"Why, it’s a great crack just come in the ceiling beyond the passage," he exclaimed. "The next thing will be that the wall itself will be down. If you don’t think it worth while saving your own neck, I certainly shan’t risk mine a minute longer. But you needn’t flatter yourself that the last word has been said. If the house is still standing to-morrow morning I’ll be up by sunrise to carry you out bodily, with or without leave, it matters not to me, and I’ll see to it that the money’s paid--cash down--before that same sun has set." With an oath, Ben hastily quitted the house and went back to console himself in the hospitable parlour of "The Bull," where he aired his grievances before an admiring and sympathizing group, only too glad to drink at his expense to the success of his desires. *CHAPTER VI* *That Terrible Eye* The sun rose on Sunday morning in a cloudless sky, and as the day wore on, continued to pour down his golden beams upon the earth. The bells of the little church rang out their invitation to the villagers to come and worship in the house of prayer, and from far and near quiet groups of country folk wended their way through leafy lanes and ripening cornfields to hold their tryst with God. Robin and his mother were there betimes, and old Mrs. Sheppard took her seat as usual in the foremost pew, her shawl pinned across her stooping shoulders and her old-fashioned bonnet tied with large black ribbon bows under her chin. Service ended, the little knots of worshippers scattered once more in pleasant anticipation of the Sunday dinner awaiting them at their journey’s end, and the hot afternoon wore on to its close, its silence broken only by the low murmur of the tide upon the beach. The sun was now nearing the end of his giant’s race across the sky, but old Timothy still sat peaceful and unmolested in his cottage upon the cliff, untroubled by the angry threats hurled at him by his son the night before. The truth was that Ben was in no state that Sabbath morning either to carry out his designs against his father or to think again of the tempting bait held out by Mr. Field. His time in the "Bull Inn" the preceding evening had been only too zealously employed, and all that long summer day he lay a useless and helpless log in an upstairs chamber of the little hostelry, sleeping off the effects of his night’s excesses. Another inhabitant there was of that seaside village to whom this day had been a blank. For Julius, the lonely child of Farncourt, Sunday brought no pleasant memories. The Sabbath bells meant nothing to him, for Mr. Field had long since given up church-going, and his little son connected the day only with the dreary fact that even the gardeners and grooms would be away during all the long and cheerless hours.