ce, when he brought sin into the world, and ruined it. I
dare not believe that. How dare you, who say that God sent His Son
into the world to defeat the devil?'

Tregarva was silent a while.

'Learning and the Gospel together ought to do something, sir,
towards mending it. One would think so. But the prophecies are
against that.'

'As folks happen to read them just now. A hundred years hence they
may be finding the very opposite meaning in them. Come, Tregarva,--
Suppose I teach you a little of the learning, and you teach me a
little of the Gospel--do you think we two could mend the world
between us, or even mend Whitford Priors?'

'God knows, sir,' said Tregarva.

* * * * *

'Tregarva,' said Lancelot, as they were landing the next trout,
'where will that Crawy go, when he dies?'

'God knows, sir,' said Tregarva.

* * * * *

Lancelot went thoughtful home, and sat down--not to answer Luke's
letter--for he knew no answer but Tregarva's, and that, alas! he
could not give, for he did not believe it, but only longed to
believe it. So he turned off the subject by a question--

'You speak of yourself as being already a member of the Romish
communion. How is this? Have you given up your curacy? Have you
told your father? I fancy that if you had done so I must have heard
of it ere now. I entreat you to tell me the state of the case, for,
heathen as I am, I am still an Englishman; and there are certain old
superstitions still lingering among us--whencesoever we may have got
them first--about truth and common honesty--you understand me.--

'Do not be angry. But there is a prejudice against the truthfulness
of Romish priests and Romish converts.--It's no affair of mine. I
see quite enough Protestant rogues and liars, to prevent my having
any pleasure in proving Romanists, or any other persons, rogues and
liars also. But I am--if not fond of you--at least sufficiently
fond to be anxious for your good name. You used to be an open-
hearted fellow enough. Do prove to the world that coelum, non
animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt.'

CHAPTER IX: HARRY VERNEY HEARS HIS LAST SHOT FIRED

The day after the Lavingtons' return, when Lancelot walked up to the
Priory with a fluttering heart to inquire after all parties, and see
one, he found the squire in a great state of excitement.

A large gang of poachers, who had come down from London by rail, had
been devastating all