"Ay, that would I. As it was, I threatened him with my servants; and had he ventured to force his way into yonder room, they should have flogged him, though he were ten times Sir Massingberd. Better men than he are often flogged for less offences. Did you hear of Admiral Flinthert's funeral at Crittenden a month ago or so? You did; and I daresay you were told that he was a good man and a brave sailor." "So it was said, indeed, sir," replied I. "Mr. Long attended the funeral out of respect, and I believe a great number of gentlemen of the county." "Yet, for all that, he was a bad man, and a coward," returned Mr. Gerard, his voice rising, and his blue eyes flashing with indignation. "One part of the naval creed--'to hate the French'--it is true, he did believe, and acted in that faith; but he omitted the other, and the more important, 'to hate the devil.' He loved and served the devil of his own arrogant passions; he made the men miserable over whom he ruled; his ship was called the Floating Hell. When the carriage of the lord-lieutenant had driven away from the church, with all its load of sympathy--for there was nothing else inside it--and the county gentry were rolling homewards, congratulating themselves that they had paid due reverence to a gallant officer and a friend of order and good government, I will tell you what happened. The very evening those honoured remains were laid in their resting-place, a sailor called at the house of old Marks, the sexton, and begged to be shown the admiral's coffin. 'I have sailed with him for years,' said he, 'and I have made right away from Portsmouth on purpose to do this; and though I cannot see his face, I should like at least to look upon that which contains it.' "Now, old Marks did not fancy unlocking the church, and descending into a damp vault; beside which, he had really no right to enter the last home of the Flintherts without due occasion. So said he, 'I cannot admit you to where the admiral lies, and certainly not at this hour; it is as much as my place is worth.' "Then the sailor, who was as fine and hearty-looking a man, said Marks, as need be, held up half a sovereign between his finger and thumb. 'I have been just paid off,' said he, 'and will gladly give you this for your trouble; while as for your scruples, why, don't you think the admiral's family here, and all his great friends who came to do him honour to-day, would be glad enough that a poor tar should pay a humble tribute to his memory?' "'Well,' said Marks, regarding, I daresay, the half-sovereign, rather wistfully, 'what you have just said seems certainly to alter the matter. I will take you to the church, and you shall see the coffin, for the vault is not yet sealed.' "So they started with a lantern, and Marks was for going first to show the way, but the sailor went ahead, saying that he knew the road blindfold, for that he had been brought up in that neighbourhood, and knew it well.