, and in short in such a final bodily
disorder as made him alike incapable of speech or hearing. And in the
midst of all this turmoil, a sense of unpardonable injustice remained
graven in his memory.

CHAPTER III

IN THE ADMIRAL'S NAME

There was no return to the subject. Dick and his father were henceforth
on terms of coldness. The upright old gentleman grew more upright when
he met his son, buckrammed with immortal anger; he asked after Dick's
health, and discussed the weather and the crops with an appalling
courtesy; his pronunciation was _point-de-vice_, his voice was distant,
distinct, and sometimes almost trembling with suppressed indignation.

As for Dick, it seemed to him as if his life had come abruptly to an
end. He came out of his theories and clevernesses; his premature
man-of-the-worldness, on which he had prided himself on his travels,
"shrank like a thing ashamed" before this real sorrow. Pride, wounded
honour, pity and respect tussled together daily in his heart; and now he
was within an ace of throwing himself upon his father's mercy, and now
of slipping forth at night and coming back no more to Naseby House. He
suffered from the sight of his father, nay, even from the neighbourhood
of this familiar valley, where every corner had its legend, and he was
besieged with memories of childhood. If he fled into a new land, and
among none but strangers, he might escape his destiny, who knew? and
begin again light-heartedly. From that chief peak of the hills, that now
and then, like an uplifted finger, shone in an arrow of sunlight through
the broken clouds, the shepherd in clear weather might perceive the
shining of the sea. There, he thought, was hope. But his heart failed
him when he saw the Squire; and he remained. His fate was not that of
the voyager by sea and land; he was to travel in the spirit, and begin
his journey sooner than he supposed.

For it chanced one day that his walk led him into a portion of the
uplands which was almost unknown to him. Scrambling through some rough
woods, he came out upon a moorland reaching towards the hills. A few
lofty Scots firs grew hard by upon a knoll; a clear fountain near the
foot of the knoll sent up a miniature streamlet which meandered in the
heather. A shower had just skimmed by, but now the sun shone brightly,
and the air smelt of the pines and the grass. On a stone under the trees
sat a young lady sketching. We have learned to think of women in a