’Thank you; I was not aware: that’s
very convenient. Had you not better go down and
speak to your friend in the water?’
‘Young man, I bless you for remembering,’
said Uncle Lorne, solemnly. ‘What was Mark
Wylder’s religion, that I may speak to him comfortably?’
‘An Anabaptist, I conjecture, from his present
situation,’ replied Lake.
’No, that’s in the lake of fire, where
the wicked seraphim and cherubim baptise, and anabaptise,
and hold them under, with a great stone laid across
their breasts. I only know two of their clergy—the
African vicar, quite a gentleman, and speaks through
his nose; and the archbishop with wings; his face
is so burnt, he’s all eyes and mouth, and on
one hand has only one finger, and he tickles me with
it till I almost give up the ghost. The ghost
of Miss Baily is a lie, he said, by my soul; and he
likes you—he loves you. Shall I write
it all in a book, and give it you? I meet Mark
Wylder in three places sometimes. Don’t
move, till I go down; he’s as easily frightened
as a fish.’
And Uncle Lorne crept down the bank, tacking, and
dodging, and all the time laughing softly to himself;
and sometimes winking with a horrid, wily grimace
at Stanley, who fervently wished him at the bottom
of the tarn.
‘I say,’ said Stanley, addressing the
keeper, whom by a beck he had brought to his side,
‘you don’t allow him, surely, to go alone
now?’
‘No, Sir—since your order, Sir,’
said the stern, reserved official.
‘Nor to come into any place but this—the
park, I mean?’
’And do you mind, try and get him home always
before nightfall. It is easy to frighten him.
Find out what frightens him, and do it or say it.
It is dangerous, don’t you see? and he might
break his d—d neck any time among those
rocks and gullies, or get away altogether from you
in the dark.’
So the keeper, at the water’s brink, joined
Uncle Lorne, who was talking, after his fashion, into
the dark pool. And Stanley Lake—a general
in difficulties—retraced his steps toward
the park gate through which he had come, ruminating
on his situation and resources.
MISS RACHEL LAKE BECOMES VIOLENT.
So soon as the letter which had so surprised and incensed
Stanley Lake was despatched, and beyond recall, Rachel,
who had been indescribably agitated before, grew all
at once calm. She knew that she had done right.
She was glad the die was cast, and that it was out
of her power to retract.
She kneeled at her bedside, and wept and prayed, and
then went down and talked with old Tamar, who was
knitting in the shade by the porch.
Then the young lady put on her bonnet and cloak, and
walked down to Gylingden, with an anxious, but still
a lighter heart, to see her friend, Dolly Wylder.
Dolly received her in a glad sort of fuss.
