bitter
opposition to our wishes we were to receive from Kenneth's father, who,
although in many respects a good man, was very stern--unpleasantly
stern.

Having done all that could be done for the wrecked people, Lizzie and I
returned to our residence in Wreckumoft at about four in the morning.

Kenneth insisted on walking with us, sending his man home with his
horse, which Lizzie patted on the neck, and called a noble creature. It
was quite evident that Kenneth wished that he himself was his own horse
on that occasion--so evident that Lizzie blushed, and taking my arm
hurriedly urged me to go home as it was "very late."

"Very early would be more correct, my dear," said I, "for it is past
four. You must be tired, Lizzie; it is wrong in me to allow you to
subject yourself to such storms. Give her your arm, Kenneth."

"If Miss Gordon will accept of it," said the youth approaching her
promptly, "I shall be--"

"No, thank you," said Lizzie, interrupting him and clinging closer to
me; "I am not in the least tired, and your assistance is quite
sufficient, uncle."

I must confess to being surprised at this, for it was quite evident to
me that Kenneth admired Lizzie, and I was pretty certain--so was my dear
wife--that Lizzie admired Kenneth, although of course she never gave us
the slightest hint to that effect, and it seemed to me such a good and
reasonable opportunity for--well, well, I need not bore you, reader,
with my wild ideas, so peculiarly adapted it would seem for the
twentieth century--suffice it to say, that I _was_ surprised. But if
truth must be told, I have always lived in a state of surprise in regard
to the thoughts and actions of women, and on this particular night I was
doomed to the unpleasant surprise of being received with a sharp rebuke
from Mrs Bingley, who roundly asserted that she would stand this sort
of thing no longer. That she had no notion of being disturbed at such
unearthly hours by the noisy advent of a disagreeably damp and cold
husband, and that if I intended to continue to be an agent of the
Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, she would insist upon a separate
maintenance!

I was comforted, however, by finding a good fire and a hot cup of coffee
in the parlour for myself and Lizzie, provided by our invaluable
housekeeper, Susan Barepoles, a girl who was worthy of a better name,
being an active, good-looking, cheerful lass. She was the daughter of
the skipper of one of our coal sloo