our
father."

"I should not mind that," answered Sep, brutally.

"You would leave Miss Liston?"

"I should have to," was the reply, with conviction.

"Ah, yes," said Colville, with a grave nod of the head. "Yes. I suppose
you would have to if you were anything of a man at all. There would be
no alternative--for a real man."

"Besides," put in Sep, jumping from side to side on his seat with
eagerness, "she would make me--wouldn't you, Miriam?"

Colville had turned away and was looking northward toward the creek,
known as Maiden's Grave, running through the marshes to the river. A
large lug-sail broke the flat line of the horizon, though the boat to
which it belonged was hidden by the raised dyke.

"Would she?" inquired Colville, absent-mindedly, without taking his eyes
from the sail which was creeping slowly toward them. "Well--you know
Miss Liston's character better than I do, Sep. And no doubt you are
right. And you are not that little boy, so it doesn't matter; does it?"

After a pause he turned and glanced sideways at Miriam, who was looking
straight in front of her with steady eyes and white cheeks.

They could hear Loo Barebone singing gaily in the boat, which was hidden
below the level of the dyke. And they watched, in a sudden silence, the
sail pass down the river toward the quay.

CHAPTER IX. A MISTAKE

The tide was ebbing still when Barebone loosed his boat, one night, from
the grimy steps leading from the garden of Maiden's Grave farm down to
the creek. It was at the farm-house that Captain Clubbe now lived when
on shore. He had lived there since the death of his brother, two years
earlier--that grim Clubbe of Maiden's Grave, whose methods of life and
agriculture are still quoted on market days from Colchester to Beccles.

The evenings were shorter now, for July was drawing to a close, and the
summer is brief on these coasts. The moon was not up yet, but would soon
rise. Barebone hoisted the great lug-sail, that smelt of seaweed and
tannin. There was a sleepy breeze blowing in from the cooler sea, to
take the place of that hot and shimmering air which had been rising all
day from the corn-fields. He was quicker in his movements than those who
usually handled these stiff ropes and held the clumsy tiller. Quick--and
quiet for once. He had been three nights to the rectory, only to find
the rector there, vaguely kind, looking at him with a watery eye,
through the spectacles which were rarely