ner of the house till the search
after me should have blown over. And the first person whose help he
must needs obtain in this was the tavern keeper's niece, Marian, whom
I thought then, and think to this day, the most handsome creature that
there was in the world, and whom I loved desperately from that hour.

CHAPTER III

_THE BEGINNING OF THE RIVALRY_

And now, lest it be wondered what was done by them at home in the
matter of my flight, I will tell here so much as I afterwards came to
know.

When the letter which I had left behind me was put into my father's
hands, it appears, he read it once through, and delivered it to my
mother. Next, without saying one word, he went out by himself into the
stable, saddled his great horse, Gustavus, which stood seventeen hands
high, presently mounted it, and rode off at a strong gallop, setting
his face towards the London road.

It was not till the end of the second day that he came back, the horse
covered with dirt to the shoulders. He said nothing of where he had
been, but walked into the house with a stern face, and called for the
family Bible, which had belonged to his grandfather in the time of the
Commonwealth. This book was bound in parchment and fastened with iron
clasps, and lay always on the top shelf of the old oak press, whence
it had not been taken down once in a dozen years.

My mother brought it to him trembling, and when she saw him open it at
the blank page within the cover, whereon were written the names of all
the Fords for four generations, she fell upon her knees and implored
him not to carry out what he had in his mind. But he heeded her no
more than if he had been stone deaf, and taking a pen in his right
hand drew it through my name and the date of my birth and baptism,
making a line right across the page, which looks as if it had been
drawn with a ruler to this day. Then he threw the sand upon it, and as
soon as it was dry closed the book and handed it back to my mother,
who was fain to restore it to its place.

All this time not a word had passed his lips. At supper my father ate
but little, and drank still less. When it was time for prayers he bade
my mother read the chapter instead of him, as was his wont when
greatly fatigued. Whereupon that sweet saint, as I must ever have
leave to call her, turned, not to the prophecy of Ezekiel, but to the
gospel of Saint Luke, and read out from that chapter which contains
the parable of the Prodiga