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On the evening succeeding the day of Edith's decease, Black Jack's associates were, as usual, squandering away their ill-got money at the Mitre. A ribald song was just concluded, when a loud knock caught the attention of the foreman: the door was opened, and the galleyman entered. His countenance looked pale and haggard, and without speaking, he threw himself in a chair.

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"Come, comestick to the truth. I ?un't to blame for Harry."

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TWO:

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THREE:

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THREE:Reuben went to Harry's side, and bent over him.

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THREE:At Odiam Rose shook off her seriousness. Supper was ready, and undaunted by the huge meal she had already eaten, she sat down to it with a hearty appetite. Her step-children stared at her curiouslyRose had a gust of affection for them. Poor things!their lives had been so crude and dull and innocent. She must give them a little brightness now, soften the yoke of Reuben's tyrannythat girl Caro, for instance, she must[Pg 259] give her some pretty clothes and show her how to arrange her hair becomingly."We're all very unlucky," said Tilly, "to have been born his children. But one by one we're gitting free. There'll soon be only Pete and Jemmy and Caro left."

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THREE:"Oh, thank you," said Reuben, bowing in mock politeness, and trying to copy his clipped English.

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THREE:

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THREE:"I'll go and fetch mother."

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TWO:"Give me your hand, for a brave fellow," answered Turner, grasping cordially the conceded member. "There are yet a few bold spirits in this manor. I shall seek them, and I'll warrant they will not leave Wat Turner in the lurch for this bout at least. And as for the lock, the foul fiend himself could not scheme or forge a spring that could keep me out for five minutes. Have your friends together in the field at the back of the town. The nights are dark now; and when I hear the clock strike eight, I shall be with you with all the hands I can gather."

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THREE:And judge of the earth,

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THREE:Realf had never been a practical manperhaps it was to that he owed his downfall. Good luck and ambition had made him soar for a while, but he lacked the dogged qualities which had enabled Reuben to play[Pg 435] for years a losing game. Besides, he had to a certain extent lost interest in land which was no longer his own. He worked for a wage, for his daily bread, and the labour of his hands and head which had once been an adventure and a glory, was now nothing but the lost labour of those who rise up early and late take rest.

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THREE:The graceful Isabella de Vere was seated on a white palfrey, and attired in a riding-dress of green velvet, while a richly embroidered mantle or surcoat of the same material, trimmed with minever, fell from her shoulders, and in some measure concealed the emblazoned housing that ornamented the beautiful animal on which she rode. A pyramidal cap of green satin, with a long veil of transparent tissue flowing from the point, and falling so as partly to shadow, and partly reveal the glow of her high-born beauty, was the only head-gear worn that day by the daughter of the Earl of Oxford, and the new baroness of Sudley.

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TWO:"Calverley," said he, "think you that this Margaret loves her husband?" A slight shade passed over Calverley's cheek as he answered,

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Yesthere was no denying his father had been happy. But what a happiness! Even there by his side Reuben despised it. He, Reuben, would never be happy till he had torn up that gorse and lopped those firs from the top of Boarzell. In a kind of vision he saw the Moor with wheatfields rolling up to the crest, he smelt the baking of glumes in brown sunlight, the dusty savour of[Pg 25] the harvest-laden earth. He heard the thud of horses' hoofs and the lumber of waggon-wheels, the shouts of numberless farm-hands. That sinister waste, profitless now to every man, should be a source of wonder and wealth and fame. "Odiamthe biggest farm in Sussex. Backfield made it. He bought Boarzell Moor acre by acre and fought it inch by inch, and now there's nothing like it in the south." ...Reuben faced his adversity with set teeth and a dogged countenance. He had not been farming thirty odd years to be beaten casually by the weather. Scorching heat and blighting cold, the still blanker doom of the trickling, pouring rainthe wind that seeded his corn, and beat down his hay, and flung his hop-bines together in muddled heapsthe pests that Nature breeds by the ten million out of her own putrefyings and misbegettingsall things in life from the lowest maggot to the fiercest stormhe was out to fight them. In challenging Boarzell he had challenged them all."She was my mother!" said the mourner, rising.He rose to his feet. The kitchen was dark, with eddying sweeps of shadow in the corners which the firelight caressedwhile a single star put faint ghostly romance into the window."You'll tell father you met me?" she said as they left the eating-house.
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