Mr. Moore," said the rector sternly. "Come with me
or not, as you please."

"Nay, he shall not have the choice; he _shall_ go with you," responded
Yorke. "It's midnight, and past; and I'll have nob'dy staying up i' my
house any longer. Ye mun all go."

He rang the bell.

"Deb," said he to the servant who answered it, "clear them folk out o'
t' kitchen, and lock t' doors, and be off to bed.--Here is your way,
gentlemen," he continued to his guests; and, lighting them through the
passage, he fairly put them out at his front door.

They met their party hurrying out pell-mell by the back way. Their
horses stood at the gate; they mounted, and rode off, Moore laughing at
their abrupt dismissal, Helstone deeply indignant thereat.

CHAPTER V.

HOLLOW'S COTTAGE.

Moore's good spirits were still with him when he rose next morning. He
and Joe Scott had both spent the night in the mill, availing themselves
of certain sleeping accommodations producible from recesses in the front
and back counting-houses. The master, always an early riser, was up
somewhat sooner even than usual. He awoke his man by singing a French
song as he made his toilet.

"Ye're not custen dahn, then, maister?" cried Joe.

"Not a stiver, mon garcon--which means, my lad. Get up, and we'll take a
turn through the mill before the hands come in, and I'll explain my
future plans. We'll have the machinery yet, Joseph. You never heard of
Bruce, perhaps?"

"And th' arrand (spider)? Yes, but I hev. I've read th' history o'
Scotland, and happen knaw as mich on't as ye; and I understand ye to
mean to say ye'll persevere."

"I do."

"Is there mony o' your mak' i' your country?" inquired Joe, as he folded
up his temporary bed, and put it away.

"In my country! Which is my country?"

"Why, France--isn't it?"

"Not it, indeed! The circumstance of the French having seized Antwerp,
where I was born, does not make me a Frenchman."

"Holland, then?"

"I am not a Dutchman. Now you are confounding Antwerp with Amsterdam."

"Flanders?"

"I scorn the insinuation, Joe! I a Flamand! Have I a Flemish face--the
clumsy nose standing out, the mean forehead falling back, the pale blue
eyes 'a fleur de tete'? Am I all body and no legs, like a Flamand? But
you don't know what they are like, those Netherlanders. Joe, I'm an
Anversois. My mother was an Anversoise, though she came of French
lineage, which is the reason I speak French."

"But your father war Yor