imself, and not daring to seize the staff
whirled about his head, turned round and fled across the heath followed
by the shouts and shrieks of the unhappy creature who seemed to triumph
in his discomfiture. He did not stop till he got out of her sight, when
sitting down to rest, he tried to recover himself before venturing to
enter the mill.

Miles Gaffin listened to his son's account with a contemptuous sneer on
his lips. Another subject was at that moment occupying his thoughts.
He had just received notice from Sir Ralph's steward to quit the mill
the day his lease expired.

"It is old Groocock's doing," he told his son. "Sir Ralph takes no
charge of such matters, though I should expect no favour from his hands.
We are old foes, and though he does not know me, I know him. I would
be revenged on him, and I would burn Texford over his head without
compunction, had I not good reason for preserving the place. Had you
succeeded with Maiden May as she is called, the way would have been
smoother. Fool as you are, you can keep counsel. Now listen. The
_Lively_ will be here again ere long with all her old crew, and a few
other bold fellows we have picked up of late. We will make sharp work
of it--first embark all the goods stored here, then with a strong hand
push on to Texford, take my revenge on Sir Ralph and his chattering old
steward, then set fire to the mill, and get on board the lugger before
half-a-dozen men can collect to oppose us. I think I may trust you
meantime with another piece of work. You shall have half-a-dozen
fellows, and you can surround Downside, and may bring on board either of
the ladies you like. As the girl is supposed to be hard-hearted, you
may secure one of the old ones; I leave that to you."

"Trust me for the one I'll lay my hands on," answered Miles. "If you
will give me the men, you may depend that I will not let her slip this
time."

"Well, I think you have got sense enough to do that, and the _Lively_
will not be here many hours before our plan has been carried out, and we
are away from Hurlston."

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

A WARNING VOICE.

Poor Maiden May, as her loving friends still delighted to call her,
waited day after day, anxious at not receiving a contradiction of the
report of Harry's loss. True it is that "hope deferred maketh the
heart-sick;" her cheeks lost their bloom, her step its elastic tread;
still she performed her wonted duties, her voice was as melo