'It was no dream, Milly; so sure as you are there, I saw exactly what I told you,' I replied. 'Gov'nor won't believe it anyhow; and he's right mad wi' me; and he threatens me he'll have me off to France; I wish 'twas under the sea. I hate France--I do--like the devil. Don't you? They're always a-threatening me wi' France, if I dare say a word more about the po'shay, or--or anyone.' I really was curious about Cormoran; but Cormoran was not to be defined to me by Milly; nor did she, in reality, know more than I respecting the arrival of the night before. One day I was surprised to see Doctor Bryerly on the stairs. I was standing in a dark gallery as he walked across the floor of the lobby to my uncle's door, his hat on, and some papers in his hand. He did not see me; and when he had entered Uncle Silas's door, I went down and found Milly awaiting me in the hall. 'So Doctor Bryerly is here,' I said. 'That's the thin fellow, wi' the sharp look, and the shiny black coat, that went up just now?' asked Milly. 'Yes, he's gone into your papa's room,' said I. ''Appen 'twas he come 'tother night. He may be staying here, though we see him seldom, for it's a barrack of a house--it is.' The same thought had struck me for a moment, but was dismissed immediately. It certainly was _not_ Doctor Bryerly's figure which I had seen. So, without any new light gathered from this apparition, we went on our way, and made our little sketch of the ruined bridge. We found the gate locked as before; and, as Milly could not persuade me to climb it, we got round the paling by the river's bank. While at our drawing, we saw the swarthy face, sooty locks, and old weather-stained red coat of Zamiel, who was glowering malignly at us from among the trunks of the forest trees, and standing motionless as a monumental figure in the side aisle of a cathedral. When we looked again he was gone. Although it was a fine mild day for the wintry season, we yet, cloaked as we were, could not pursue so still an occupation as sketching for more than ten or fifteen minutes. As we returned, in passing a clump of trees, we heard a sudden outbreak of voices, angry and expostulatory; and saw, under the trees, the savage old Zamiel strike his daughter with his stick two great blows, one of which was across the head. 'Beauty' ran only a short distance away, while the swart old wood-demon stumped lustily after her, cursing and brandishing his cudgel. My blood boiled. I was so shocked that for a moment I could not speak; but in a moment more I screamed-- 'You brute! How dare you strike the poor girl?' She had only run a few steps, and turned about confronting him and us, her eyes gleaming fire, her features pale and quivering to suppress a burst of weeping. Two little rivulets of blood were trickling over her temple. 'I say, fayther, look at that,' she said, with a strange tremulous smile, lifting her hand, which was smeared with blood.