"You mark that?" cries Jack, excitedly, "'hers as ever,' and 'Horatio!' Horatio--faugh! I could ha' taken it kinder had he called himself Tom, or Will, or George, but 'Horatio'--oh, damme! And now comes the poetry-stuff." Hereupon Bentley hummed and ha'd, and clearing his throat, read this: "'When drowsy night with sombre wings O'er this world his shadow flings And thou, dear love, doth sleep, Then do I send my soul to thee Thy guardian till the dawn to be And thy sweet slumbers keep.'" "'Slumbers keep,'" snorted Jack, "the insolence of the fellow! Now look on t'other side." "'I shall be in the orchard to-morrow at the usual hour, in the hope of a word or a look from you.'" Bentley read, and laid down the paper. "At the usual hour--d'ye mark that!" cries Jack, thumping himself in the chest--"'tis become a habit with 'em, it seems--and there's for ye, and a nice kettle o' fish it is!" "Ah, Bentley," says I, "if only your nephew, the young Viscount, were here--" "To the deuce with Bentley's nephew!" roars Jack. "I say he shouldn't marry her now, no--not if he were ten thousand times Bentley's nephew, sir--deuce take him!" "So then," says I, "all our plans are gone astray, and she will have her way and wed this adventurer Tawnish, I suppose?" "No, no, Dick!" cries Jack; "curse me, am I not her father?" "And is she not--herself?" says I. "True!" Jack nodded, "and as stubborn as--as--" "Her father!" added Bentley. "Why, Jack--Dick--I tell you she's ruled us all with a rod of iron ever since she used to climb up our knees to pull at our wigs with her little, mischievous fingers!" "Such very small, pink fingers!" says I, sighing. "Indeed we've spoiled her wofully betwixt us." "Ha!" snorted Jack, "and who's responsible for all this, I say; who's petted and pampered, and coddled and condoned her every fault? Why--you, Dick and Bentley. When I had occasion to scold or correct her, who was it used to sneak behind my back with their pockets bulging with cakes and sticky messes? Why, you, Dick and Bentley!" "You scold her, Jack?" says Bentley, "yes, egad! in a voice as mild as a sucking dove! And when she wept, you'd frown tremendously to hide thine own tears, man, and end by smothering her with your kisses. And thus it has ever been--for her dead mother's sake!" "But now," says I after a while, "the time is come to be resolute, for her sake--and her mother's." "Aye," cries Jack, "we must be firm with her, we must be resolute! Penelope's my daughter and shall obey us for once, if we have to lock her up for a week. I'll teach her that our will is law, for once!" "You're in the right on 't, Jack," says I, "we must show her that she can't ride rough-shod over us any longer. We must be stern to be kind." "We must be adamant!" says Bentley, his eyes twinkling. "We must be harsh," says I, "if need be and--"