quite right there. Stick
to that yourself. But, remember, that you are not to knock under to
any of your enemies. The worst that you will meet with are folly, and
vice, and extravagance."

"That's of course," said Peregrine, by no means wishing on the
present occasion to bring under discussion his future contests with
any such enemies as those now named by his grandfather.

"And now, suppose you dress for dinner," said the baronet. "I've got
ahead of you there you see. What I've told you to-day I have already
told your mother."

"I'm sure she doesn't think you right."

"If she thinks me wrong, she is too kind and well-behaved to
say so,--which is more than I can say for her son. Your mother,
Perry, never told me that I was wrong yet, though she has had many
occasions;--too many, too many. But, come, go and dress for dinner."

"You are wrong in this, sir, if ever you were wrong in your life,"
said Peregrine, leaving the room. His grandfather did not answer him
again, but followed him out of the door, and walked briskly across
the hall into the drawing-room.

"There's Peregrine been lecturing me about draining," he said to his
daughter-in-law, striving to speak in a half-bantering tone of voice,
as though things were going well with him.

"Lecturing you!" said Mrs. Orme.

"And he's right, too. There's nothing like it. He'll make a better
farmer, I take it, than Lucius Mason. You'll live to see him know the
value of an acre of land as well as any man in the county. It's the
very thing that he's fit for. He'll do better with the property than
ever I did."

There was something beautiful in the effort which the old man was
making when watched by the eyes of one who knew him as well as did
his daughter-in-law. She knew him, and understood all the workings of
his mind, and the deep sorrow of his heart. In very truth, the star
of his life was going out darkly under a cloud; but he was battling
against his sorrow and shame--not that he might be rid of them
himself, but that others might not have to share them. That doctrine
of "No surrender" was strong within his bosom, and he understood
the motto in a finer sense than that in which his grandson had used
it. He would not tell them that his heart was broken,--not if he
could help it. He would not display his wound if it might be in his
power to hide it. He would not confess that lands, and houses, and
seignorial functions were no longer of value in his eyes. As far as