een stories flowed in quick
succession from his pen, none of them, however, reaching the
high standard of his first two--"Geoffry Hamlyn" and
"Ravenshoe." In 1869 Kingsley became editor of the Edinburgh
"Daily Review," and on the outbreak of the Franco-German War
represented that paper at the front. He was present at the
battle of Sedan, and was the first Englishman to enter the
town afterwards.

_I.--In a Devonshire Village_

The twilight of a winter's evening was fast falling into night, and old
John Thornton sat dozing by the fire. His face looked worn and aged, and
anyone might see the old man was unhappy.

What could there be to vex him? Not poverty, at all events, for not a
year ago a relation had left him L5,000, and a like sum to his daughter,
Mary. And his sister--a quiet, good old maid--had come to live with him,
so that now he was comfortably off, and had with him the only two
relations he cared about to make his old age happy. His daughter Mary--a
beautiful girl, merry, impetuous, and thoughtless--was standing at the
window.

The white gate swings on its hinges, and a tall man comes, with rapid,
eager steps, up the walk. The maid, bringing in candles, announces: "Mr.
George Hawker!"

As the light fell on him, any man or woman might have exclaimed
instantly, and with justice, "What a handsome fellow!" Handsome he was,
without doubt, and yet the more you looked at him the less you liked
him. The thin lips, the everlasting smile, the quick, suspicious glance
were fearfully repulsive. He was the only son of a small farmer in one
of the outlying hamlets of Drumston. His mother had died when he was
very young, and he had had little education, and strange stories were in
circulation about that lonely farmhouse, not much to the credit of
father or son; which stories John Thornton must, in his position of
clergyman, have heard somewhat of; so that one need hardly wonder at his
uneasiness when he saw him enter.

For Mary Thornton adored him. The rest of the village disliked and
mistrusted him; but she, with a strange perversity, loved him with her
whole heart and soul. After a few words, the lovers were whispering in
the window.

Presently the gate goes again, and another footfall is heard
approaching.

That is James Stockbridge. I should know that step in a thousand. As he
entered the parlour, John's face grew bright, and he held out his hand
to him; but he got rathe