see my father. Before that, there was a Godfrey; we have his picture; it hangs in Moore’s bedroom; it is like me. Of his character we know nothing; but I am sure it was different to his descendants’; he has long curling dark hair; he is carefully and cavalierly dressed. Having said that he is like me, I need not add that he is handsome.’

‘You are not handsome, Martin.’

‘No; but wait a while; just let me take my time; I mean to begin from this day to cultivate, to polish— and we shall see.’

‘You are a very strange—a very unaccountable boy, Martin; but don’t imagine you ever will be handsome; you cannot.’

‘I mean to try. But we were talking about Mrs. Pryor; she must be the most unnatural mamma in existence, coolly to let her daughter come out in this weather. Mine was in such a rage, because I would go to church; she was fit to fling the kitchen brush after me.’

‘Mamma was very much concerned about me; but I am afraid I was obstinate; I would go.’

‘To see me?’

‘Exactly; I thought of nothing else. I greatly feared the snow would hinder you from coming; you don’t know how pleased I was to see you all by yourself in the pew.’

‘I came to fulfil my duty, and set the parish a good example. And so you were obstinate, were you? I should like to see you obstinate, I should. Wouldn’t I have you in good discipline if I owned you! Let me take the umbrella.’

‘I can’t stay two minutes—our dinner will be ready.’

‘And so will ours; and we have always a hot dinner on Sundays. Roast goose to-day, with apple-pie and rice-pudding. I always contrive to know the bill of fare. Well, I like these things uncommonly, but I’ll make the sacrifice, if you will.’

‘We have a cold dinner. My uncle will allow no unnecessary cooking on the Sabbath. But I must return—the house would be in commotion if I failed to appear.’

‘So will Briarmains, bless you! I think I hear my father sending out the overlooker and five of the dyers to look in six directions for the body of his prodigal son in the snow, and my mother repenting her of her many misdeeds towards me, now I am gone.’

‘Martin, how is Mr. Moore?’

‘That is what you came for—just to say that word.’

‘Come, tell me quickly.’

‘Hang him! he is no worse, but as ill-used as ever— mewed up, kept in solitary confinement. They mean to make either an idiot or a maniac of him, and take out a commission of lunacy. Horsfall starves him—you saw how thin he was.’

‘You were very good the other day, Martin.’

‘What day? I am always good—a model.’

‘When will you be so good again?’