"Mrs Dean?" said a wet, thick-set man, elbowing his way through. "All right; sent home in Lord Carboro's donkey-carriage. Mr Linnell, sir, your hand, sir. God bless you, sir, for a brave gentleman! Nice pair of wet ones, aren't we?" "Oh, never mind, Mr Barclay," cried Linnell, shaking hands. "I'm only too thankful that we have got them safe ashore." "With no more harm done than to give the coachbuilder a job, eh? Ha, ha!" "Three cheers for 'em!" shouted a voice; and they were heartily given. "And three more for Fisherman Dick!" cried Linnell. "Don't, Master Richard, sir--please don't!" cried the swarthy fisherman modestly. "He did more than I did." "No, no, Master Richard, sir," protested Dick, as the cheers were heartily given; and then a horrible thought smote Linnell: "The boy--Mrs Dean's little groom! Where is he?" "Oh, I'm all right, sir," cried a shrill voice. "When I see as missus couldn't stop the ponies, I dropped down off my seat on to the pier." "Hurray! Well done, youngster!" cried first one and then another, "Look here, Mr Richard," cried Barclay; "my place is nearest; come there, and send for some dry clothes." "No, no; I'll get back," said Linnell. "Thanks all the same. Let me pass, please;" and as Cora Dean's ponies were led off to their stable, and Barclay went towards where plump Mrs Barclay was signalling him on the cliff, the young man hurried off homeward, followed by bursts of cheers, and having hard work to escape from the many idlers who were eager to shake his hand. Volume One, Chapter XVIII. UNREASONABLE CHILDREN. "Claire, Claire! Quick, Claire!" Pale and very anxious of aspect, Claire hurried down from her room, to find her father, in his elaborate costume, standing in an attitude before one of the mirrors, not heeding her, so wrapped was he in his thoughts. Her brow contracted, and she looked at him wonderingly, asking herself was his memory going, or was something more terrible than the loss of memory coming on? for he appeared to have forgotten that which was an agony to her, night and day. Something had happened to please him, she knew, for his countenance at such times was easy to read; but all the same, his worn aspect was pitiable, and it was plain that beneath the mask he wore the terrible care was working its way. "What is it, papa?" she said, in the calm, sad way which had become habitual with her. "What is it?" he cried, in his mincing, artificial style. "Success! Assured fortune! The wretched fribbles who have been disposed to slight me and refuse my offices will now be at my feet. A brilliant match for you, and a high position in the world of fashion." "Father!"