full of one of the rummers, and drank it off. In another moment his countenance was restored to its natural hue, and his anger was apparently gone.

“You are right, Tom," he said, rather thickly, however; "there's no use in talking foolishness, and I hadn't ought to have said that about Mr. Rivers. There's my hand, Tom."

The placable Tom took the offered hand.

"Now drink, Tom," and Mr. Crickett poured out another dose from the stone bottle into the second rummer. The liquor was strong Hollands.

Tom quietly lifted the glass, and poured back the spirits into the bottle.

"A mug of beer if you like, Will, but none of the Dutchman; you know that, I reckon."

"I forgot; but you are right, Tom," said the butler, as he supplied the request. "If our fellers were all like you as far as that goes, there would be less danger for us all. I sometimes keep awake hours together, shaking in my bed, like anything, when I think of how some of them fellers go on. Don't you?"

“Not I, Will; and if you'd come and do a day's spell at the forge, I'd warrant you against keeping awake when you get to bed," said the forgeman, with a light laugh. "Try it, Will Crickett," he added.

"When I have got nothing else to do perhaps I may. But that's neither here nor there. And about Master Henry's coming back, there's no offence, I hope, in saying that I wish he had kept away."

"Perhaps not; but I don't know why or how it concerns you, Will," said Tom, suspiciously. "For my part," he added, "I don't see why he shouldn't stop at the Priory for good. I reckon he could make shift to live with the old ladies; and as the Priory will be his by-and-by, I don't see why he shouldn't make it his home now."

"And what would become of our business then, Tom? It was bad enough when Henry Rivers lived at 'The Hurlocks,' for there was no security from his coming poking and prying about the old ruins; but get him here, and you may guess what would follow."

"Let it follow, then. There are other places that would make as good hides. And do you know, Will-I half suspect sometimes that Master Harry knows more than he chooses to say, now."

"You don't mean to say so, Tom?"

"Yes, I do; but you needn't be afeard. If Harry knew everything, he wouldn't blow upon us, for all he runs down the business, as you call it. And I'll tell you another thing, Will: it goes against the grain with me to deceive Master Harry as I have done about these goings on. He doesn't deserve it."

"And so I suppose you'll be after taking him into your confidence some of these days," said the butler, in a tone and with looks of mingled apprehension and bravado; "but if you do, you know what you have to look out for."

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"and you

"You needn't threaten, Will," said the forgeman; needn't be afraid of my splitting. You know that, or ought to." 'Well, I believe you are safe, Tom," responded Mr. Crickett, in an altered voice; "but it stands to reason, doesn't it, that if Henry Rivers hangs about the Priory, the game will be up with us ?"

"Yes, I suppose so. And it isn't much I should care for that; for I tell you plainly, Will, I am a'most tired of it. "Tis little good it has ever done me. There, you needn't fire up. You say you believe I am safe; you ought to know it by this time. I could have fingered that reward of five hundred pounds if I had a mind, and didn't. But I don't want to brag. There's another thing, though: I can't think how it is you have gone on so long, and your ladies not had a suspicion."

"Them!" laughed Mr. Crickett, disdainfully. “Why, I can twist them round my finger. But Harry Rivers is another matter, and he must be got out of the way."

66

Well, don't trouble about him; he'll be going in a few days, I expect. He has made up his mind to go abroad for a time, anyway. He told me that much," said Tom.

"That matter is settled, then," said the butler, with a sigh of relief; "and now, Tom, I must put these things out of the way;" and Mr. Crickett replaced the stone bottle and rummers into the cupboard. He did this with rather an unsteady hand, for while the conversation had lasted he had by no means emulated the abstemiousness of his companion, which he so highly praised. "The pie I'll leave, and the plate, and knife and fork, and salt, and mustard, likewise the beer and the hot water: no, not the hot water; that'll tell tales; but the rest will look well. Now I must be going to get Master Harry's room ready, and his bed d; and a plague to it. And that's another thing, Tom: how am I to get the run o' nights with him sleeping, or lying awake, more likely, next door to me, up above?" and Mr. Crickett jerked his thumb towards the ceiling.

"That's a funny way your ladies have got, of not letting any man sleep in the Priory house ever," Tom Carey observed.

""Tis one of their crinkum-crankums," rejoined the butler: "never a he creeter has slept over there these twenty years or more. It is not many visitors they ever have; but when the great London lawyer comes down, which is once a year, he has to turn out, like Master Harry 'll have to do to-night. But it suits. I have the more liberty."

"I wonder the ladies aren't afeard, though,” Tom remarked. "Afraid! You never heard, did you, of what happened about a dozen years ago?"

"Not as I know of," said Tom.

"I'll tell you, then," returned Mr. Crickett, steadying himself,

as he stood facing his visitor, by holding on to the edge of the table: "but it goes no further? for it was never to be mentioned, Tom."

"Don't mention it, then," said the forgeman.

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"Yes, this once I don't mind. This was how it was: Miss Prissy was sitting up late one night, reading the Bible. Maybe 'twas twelve or one o'clock; and, as it chanced, the door out into the garden had been forgotten to be fastened. Presently she hears a noise and looks up; and lo and behold, a man with a mask on his face opens the door softly, and comes in, shuts the door after him too.

"What may be your business, friend,' says Miss Prissy, never stirring from her chair.

"You may pretty well guess,' says the robber, for a robber he was; 'you may pretty well guess that I want your money,' says he, and your watches, and a few little things in the way of silver spoons and so forth.'

"You must sit down there,' says Miss Prissy, pointing to a chair: ‘I am reading the Bible, and can't be disturbed till I have done,' says she. And, would you credit it, Tom? down the man sot.

"Now,' says she again, as you are here, I'll read out aloud. It is some time since you heard the Bible read, I think;' and then she goes on, and reads and reads; and there the man sot like a statty. Presently she leaves off. 'Now,' says she, 'I can attend to you. 'Tis a bad trade, friend; but you will do as you are permitted. It won't last long, though; and you'll have to answer for it hereafter.'

"Up gets the man; 'tis as true as that I stand here telling it, Tom: up he gets, and turns to the door and opens it, and goes out, and says never a word."

"Didn't he rob the house, then?" demanded Tom, with a good deal of interest.

"He didn't," said Mr. Crickett. "More than that, he never said a word, not so much as good-night; and he was never heard of nor seen again, only his footmarks in the garden next day." "And Miss Prissy?"

"She walked to the door, and locked it; and then she went to bed-there! And now, Tom, if you are ready, I'll let you out at

the gate."

Tom was ready, and, following Mr. Crickett across the courtyard, was dismissed with a short "Good-night;" and then the butler returned to his room.

The first thing he did, when there, was to strip off his coat, unfasten his cravat, and dip his head into a large bowl of water. "I shall do now," he said to himself, as he violently used a rough towel; "and as for you, Tom Carey, if I forget this night,” he soliloquized, applying his hand more softly to his injured shoulder, "my name isn't William Crickett; that's all."

But Tom Carey did not hear the implied threat. He was on his way homewards; and his thoughts, oblivious of Mr. Crickett, were with Mary Austin.

Half-an-hour later, Mr. Crickett, in white cravat, brown coat, and brown wig, was solemnly escorting Harry Rivers across the court-yard, and lighting him to his bedroom door.

CHAPTER VIII.

ROBIN'S HURST.

TOM CAREY'S home was about half a mile from the forge, and was one of a cluster of similar cottages, inhabited mostly by his fellow-workmen. They were substantially enough built of sandstone, and thatched with reeds, which were gathered in