om, for his companion was evidently waiting for
an answer.

"Yes; we could have tried some fine experiments with them, whereas they
will be useless and unsalable I expect."

To Tom's great relief the conversation reverted to his life at Gray's
Inn and Mornington Crescent, for the impression would keep growing upon
him that what people said about his uncle's queerness might have some
basis. But this opinion was soon shaken as they went on, for he was
questioned very shrewdly about his cousin and all that had passed
between them, till all at once his companion held out his hand.

"Shake hands, Tom, my boy. We are just entering Furzebrough parish, and
I want to say this:--You came to me with an execrable character--"

"Yes, uncle; I'm very sorry."

"Then I'm not, my lad. For look here: I have been questioning you for
the last hour, and I have observed one thing--in all your statements
about your cousin, who is an abominably ill-behaved young whelp, you
have never once spoken ill-naturedly about him, nor tried to run him
down. I like this, my lad, and in spite of all that has been said, I
believe that you and I will be very good friends indeed."

"Thank you, uncle," said Tom, huskily. "I mean to try."

"I know that, or I wouldn't have brought you home. There, there, look!
quick! before it runs behind that fir clump, that's the old madman's
windmill."

Tom turned sharply to the window, and caught sight of a five-sailed
windmill some five miles away, on a long wooded ridge.

"See it?"

"Yes, uncle; I just caught sight of it."

"That's right; and in five minutes, when we are out of the cutting, you
can see Heatherleigh in the opening between the two fir-woods."

"That's your house, uncle?"

"Yes, my lad--that's my house, where I carry on all my diabolical
schemes, and perform my incantations, as old Mother Warboys says. You
didn't know what a wicked uncle you had."

"No, sir," said Tom, smiling.

"Oh, I'm a dreadful wretch; and you did not know either, that within
five-and-thirty miles of London as the crow flies, there is as much
ignorance and superstition as there was a couple of hundred years or so
ago, when they burnt people for being witches and wizards, and the like.
There, now look; you can just see Heatherleigh there. No; too late--
it's gone."

Tom felt puzzled. One minute he was drawn strongly towards his uncle,
the next he felt uneasy, for there was something peculiar about him.
Then he