they afforded little more sport than would be enjoyed by shooting hens in a farmyard. Accustomed as they were to the careful feeding and supervision of the keepers, they knew little as yet of the murderous power of the gun.

On his way to the plantations, Mr. Field encountered his head man, whose countenance wore an unwonted expression of gloom.

"Hullo! What's the matter, Jones?" he enquired. "You look as if you'd just swallowed a dose of poison."

"It's not poison as is troubling me, sir," replied the gamekeeper lugubriously. "It is nets as is doing the deadly work, and seeing they make no noise, and usually leave no traces, it's a difficult job to lay hands on him who spreads 'em."

"What do you mean?" enquired his master. "Is anything wrong with the new pheasants?"

"That's just what it is, sir," was the reply. "I was on my way to tell you about it now. I've been noticing for some time past that they were disappearing, mysterious like, only I put it down to some of 'em having been enticed over to the earl's preserves in yonder copse, seeing his keeper is feeding his birds there too. But I found a bit of a net yesterday, hanging on a bush, and footsteps near by, what made me suspect there might be poachers about, doing business on their own account, when I'm out of the way."

"You have seen no one hanging about, have you, Jones?" asked Mr. Field.

"No, sir," replied the man, "but they'd take good care to keep out of my sight. I expect they scatter food in likely places in the woods, and when the pheasants get to know where to come for it, they catch 'em in nets, the silly things being as tame as bantams. A good price they'll get for them too, seeing they're all the more valuable living than dead."

"Well, Jones, it's your duty to look after the game, and if poachers can carry on their work under your very nose like that, it shows you're not worth your salt. Get more men if you need them, to watch the place, but don't let me hear of losses in this way again. I won't have my property calmly stolen from me like this, so put your best foot foremost and stop it at once."

"Do you want me to come with you now, sir?" asked the crestfallen man. "I see you've got your gun."

"No," replied Mr. Field, "if I shoot anything I'll leave it behind the wall near the gate, and you can send for it later. I'll probably only take a look round this morning and see how things are for myself."

"Everyone seems to be conspiring against me," he said to himself as he continued his walk. "What's the use of so much money if I can't even enjoy my own house and recreations without being imposed upon and insulted by any impudent fellow who happens to come along."

Meditating on his wrongs, Mr. Field entered the little copse, and wandered aimlessly about for a few minutes, hoping to find some clue to the mysterious thefts. Suddenly a great grey cat rushed across his path and disappeared in a thick tangle of undergrowth, only three or four yards away.

"There's the poacher, if I'm not much mistaken!" he exclaimed, as he raised his gun to his shoulder and hastily fired straight into the bushes. "Missed him!" he added, as he caught sight of the grey form fleeing madly away in the direction of the road. "Hope he got a little peppering though, that will teach him not to come here again in a hurry."

Before long Mr. Field also left the shelter of the wood, and proceeded homewards, his mind full of the Gloucestershire estate, to which he inclined more and more as he pondered over its advantages.

CHAPTER XV

Alive from the Dead

That evening Mrs. Power was walking along the road which bordered the Farncourt preserves, when her attention was arrested by the sound of groaning on the other side of the wall. For a moment her heart stood still with fear, but she was not naturally timid, and the thought that someone was in trouble urged her to make closer research.

She turned in the direction whence the moans came, and peeped over into the plantation. To her horror she saw a man lying on the ground, only a few steps away from her, his face pale as death and streaked with blood.

"I must go to him," she said to herself, "he looks as if he were dying there, all alone in the wood."

Climbing over the low wall, she soon reached his side.

"Why, it's Ben Green!" she exclaimed in surprise. "How ever has he got into this plight? I'm afraid he is badly hurt, poor fellow. He seems quite unconscious, and I think his arm must be broken, it hangs so limply from the shoulder."

She wetted her handkerchief in the rivulet which ran through the coppice, and wiped the stains from his face, then, binding the cool bandage round his forehead, she rose to her feet and started off towards the village.

"The sooner I get help, the better," she decided. "I can't do him any good by staying with him here."

It was not long before the wounded man was carefully borne on a stretcher to his room at "The Bull," and his injuries ascertained by the doctor.