r lips in harsher terms."

They were silent for full a minute, Yorke busying himself with the
titles of the documents upon the table, written out in the chaplain's
sprawling hand.

"Your mother must be a most remarkable woman," observed the latter,
thoughtfully. "Is she still young-looking for her age?"

"Yes; very. What a queer docket is here! '_Tin Mine. Refused_:' What does
that mean?"

"It is an application from one Trevethick, an inn-keeper, to purchase a
disused mine at Gethin, on the west coast of Cornwall, which Carew has
declined. Two thousand pounds was offered on the nail, a sum far beyond
its value; but it is one of his crazes that his property there is very
valuable, and it's evident that this Trevethick thinks so too--whereas
it is only picturesque. For grandeur of position, Gethin Castle, or
rather what is left of it, for it is a ruin, is indeed unequaled! You
should take your sketch-book down there, some day. May I ask, by-the-by,
are you only an amateur in that way, or a professional?"

"I am an artist by profession. I live by my pencil, save for what my
mother allows me out of Carew's pittance. That is small enough, you
know. Hollo! there are the hounds coming round to the front! I suppose
Carew and the rest of them will soon be in the saddle?"

"And you have never made money by any other means?" pursued the
chaplain, thoughtfully.

"Never. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it seemed so strange that a lad like you should find purchasers
for his works," returned the chaplain, carelessly. "The Picture-gallery
here will be of service to you, no doubt."

"Yes. I shall get my education at Crompton, if I get nothing else," said
Yorke; "and indeed, as I have no desire to peril my neck out hunting, I
shall set to work at once. Good-morning, Mr. Chaplain, and many thanks."
And with a nod and a smile, the young man left the room.

Parson Whymper looked after him with a grave face. "I wonder whether
Fane was right," he muttered. "He seemed quite positive; though, 'tis
true, he owed him a grudge for potting him at pool. There was something
wrong in that young fellow's face as he said 'Never,' when I asked him
that question as to whether he gained money by other means. If he lied,
the lying must have come from the mother's side. That woman must be a
marvel. Well, I'm sorry, for I should have liked Richard Yorke to have
had his chance here."

CHAPTER IX.

IN BLOOMSBURY.

It was the evening of the day