independent income of his own, beside his
church revenues of ninety pounds a year; and I don't think a more harmless
and docile little husband could be found anywhere; and I think, Miss Maud,
_you_ seemed a good deal interested, too.'

I laughed and blushed, I suppose; and Cousin Monica, skipping after her
wont to quite another matter, said in her odd frank way--

'And how has Silas been?--not cross, I hope, or very odd. There was a
rumour that your brother, Dudley, had gone a soldiering to India, Milly, or
somewhere; but that was all a story, for he has turned up, just as usual.
And what does he mean to do with himself? He has got some money now--your
poor father's will, Maud. Surely he doesn't mean to go on lounging and
smoking away his life among poachers, and prize-fighters, and worse people.
He ought to go to Australia, like Thomas Swain, who, they say, is making a
fortune--a great fortune--and coming home again. That's what your brother
Dudley should do, if he has either sense or spirit; but I suppose he
won't--too long abandoned to idleness and low company--and he'll not have a
shilling left in a year or two. Does he know, I wonder, that his father has
served a notice or something on Dr. Bryerly, telling him to pay sixteen
hundred pounds of poor Austin's legacy to _him_, and saying that he has
paid debts of the young man, and holds his acknowledgments to that amount?
He won't have a guinea in a year if he stays here. I'd give fifty pounds he
was in Van Diemen's Land--not that I care for the cub, Milly, any more than
you do; but I really don't see any honest business he has in England.'

Milly gaped in a total puzzle as Lady Knollys rattled on.

'You know, Milly, you must not be talking about this when you go home to
Bartram, because Silas would prevent your coming to me any more if he
thought I spoke so freely; but I can't help it: so you must promise to be
more discreet than I. And I am told that all kinds of claims are about to
be pressed against him, now that he is thought to have got some money; and
he has been cutting down oak and selling the bark, Doctor Bryerly has been
told, in that Windmill Wood; and he has kilns there for burning charcoal,
and got a man from Lancashire who understands it--Hawk, or something like
that.'

'Ay, Hawkes--Dickon Hawkes; that's Pegtop, you know, Maud,' said Milly.

'Well, I dare say; but a man of very bad character, Dr. Bryerly says; and
he has written to Mr. Danvers abou