“Oho, he isn’t here! Thank fortune he’s gone.” “Gone! Are you sure?” “Aye, that I am--bag and baggage--he and his rascally valet with him.” “When did he go and how?” “He came home at noon with his arm in a sling. He said a horse had kicked him and hurt him sorely, and he had his things packed up and a trap to take him over to Burton, where I believe he said he was going to spend the night with a friend. He is off for Oxford to-morrow.” “Was the earl very sorry to have him go?” “I should say not. He makes the good old man very unhappy when he is here; and yet I sometimes think he hates to see him going, being so sure that he’s going to new mischief. Ah, he’s a bad lot! I’m sure I don’t know who he takes after. His father was one of the finest gentlemen I ever knew, and handsome as well; and his mother was a born angel. There couldn’t be a sweeter, purer, or a nobler woman than she was, though she was a bit proud. When I tell you that she was just as beautiful as is Lady Cordelia, and just as good, you’ll understand what I mean. Who in the world there ever was in the old earl’s family, on either side, like him, I’m sure I don’t know. It’s one o’ them marvels, Master Percy, that you’ve got to take as they come, and make the best of ’em.” They went in to dinner; and our hero made a hearty meal and enjoyed it. The conversation of the steward was entertaining and interesting. He had been in the earl’s employ, boy and man, more than half a century, having been born on the estate little more than three score years before. “By the way,” the old man said towards the close of the meal, “it’s curious that we’ve never seen anything of the new captain of the smugglers at the castle. Your father, my boy, used to come up quite often; and a few of us were glad enough to purchase a few creature comforts that he had to dispose of. Of course, the earl never traded with him; but, for all that, more than one bottle of wine from his cargo, and more than one chest of tea, found their way into his lordship’s larder and upon his table. From what I hear, I should judge the new captain--Tryon--to be rather a poor sort of a stick.” “Then you never saw him?” “Not that I know of.” “He is a bad man, Michael--a man that I keep clear of.” “Yes, I’ve heard so. They don’t speak well of him anywhere. Even the old landlord of the Allerdale Arms don’t like him; and when Martin Vanyard turns against a smuggler you may be sure there’s a reason for it.”