," he added, thoughtfully, as he muffled himself up
again in his furs, and relapsed into silence.

Soon, following the track of those black figures across the snow, we
came to a cluster of peat huts, alongside of the moorland road. John
took one of the carriage-lamps in his hand, and went in, without saying
a word. To my surprise Lord Ravenel presently dismounted and followed
him. I was left with the reins in my hand, and two or three of those
ill-visaged men hovered about the carriage; but no one attempted to do
me any harm. Nay, when John reappeared, after a lapse of some minutes,
one of them civilly picked up the whip and put it into his hand.

"Thank you. Now, my men, tell me what did you want with me just now?"

"Money," cried one. "Work," shouted another.

"And a likely way you went about to get it! Stopping me in the dark,
on a lonely road, just like common robbers. I did not think any
Enderley men would have done a thing so cowardly."

"We bean't cowards," was the surly answer. "Thee carries pistols, Mr.
Halifax."

"You forced me to do it. My life is as precious to my wife and
children, as--as that poor fellow's to his." John stopped. "God help
us, my men! it's a hard world for us all sometimes. Why did you not
know me better? Why not come to my house and ask honestly for a dinner
and a half-crown?--you should have had both, any day."

"Thank'ee sir," was the general cry. "And, sir," begged one old man,
"you'll hush up the 'crowner's 'quest--you and this gentleman here. You
won't put us in jail, for taking to the road, Mr. Halifax?"

"No;--unless you attack me again. But I am not afraid--I'll trust you.
Look here!" He took the pistol out of his breast-pocket, cocked it,
and fired its two barrels harmlessly into the air. "Now, good-night;
and if ever I carry fire-arms again, it will be your fault, not mine."

So saying, he held the carriage-door open for Lord Ravenel, who took
his place with a subdued and thoughtful air: then mounting the
box-seat, John drove, in somewhat melancholy silence, across the snowy,
starlit moors to Beechwood.

CHAPTER XXXII

In the home-light.

It was a scene--glowing almost as those evening pictures at Longfield.
Those pictures, photographed on memory by the summer sun of our lives,
and which no paler after-sun could have power to reproduce. Nothing
earthly is ever reproduced in the same form. I suppose Heaven meant it
to be so; that in the perpe