I saw Uncle Silas's wild and piercing eye rest suspiciously on me for a moment, as if to ascertain whether I felt the spirit of Doctor Bryerly's almost interruption; and, nearly at the same moment, stuffing his papers into his capacious coat pockets, Doctor Bryerly rose and took his leave. When he was gone, I bethought me that now was a good opportunity of making my complaint of Dickon Hawkes. Uncle Silas having risen, I hesitated, and began, 'Uncle, may I mention an occurrence--which I witnessed?' 'Certainly, child,' he answered, fixing his eye sharply on me. I really think he fancied that the conversation was about to turn upon the phantom chaise. So I described the scene which had shocked Milly and me, an hour or so ago, in the Windmill Wood. 'You see, my dear child, they are rough persons; their ideas are not ours; their young people must be chastised, and in a way and to a degree that we would look upon in a serious light. I've found it a bad plan interfering in strictly domestic misunderstandings, and should rather not.' 'But he struck her violently on the head, uncle, with a heavy cudgel, and she was bleeding very fast.' 'Ah?' said my uncle, dryly. 'And only that Milly and I deterred him by saying that we would certainly tell you, he would have struck her again; and I really think if he goes on treating her with so much violence and cruelty he may injure her seriously, or perhaps kill her.' 'Why, you romantic little child, people in that rank of life think absolutely nothing of a broken head,' answered Uncle Silas, in the same way. 'But is it not horrible brutality, uncle?' 'To be sure it is brutality; but then you must remember they are brutes, and it suits them,' said he. I was disappointed. I had fancied that Uncle Silas's gentle nature would have recoiled from such an outrage with horror and indignation; and instead, here he was, the apologist of that savage ruffian, Dickon Hawkes. 'And he is always so rude and impertinent to Milly and to me,' I continued. 'Oh! impertinent to you--that's another matter. I must see to that. Nothing more, my dear child?' 'Well, there _was_ nothing more.' 'He's a useful servant, Hawkes; and though his looks are not prepossessing, and his ways and language rough, yet he is a very kind father, and a most honest man--a thoroughly moral man, though severe--a very rough diamond though, and has no idea of the refinements of polite society. I venture to say he honestly believes that he has been always unexceptionably polite to you, so we must make allowances.' And Uncle Silas smoothed my hair with his thin aged hand, and kissed my forehead.