obliged to bottle up his wrath (the only spirit, alas! That he ever did
bottle up), and to leave Mr Tankardew in possession. When he was gone,
the old man looked keenly at mother and daughter. Mrs Franklin
coloured and sighed. Mary turned very red and then very pale, and took
an earnest passing interest in the pattern of the hearthrug.

"A very musical young gentleman, Mr Mark Rothwell," said their visitor
dryly. "I wish he'd breathe as much harmony into his home as he
breathes melody out of his flute." Neither mother nor daughter spoke,
but Mary's heart beat very fast. "Hem! I see," continued the other,
"you don't believe it! Only slander, malice, lies. Well, take my word
for it, the love that comes out of the brandy flask will never get into
the teapot. I wish you both a very good morning; ay, better one than
this, a great deal;" and with a sternness of manner quite unusual, the
old man took his leave.

"How cruel! How unjust!" exclaimed Mary, when Mr Tankardew was gone.
"Poor Mark! Every one strikes at him."

But _was_ it cruel? _was_ it unjust? Let us go with Mark Rothwell
himself, as he leaves his house that very night, sneaking out at the
backdoor like a felon.

A few hundred yards to the rear of the outbuildings stood a neat and
roomy cottage; this was occupied by John Gubbins, the coachman, a man
bound to Mark by unlimited donations of beer, and equally bound to a
gang of swindlers who had floated their way to his pocket and privacy on
the waves of strong drink. John had been gambling with these men, and
had of course lost his money to them, and somebody else's too: the hard-
earned savings of one of the maids who had trusted him to put them in
the bank: of course he meant to repay them, with interest; that is to
say, when the luck turned in his favour; but luck, like fortune, is
blind, and tramples on those who court her most. It was very dark
outside, as Mark groped his way along; but a muffled light showed him
where the cottage window was. Three times he gave a long, low whistle,
and then knocked four distinct raps on the door, which was cautiously
opened by a man with a profusion of hair, beard and whiskers, which
looked as though they did not belong to him, as was probably the case,
not only with his hair, but with everything else that he wore, including
some tarnished ornaments.

"All right, sir, come in," he said, and Mark entered.

What a scene for a young man brought up as he had