manner that made his
presence there a peril.

He was but a boy, and it was an undefined horror, and he never breathed
a word of it; but oh, there was a weight on that young brow, an anxious
look about the face, and though now and then he would be all joy and
fun, still there was the older, more sorrowful look about him.

We thought he was grieving at not going back to Eton, and Fulk was
living in hopes of an answer to the letter he had written to Francis
Dayman about it, but that was not all. One day--Christmas Eve it
was--Mr. Cradock, on coming into the church to look at the holly
wreaths, found Trevor kneeling on his father's gravestone in the
pavement, sobbing as if his heart was breaking, and heard between the
sobs a broken prayer about "Forgive"--"don't let them do it"--"turn
mother's heart."

Then Mr. Cradock went out of hearing, but he waited for the boy
outside, and asked if he could do anything for him.

"No." Trevor shook his head, thanked him, and grew reserved.

CHAPTER VIII.

DUCK SHOOTING.

Alured's thirteenth birthday was on the 10th of January, and he had
extracted a promise from Fulk, to take him duck-shooting to the mouth
of our little river.

Nothing can be prettier than our tide river by day, with the retreating
banks overhung with trees, the long-legged herons standing in the firs,
looking like toys in a German box; while the breadth of blue water
reflects the trees that bend down to it.

But, on a winter's night, to creep in perfect silence and lie still
under an overhanging bank, not daring to make a sound, till you could
get a shot at the ducks disporting themselves in the moonlight, on the
frozen mud on the banks! Such an occupation could only be endurable
under the name of sport.

However, Fulk and Bertram had had their time, and now Alured was having
the infection in his turn; but Trevor was driven over to spend the day,
much mortified that he had a bad broken chilblain, which made his boots
unwearable, and it was the more disappointing, that it was a very hard
frost, and there was a report that some wild swans had been seen on the
river.

But in the course of the day Jaquetta routed out a pair of India rubber
boots which, with worsted stockings beneath, did not press the
chilblains at all, and after having spent all the day in snow-balling
and building forts, Trevor declared himself far from lame, and resolved
not to lose the fun. He had not come equipped, so Alured