n occasional visitor at Leet Hall, who was
looking out for one.

The new Vicar turned out to be a man after the Captain's heart, a
rollicking, jovial, fox-hunting young parson, as many a parson was in
those days--and took small blame to himself for it. He was only a year
or two past thirty, good-looking, of taking manners and
hail-fellow-well-met with the parish in general, who liked him and
called him to his face Tom Dancox.

All this pleased Captain Monk. But very soon something was to arrive
that did not please him--a suspicion that the young parson and his
daughter Katherine were on rather too good terms with one another.

One day in November he stalked into the drawing-room, where Katherine
was sitting with her aunt. Hubert and Eliza were away at school, also
Mrs. Carradyne's two children.

"Was Dancox here last night?" began Captain Monk.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Carradyne.

"And the evening before--Monday?"

Mrs. Carradyne felt half afraid to answer, the Captain's tone was
becoming so threatening. "I--I think so," she rather hesitatingly said.
"Was he not, Katherine?"

Katherine Monk, a dark, haughty young woman, twenty-one now, turned
round with a flush on her handsome face. "Why do you ask, papa?"

"I ask to be answered," replied he, standing with his hands in the
pockets of his velveteen shooting coat, a purple tinge of incipient
anger rising in his cheeks.

"Then Mr. Dancox did spend Monday evening here."

"And I saw him walking with you in the meadow by the rill this morning,"
continued the Captain. "Look here, Katherine, _no sweet-hearting with
Tom Dancox_. He may do very well for a parson; I like him as such, as
such only, you understand; but he can be no match for you."

"You are disturbing yourself unnecessarily, sir," said Katherine, her
own tone an angry one.

"Well, I hope that is so; I should not like to think otherwise. Anyway,
a word in season does no harm; and, take you notice that I have spoken
it. You also, Emma."

As he left the room, Mrs. Carradyne spoke, dropping her voice:
"Katherine, you know that I had already warned you. I told you it would
not do to fall into any particular friendship with Mr. Dancox; that your
father would never countenance it."

"And if I were to?--and if he did not?" scornfully returned Katherine.
"What then, Aunt Emma?"

"Be silent, child; you must not talk in that strain. Your papa is
perfectly right in this matter. Tom Dancox is not suitable in any