A regular duel was fought over that meal between the heads, Sage hardly raising her eyes, but looking more and more troubled as the Mallow attack and defence went on, while Luke Ross was so intent upon his own thoughts that he hardly heard a word. It was with quite a feeling of relief, then, that Sage heard her uncle say-- "I like parson, not as a parson, but as a man: for the way in which he has tended that poor sick woman 's an honour to him; but, as for his way of bringing up children, why, if I had carried on my farm in such a fashion I should have been in the Court o' Bankruptcy years ago. Best thing Mallow could do would be to put the fellow with me to learn farming, and me have the right to do what I liked with him, and five-and-twenty to two? Is it, my dear? I didn't know it was so late-- and make us truly thankful, Amen." There was a general scrooping of chairs after this condensed grace, Sage hurrying off to put on her hat and jacket, and her aunt running after her to say, in a mysterious whispered confidence-- "Don't you take any notice of uncle, my dear. He don't mean half he says." "You'll walk back with Sage, of course, Luke?" said the Churchwarden, quietly, as he drew his chair to the fire for his after-dinner pipe. "Well, my boy, I think you're right about what you settled; but I suppose I had something to do with your altering your mind?" "Yes, sir, I must own to that." "Well," said the Churchwarden, thoughtfully, "I hope it's for the best; I meant it to be. You'll go back to London, then, soon?" "Almost directly, sir, to begin working hard." "That's right, my boy. I believe in work. Come over here whenever you are down at Lawford. I shall be very glad to see you, my lad, very." Then, pulling out his watch, he consulted it, and went on chatting for a few minutes as if to keep Luke from speaking about the subject near to his heart, but at last he broke in--"I need hardly say, sir, that I go meaning to work up to the point you named, and--" "Yes, yes, yes, my lad; let that rest. Let's see how things go. You're both young," he cried, pulling out his big silver watch once more. "I say, mother," he shouted, "tell Sage that Luke's waiting to walk back with her. She'll be late for school." Then like a chill to Luke Ross came back Mrs Portlock's voice-- "Sage? Oh, she went out by the back way ten minutes ago." PART ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. CYNTHIA'S KNIGHTS. That was all--those few insolent, grossly-insulting words--and then the big fellow stood staring after the frightened girls. "Take my hand, Julia," whispered the younger sister; and if, as we read in the old novelists, a glance would kill, the flash of indignant lightning that darted from her bright eyes would have laid Jock Morrison dead in the road.