'An Anabaptist, I conjecture, from his present situation,' replied Lake. 'No, that's in the lake of fire, where the wicked seraphim and cherubim baptise, and anabaptise, and hold them under, with a great stone laid across their breasts. I only know two of their clergy--the African vicar, quite a gentleman, and speaks through his nose; and the archbishop with wings; his face is so burnt, he's all eyes and mouth, and on one hand has only one finger, and he tickles me with it till I almost give up the ghost. The ghost of Miss Baily is a lie, he said, by my soul; and he likes you--he loves you. Shall I write it all in a book, and give it you? I meet Mark Wylder in three places sometimes. Don't move, till I go down; he's as easily frightened as a fish.' And Uncle Lorne crept down the bank, tacking, and dodging, and all the time laughing softly to himself; and sometimes winking with a horrid, wily grimace at Stanley, who fervently wished him at the bottom of the tarn. 'I say,' said Stanley, addressing the keeper, whom by a beck he had brought to his side, 'you don't allow him, surely, to go alone now?' 'No, Sir--since your order, Sir,' said the stern, reserved official. 'Nor to come into any place but this--the park, I mean?' 'No, Sir.' 'And do you mind, try and get him home always before nightfall. It is easy to frighten him. Find out what frightens him, and do it or say it. It is dangerous, don't you see? and he might break his d--d neck any time among those rocks and gullies, or get away altogether from you in the dark.' So the keeper, at the water's brink, joined Uncle Lorne, who was talking, after his fashion, into the dark pool. And Stanley Lake--a general in difficulties--retraced his steps toward the park gate through which he had come, ruminating on his situation and resources. CHAPTER LVIII. MISS RACHEL LAKE BECOMES VIOLENT. So soon as the letter which had so surprised and incensed Stanley Lake was despatched, and beyond recall, Rachel, who had been indescribably agitated before, grew all at once calm. She knew that she had done right. She was glad the die was cast, and that it was out of her power to retract. She kneeled at her bedside, and wept and prayed, and then went down and talked with old Tamar, who was knitting in the shade by the porch. Then the young lady put on her bonnet and cloak, and walked down to Gylingden, with an anxious, but still a lighter heart, to see her friend, Dolly Wylder. Dolly received her in a glad sort of fuss. 'I'm so glad to see you, Miss Lake.' 'Call me Rachel; and won't you let me call you Dolly?' 'Well, Rachel, dear,' replied Dolly, laughing, 'I'm delighted you're come; I have such good news--but I can't tell it till I think for a minute--I must begin at the beginning.' 'Anywhere, everywhere, only if it is good news, let me hear it at once. I'll be sure to understand.'