“Put that aside, Peregrine.  It is only a temptation and allurement.”

“It is an allurement you know not how strong,” said the poor youth.  “Could I only bring myself to believe all that Father Geronimo does, and fall down before his Madonnas and saints, then could I hope for a new nature, and scourge away the old”—­he set his teeth as he spoke—­“till naught remains of the elf or demon, be it what it will.”

“Ah, Peregrine, scourging will not do it, but grace will, and that grace is indeed yours, as is proved by these higher aspirations.”

“I tell you, madam, that if I live on as I am doing now, grace will be utterly stifled, if it ever abode in me at all.  Every hour that I live, pent in by intolerable forms and immeasurable dulness, the maddening temper gains on me!  Nay, I have had to rush out at night and swear a dozen round oaths before I could compose myself to sit down to the endless supper.  Ah, I shock you, madam! but that’s not the worst I am driven to do.”

“Nor the way to bring the better spirit, my poor youth.  Oh, that you would pray instead of swearing!”

“I cannot pray at Oakwood.  My father and Mr. Horncastle drive away all the prayers that ever were in me, and I mean nothing, even though I keep my word to you.”

“I am glad you do that.  While I know you are doing so, I shall still believe the better angel will triumph.”

“How can aught triumph but hatred and disgust where I am pinned down?  Listen, madam, and hear if good spirits have any chance.  We break our fast, ere the sun is up, on chunks of yesterday’s half-dressed beef and mutton.  If I am seen seeking for a morsel not half raw, I am rated for dainty French tastes; and the same with the sour smallest of beer.  I know now what always made me ill-tempered as a child, and I avoid it, but at the expense of sneers on my French breeding, even though my drink be fair water; for wine, look you, is a sinful expense, save for after dinner, and frothed chocolate for a man is an invention of Satan.  The meal is sauced either with blame of me, messages from the farm-folk, or Bob’s exploits in the chase.  Then my father goes his rounds on the farm, and would fain have me with him to stand knee-deep in mire watching the plough, or feeling each greasy and odorous old sheep in turn to see if it be ready for the knife, or gloating over the bullocks or swine, or exchanging auguries with Thomas Vokes on this or that crop.  Faugh!  And I am told I shall never be good for a country gentleman if I contemn such matters!  I say I have no mind to be a country gentleman, whereby I am told of Esau till I am sick of his very name.”

“But surely you have not always to follow on this round?”