Le Brocq muttered that he ought rather to be paid for all that he had gone through with the pottery business, though he could not fix the payment which would compensate to him for what he had suffered. But he had no doubt, as he said before, that the young man would make a fine thing of it; and the young man should have it. “Then we shall go very soon indeed, shall we?” said Anna. “Brennan does not like to hear us say so.” The boy did indeed look grieved. He was too modest to interrupt their deliberations with the question what was to become of him; but it was struggling in his heart. Perceiving him just about to give way, Anna asked him to see whether it was a dog that was making a little noise against the door. Before he could get to the door, there was a shout which informed them that it was not a dog but a child. Jack Durell was not tall enough to reach the knocker, and he had tried pushing and tapping in vain; so now he shouted, “Father says you are to come directly, and hear the damned bad treatment the people have given him.” “Hush, my dear! hush!” cried Anna. “That is not the way you should ask us to go.” “That was what father bade me tell you,—that you are to come directly, and hear——” “Well, well: we will come. Did your father mean all of us, or which of us?” “You are all to come directly. Father says every body shall know.” “’Tis his turn with these fellows now, I suppose,” Le Brocq observed, looking rather pleased than otherwise. “Come, wife.” Mrs. Le Brocq was still sipping her tea. As she cast her eye over the table, and saw how tempting the remnants of the cakes looked, she felt a distaste to moving away. She sent a long apologetic message to the Durells about being very tired after the agitations consequent on her husband’s release, and was left behind, much to her own satisfaction. CHAPTER V. THE DARKENING HOUR.