"That's all very well. Only if you had been tried with them as I have been, I am afraid you would have had to give in to hating them, as well as me, Lucy. I never did like that kind of slang. But what am I to do with old Boxall--I beg your pardon--with your uncle Richard? He'll be sure to write to my father before he sails. They're friends, you know." "Well, but you will be beforehand with him, and then it won't matter. You were going to do it at any rate, and the thing now is to have the start of him," said Lucy, perhaps not sorry to have in the occurrence an additional spur to prick the sides of Thomas's intent. "Yes, yes; that's all very well," returned Thomas, dubiously, as if there was a whole world behind it. "Now, dear Tom, do go home at once, and write. You will save the last post if you do," said Lucy, decidedly; for she saw more and more the necessity, for Thomas's own sake, of urging him to action. "So, instead of giving me a happy evening, you are going to send me home to an empty house!" "You see the thing must be done, or my uncle will be before you," said Lucy, beginning to be vexed with him for his utter want of decision, and with herself for pushing him toward such an act. Indeed, she felt all at once that perhaps she had been unmaidenly. But there was no choice except to do it, or break off the engagement. Now, whether it was that her irritation influenced her tone and infected Tom with like irritation, or that he could not bear being thus driven to do what he so much disliked, while on the whole he would have preferred that Mr. Boxall should tell his father and so save him from the immediate difficulty, the evil spirit in him arose once more in rebellion, and, like the mule that he was, he made an effort to unseat the gentle power that would have urged him along the only safe path on the mountain-side. "Lucy, I will not be badgered in this way. If you can't trust me, you won't get anything that way." Lucy drew back a step and looked at him for one moment; then turned and left the room. Thomas waited for a minute; then, choosing to arouse a great sense of injury in his bosom, took his hat, and went out, banging the door behind him. Just as he banged Lucy's door, out came Mr. Molken from his. It was as if the devil had told a hawk to wait, and he would fetch him a pigeon. "Coming to have your lesson after all?" he asked, as Thomas, from very indecision, made a step or two toward him. "No; I don't feel inclined for a lesson to-night." "Where are you going, then?" "Oh, I don't know," answered Tom; trying to look nohow in particular. "Come along with me, then. I'll show you something of life after dark." "But where are you going?" "You'll see that when we get there. You're not afraid, are you?" "Not I," answered Tom; "only a fellow likes to know where he's going. That's all."