ster's suspicions. At length, after a long wrangle and many threats,
he was dismissed to bed, whither he gladly betook himself, having by
this time arrived at the conclusion that his master had either drunk
too much brandy or was losing his reason.

A few days later Mr. Coverthorne sent for the lad, and told him to go
to the cottage of the hind and bring back an answer to some inquiry
about the sheep.

"If I'm not in the parlour when you return," Mr. Coverthorne had said,
"step inside, and wait there till I come back."

In obedience to his orders Tom went to the hind, and returning entered
the parlour, only to find that his master was not there. The room
presented an exactly similar appearance to what it had done on the
occasion of his previous visit: the lamp was lit, and beside it was the
brass-bound box, while a little further along was the tray with glass
and decanter. Cap in hand, the boy remained standing just inside the
door, wondering how long he would have to wait. It was while thus
employed that his attention became attracted towards a curtain which
covered the bay window at the end of the room. Almost in the centre of
the drapery, which was old and faded, was a hole, and behind this
something sparkled in the ray of the lamp. It did not take Tom long to
discover that this something was an eye peering at him from behind the
screen. Startled at the knowledge that he was being watched, the lad
was about to run from the room and raise an alarm of robbers, when the
curtain was flung aside, and with a laugh Mr. Coverthorne stepped out
into the room, and asked the boy in a jocular manner what he was
staring at. Nicholas was not given to joking with any man, least of
all with his servants, and this erratic behaviour served to strengthen
in Tom's mind the impression that his master was certainly going mad.

"Ever since that time I've seen him a-watching, watching me wherever I
goes and whatever I does," concluded the boy. "Once he told me what
he'd do to any one as couldn't mind their own business, though I'm sure
I've not been prying into other folk's affairs. He follows me about;
he's got a grudge against me for something--I can see it in his evil
eye--and some day he'll pay it off. I won't stay there any longer; I'm
going for a soldier."

It was in vain that we tried to dissuade Tom Lance from his purpose,
and induce him to return to Stonebank. He stubbornly refused to listen
to our arguments. It w