“Master Lionel,” I says, “it would seem a dreadful hard sort of thing to do, if we spoke to the captain.” He turns quite pale at the thought of it. “Oh, no,” he says, “Rabbett, I wouldn’t do it. He would be so angry with Rose, and even with mamma. You remember my telling you what he said before.” I remembered well enough, and a pretty hard thing it was to say, even if it had been said in a passion, and not half meant. He had threatened to turn Miss Rose out of doors if she spoke to Roscoe again. He must have heard something bad enough, to have been so roused. “Well,” I ventures, “what can we do, sir?” “Watch,” says he. “I can think of nothing else to do just yet, Rabbett. I will watch Rose, and you shall watch Roscoe; and if the worst comes, and we must tell papa, we must. I suppose, Rabbett, that Roscoe will try to run away with Rose, as Farquhar ran away with that pretty Miss Lewis?” “Yes, sir,” I answers, “I’m afraid he will. But he is a worse man than Farquhar; and if Miss Rose goes away with him, I’m afraid he’ll treat her hard enough when he tires of her, as such men as him always tires of young ladies.” “It would be better, Rabbett,” says he, fixing his dark eyes solemnly on the fire, “it would be better that Rose should die. I know that.” “I am afeard, sir,” says I, “that you are right.” God knows how he had learned to understand, but understand he did, and he were that sad and wise about it that my very heart ached. He had seen an old enough side of life, had Master Lionel, living among the set he did, but he were a young gentleman as nothing could spoil, his nature were that fine-grained. We kept our watch faithful all that week and part of the next, but we found out very little, though we had our suspicions, Master Lionel and me, as things were going on pretty badly in a secret way. But at last the very worst thing as could have happened burst upon us all at once. I was up at the house one evening, doing something or other for Mrs. Dalgetty, when of a sudden I heard a tremendous loud ring at the doorbell; and, going in a hurry to answer it, the captain himself strode past me into the hall, all in a flame with the wine he had been drinking and the passion he were in. I had seen him in towering enough tempers often before, but I had never seen him look as he did then. It was my impression he were pretty near mad; indeed, I thought so then, and have thought so since. How could he have done what he did that night, unless he had not been quite himself? “Rabbett,” says he, “where’s Miss Rose?” “In her own room, sir,” says I, wishing with all my heart that I could have told him she were not in. “Rabbett,” says he, “where’s Mrs. Dalgetty?” “In _her_ own room,” says I, “lying down, a-trying to get rid of a headache.” “Then,” says he, “go and tell Miss Rose to come down to me at once.”