Book 7. 
XLV.  Within an inch of my life . 
XLVI.  Among gipsy women
XLVII.  My father acts the charmer again
XLVIII.  The princess entrapped
XLIX.  Which foreshadows A general gathering
L. We are all in my father’s net
LI.  An encounter showing my father’s genius in A strong light

Book 8. 
LII.  Strange revelations, and my grandfather has his last outburst
LIII.  The heiress proves that she inherits the feud and I go drifting
LIV.  My return to England
LV.  I meet my first playfellow and take my punishment
LVI.  Conclusion

CHAPTER I

I AM A SUBJECT OF CONTENTION

One midnight of a winter month the sleepers in Riversley Grange were awakened by a ringing of the outer bell and blows upon the great hall-doors.  Squire Beltham was master there:  the other members of the household were, his daughter Dorothy Beltham; a married daughter Mrs. Richmond; Benjamin Sewis, an old half-caste butler; various domestic servants; and a little boy, christened Harry Lepel Richmond, the squire’s grandson.  Riversley Grange lay in a rich watered hollow of the Hampshire heath-country; a lonely circle of enclosed brook and pasture, within view of some of its dependent farms, but out of hail of them or any dwelling except the stables and the head-gardener’s cottage.  Traditions of audacious highwaymen, together with the gloomy surrounding fir-scenery, kept it alive to fears of solitude and the night; and there was that in the determined violence of the knocks and repeated bell-peals which assured all those who had ever listened in the servants’ hall to prognostications of a possible night attack, that the robbers had come at last most awfully.  A crowd of maids gathered along the upper corridor of the main body of the building:  two or three footmen hung lower down, bold in attitude.  Suddenly the noise ended, and soon after the voice of old Sewis commanded them to scatter away to their beds; whereupon the footmen took agile leaps to the post of danger, while the women, in whose bosoms intense curiosity now supplanted terror, proceeded to a vacant room overlooking the front entrance, and spied from the window.

Meanwhile Sewis stood by his master’s bedside.  The squire was a hunter, of the old sort:  a hard rider, deep drinker, and heavy slumberer.  Before venturing to shake his arm Sewis struck a light and flashed it over the squire’s eyelids to make the task of rousing him easier.  At the first touch the squire sprang up, swearing by his Lord Harry he had just dreamed of fire, and muttering of buckets.