"Between them, however, they have willed away the estates to my cousin Tony Gauntlet, who bids fair to make ducks and drakes of them, even before his succession comes to pass, for he is deeply involved with jockeys and Jew money-lenders. But I care not what happens, if I am not separated, my sweet little love, from you." I pressed her to my breast long and passionately. For several nights I visited Ruth's window in this clandestine manner; and became so expert in the matter, that I actually rubbed the sash of my casement with soap, that it might run smoothly and noiselessly. As yet there came no reply from Sir Basil, but Abraham Clod brought a message from Netherwood, that "he had the gout in both feet, and consequently was unable to write." Dear to us, indeed, were those stolen interviews, and wild and vague were the plans we began to form for the future, plans chiefly drawn from our romances; but one night we were roused from our happiness by an unlooked for catastrophe. Just as I was approaching Ruth's window, a voice exclaimed-- "A thief--a thief! I see un--dang thee, tak that!" Then followed a shriek from Ruth, with the explosion of a gun, and a bullet shattered the panes in both sashes, just above my head. It was the voice of Abraham Clod our Yorkshire groom, who had been out in the evening crowshooting, and had his gun undischarged, and who in a moment of evil had seen me creeping along the roof of the stable, from his attic window, where I saw him peering forth, with a candle in one hand, and his gun in the other. Fearing that if I attempted to return to my own room he might shoot me in earnest--for I saw the fellow was quickly reloading--fearing also to stay, lest I should place Ruth in a false position, I lingered for a moment irresolutely, and preferred being taken for the housebreaker which I have no doubt honest Clod believed me to be. At that time I felt that I would rather die than the honour of Ruth should suffer! I dropped on the roof of the stable just as a second shot broke the tiles under my feet, and confused by this incident, I tumbled heavily to the ground--luckily not into the stable-yard but into a ploughed field. I rose unhurt, but found that to enter the house by the door, and to regain my attic window, were both impossible now. I struck across the fields, gained the high-road, and took my way into the open country with sorrow and rage in my heart--sorrow for Ruth, and rage at her uncle, whose drudge and fool I resolved no longer to be. CHAPTER IV. MY COUSIN TONY. "Under the roof of his home," says a pleasing writer, "the boy feels _safe_; and where in the whole realm of life, with its bitter toils and its bitterer temptations, will he ever feel _safe_ again?"