, snatching the sermon from her
hand, told her to go and call Miss Mary, or he'd lay his stick about
her back.

The girl was frightened--she had never seen her master in this state of
mind before. So she ran out of the room, and, having fetched Mary,
ensconced herself outside the door to hear what was the matter.

Mary tripped into the room looking pretty and fresh. "Why, father," she
said, "you have been up all night. I have ordered you a cup of coffee.
How is old Jewel?"

"Dead," said the Vicar. "Never mind him. Mary, I want to speak to you,
seriously, about something that concerns the happiness of your whole
life."

"Father," she said, "you frighten me. Let me get you your coffee before
you begin, at all events."

"Stay where you are, I order you," said the father. "I will have no
temporizing until the matter grows cold. I will speak now; do you hear.
Now, listen."

She was subdued, and knew what was coming. She sat down, and waited.
Had he looked in her face, instead of in the fire, he would have seen
an expression there which he would little have liked--a smile of
obstinacy and self-will.

"I am not going to mince matters, and beat about the bush, Mary," he
began. "What I say I mean, and will have it attended to. You are very
intimate with young Hawker, and that intimacy is very displeasing to
me."

"Well?" she said.

"Well," he answered. "I say it is not well. I will not have him here."

"You are rather late, father," she said. "He has had the run of this
house these six months. You should have spoken before."

"I speak now, miss," said the Vicar, succeeding in working himself into
a passion, "and that is enough. I forbid him the house, now!"

"You had better tell him so, father. I won't."

"I daresay you won't," said the Vicar. "But I have told him so already
this morning."

"You have!" she cried. "Father, you had no right to do that. You
encouraged him here. And now my love is given, you turn round and try
to break my heart."

"I never encouraged him. You all throw that in my face. You have no
natural affection, girl. I always hated the man. And now I have heard
things about him sufficient to bar him from any honest man's house."

"Unjust!" she said. "I will never believe it."

"I daresay you won't," said the Vicar. "Because you don't want to. You
are determined to make my life miserable. There was Jim Stockbridge.
Such a noble, handsome, gentlemanly young fellow, and nothing would
please