They followed with guns and staves, but Jerry Clink was safe. “And what young man is this?” asked Mr. Lupton, as he turned to gaze at Colin, and by the lights which now shone in the apartment beheld a noble, open countenance, and a pair of bold, dark eyes, whose look brought a flush of heat up in the squire's face, and made him for a moment dream that he gazed into a mirror, so much were they the counterpart of his own. “Whoever you are,” pursued the squire, “I owe you much for this brave interposition. I am indebted to you, young man, perhaps for my life; certainly for sound bones and a whole skin. Sit down--sit down a moment. But stop; this will do at present.” And he drew out his purse containing nearly ten guineas, and tendered it to Colin, “Take this, until I can do something better for you.” “No, sir, thank you,” replied the youth. “I do not want money: and if I did, I could not take it for only doing right. I came to speak to you, sir, about something else, if you will allow me.” “Not take it!” exclaimed Mr. Lupton, in astonishment,--“then you were not born in Yorkshire, were you?” “Yes, sir, I was,” answered he: “I was born and brought up in this village, though you do not know me.” “Indeed! Why, I do not remember to have remarked you before. Who are you? What is your name?” “Colin Clink, sir, is my name.” The squire sat down and turned away his face, so that the lad could not see it, as he asked, in an altered and somewhat tremulous voice, if Mrs. Clink, that kept the shop, was his mother? “Yes, sir,” replied Colin, “she is; but I never knew my father.” Mr. Lupton was for some moments silent. He placed his elbow on the back of his chair, and his open hand over his eyes, as if to screen them. Something had touched his bosom suddenly; but the lad knew not what. At length, and evidently with some effort, though without changing his position in the least, Mr. Lupton said, “I cannot talk with you now, young man: that fellow has ruffled me. Take that purse, and come again some other time. I shall be from home nearly three weeks. Come again this day three weeks, and I shall have something of importance to talk to you about. Take particular notice, now, and be punctual. But what are you doing? and where do you live?” Colin satisfied him on both these particulars. The squire continued, “Then come as I have appointed, and your situation shall be exchanged for a better. I will make your fortune: but I cannot talk now. Come again, my boy,--come again.” Colin stood a few moments in silent suspense as to the course to be pursued. The unexpected event which had taken place had entirely defeated the purpose for which he had ventured to Kiddal Hall, while the squire's language half confounded him. Should he speak again? He dared not, except to express his thanks; retiring therefore from the room, he left the squire's purse untouched upon the table. Colin reached Whinmoor shortly before ten o'clock.