For a few moments Max Bray was speechless with rage and astonishment. To think that he, Maximilian Bray, should have been bowled over, battered, and made to flee ignominiously by a sheep! It was positively awful. "You--you--you beast! you--you woolly brute!" he stuttered at last. "I'll--I'll--bai Jove, I'll shoot you as sure as you're there!--I will, bai Jove!" But now the worst of the affair flashed upon him, making torn clothes, thorns in the flesh, and battered hat seem as nothing, though these were in his estimation no trifles; but this was the second time within the past few days that he had been wounded in his self-esteem. "And now there's that confounded coy jade run home laughing at me--I'm sure she has!" he muttered. "Not that there was anything to laugh at; but never mind: `Every dog--' My turn will come! But to be upset like this! And--what? you won't let me come through!" There was no doubt about it. The Southdown was keeping guard at the stile, and Max Bray, after trying to repair damages, was glad to make his way back to the Elms by a circuitous route, and then to creep in by the side-door unseen, vowing vengeance the while against those who had brought him to that pass. "But I'll make an end of the sheep!" he exclaimed--"I will, bai Jove!" Volume 1, Chapter X. ELLA'S COMFORTER. Most persons possessed of feeling will readily agree that scarcely anything could be more unpleasant than for a gentleman, bent upon making himself attractive to a lady, to meet with such a misfortune as to be taken, while in a stooping position, for a defiant beast, and to have to encounter the full force of a woolly avalanche, or so much live mutton discharged, as from a catapult, right upon the crown of his head. Max Bray was extremely sore afterwards--sore in person and temper: but the most extraordinary part of the affair is, that his head never ached from the fierce blow. It would perhaps be invidious to offer remarks about thickness, or to make comparisons; but certainly for two or three days after, when he encountered Ella Bedford, Max Bray did wear, in spite of his effrontery, a decidedly sheepish air. But not for a longer period. At the end of that time a great deal of the soreness had worn off, and he was nearly himself again. But with Ella Bedford the case was different. She was hourly awakening to the fact that hers was to be no pleasant sojourn at the Elms; and with tearful eyes she thought of the happy old days at home before sickness fell upon the little country vicarage, and then death removed the simple, good-hearted village clergyman from his flock, to be followed all too soon by his mourning wife. "I have nothing to leave you, my child--nothing!" were almost the father's last words. "Always poor and in delicate health, I could only keep out of debt. But your mother, help her--be kind to her," he whispered.