"We can soon get home, Mr Perry-Morton," said Cynthia, with the malicious look coming back into her eyes, and chasing away one that was very soft and sweet. "Wouldn't you like to go after Lord Artingale?" "What! and leave you two unprotected?" said the apostle, loudly. "No, I could not, to save my life." He did not, but attended the ladies right up to the rectory, sending their father into a fury, and then leading a party of servants to the pursuit of the tramps, as they were dubbed, but only to meet Lord Artingale at the end of a couple of hours returning unsuccessful from his chase. For he had not seen either of the fellows, from the fact that as soon as the ladies had gone they had quietly entered the wood, to lie down amongst the mossy hazel stubbs, from which post of vantage they had seen the young man go by. "Hadn't we better hook it, Jock?" said the lesser vagabond. "Hook it? No. What for? We haven't done nothing agen the lor." There was hot indignation at the rectory, and Frank and Cyril went straight to Tom Morrison's cottage, frightening the wheelwright's wife, and making her look paler as she took refuge with Budge in the back, only coming forward after repeated summonses, and then keeping the girl with her, as she said, truthfully, that Jock Morrison had not been there for days. "What's the matter?" said Tom, coming from his workshop, and looking sternly at the two visitors. "Matter!" cried Frank, fiercely; "we want that brother of yours; he has been insulting my sister." "Then you had better find him and punish him," said Tom, coldly. "Where is he?" "You are a parson's sons," said Tom, bitterly, "and ought to know Scripture. `Am I my brother's keeper?'" "Look here, you Tom Morrison," cried Frank, "no insolence; I've only just come back home, but while I stay I'll not have my sisters insulted by a blackguard family who have got a hold in the parish, and do it out of spite because my father could not act as they wanted." "Out of my place!" roared Tom, fiercely. "How dare you bring up that, you coward!" "Tom! Tom! oh, for my sake, pray!" cried Polly, throwing herself upon his breast just as he was about to seize Cyril, who had stepped before his brother. "Well, for thy sake, yes," said Tom, passing his arm round his wife. "Frank and Cyril Mallow, don't come to my place again, or there may be mischief." "Do you dare to threaten us, you dog?" cried Frank. "He ought to know what a magistrate's power--" began Cyril, but he glanced at Polly and checked himself. "Here, come away, Frank. Look here, Tom Morrison, where is your brother Jock?" "I don't know," said Tom, sternly, "and if I did I should not tell you. This is my house, gentlemen, and I want neither truck nor trade with you and yours." "I'll have you both flogged," cried Frank. "A pretty thing that two ladies can't go along the lanes without being insulted! By Gad, if--"