shrimping-net, and one day hetook home the little carriage-clock and showed it to his wife.
Another day he found Mrs Dean's reticule, and caught a great manyshrimps as well.
Then the tide did not serve for several days, and he had to wait,shaking his head and telling Mrs Miggles he was afraid the sand wouldhave covered everything.
"Then give it up," said Mrs Miggles, who was trying to sew with thelittle girl in her lap, but was prevented by the tiny thing makingdashes at her broad-brimmed silver spectacles, which it kept taking offand flourishing in one little plump hand.
"Well done, little 'un," cried the fisherman, grinning. "No, missus, Idon't like being beat."
He went off, looking very serious, with his net over one shoulder, thecreel over the other, and after going to and fro patiently waist andoften breast deep, he was successful in finding Cora Dean's reticule,with its purse and cut-glass bottle; and that night he went home amplyrewarded, Cora having been very generous, and Mrs Dean saying severaltimes over that she wouldn't have believed that a great rough man likethat would have been so honest.
"I declare, Betsy, he's just like a man in a play--the good man whofinds the treasure and gives it up. Why, he might have kep' your puss,and my puss too, and nobody been a bit the wiser."
That was all that was missing; but every day for a week, during thetimes that the tide was low, Fisherman Dick was busy, pushing hisshrimping-net before him, and stopping every now and then to raise it,throw out the rubbish, and transfer the few shrimps he caught to hiscreel.
It was not a good place for shrimping--it was too deep; but he kept onwith his laborious task, wading out as far as ever he could go; and morethan one of his fellow-mermen grinned at his empty creel.
"Why don't you try the shallows, Dick?" said one of the blue-jerseyedfellows, who seemed to be trying to grow a hump on his back by leaningover the rail at the edge of the cliff.
"'Cause I like to try the deeps," growled Fisherman Dick.
"Ah, you want to make your fortune too quick, my lad; that's plain."
Dick winked, and went home; and the next day he winked, and went outshrimping again, and caught very few, and went home again, put on hisdry clothes, and said:
"Give us the babby."
Mrs Miggles gave him the "babby," and Dick took her and nursed her,smiling down at the little thing as she climbed up his chest, andtangled her little fingers in his great beard; while Mrs Miggles gavethe few shrimps a pick over and a shake up before she consigned thehopping unfortunates to the boiling bath that should turn them fromblackish grey to red.
"What is it, old man?" said Mrs Miggles; "sperrits?"
Fisherman Dick shook his head, and began to sing gruffly to the childabout a "galliant" maiden who went to sea in search of her true "lovy-eralong of a British crew."
"What is it, then--lace?"
Fisherman Dick shook his head again, and bellowed out the word "crew,"the little child looking at him wonderingly, but not in the leastalarmed.
"I never did see such an oyster as you are, old man," said Mrs Miggles."You're the closest chap in the place."
"Ay!" said Fisherman Dick; and he went on with his song.
He went shrimping off the end of the pier for the delectation of themincing crowd of promenaders twice more. Lord Carboro' saw him; so didMajor Rockley and Sir Harry Payne. Sir Matthew Bray was too busydancing attendance upon Lady Drelincourt to pay any attention.
The Master of the Ceremonies saw him too, as he bowed to one, smiledupon a second, and took snuff with a third; and several times, as hewatched the fisherman wading out there, he followed his movementsattentively, and appeared to be gazing without his mask ofartificiality.
The man's calm, dreamy ways seemed to have an attraction, as if he werewishing that he could change places with him, and lead so simple andpeaceful a life. And as he watched him, very far out now, Dick raisedhis net, emptied it, shook it with his back to the people, and thenbegan to wade in quite another direction, going back no more to theground off the pier.
The Master of the Ceremonies did not look himself that day, and twiceover he found himself on the edge of the pier gazing out to sea, whereeverything seemed so peaceful and still.
There was a buzz of voices going on about him, but he heard nothing,till all at once a voice, quite familiar to him, exclaimed sharply:
"Well, what is it?"
"Message from Mr Barclay, sir."
"Well?"
"I took your note, sir, and he'll be glad to see you to-morrow morningat twelve."
"That will do. Now take the other."
Stuart Denville could not restrain himself as he heard those voices justbehind, and it was as if some power had turned him sharply round to seeMajor Rockley in conversation with one of the private dragoons of hisregiment.
The man had delivered his message to his master, and then turned stifflyto go, coming face to face with Denville, whose whole manner changed.He turned deadly pale, of an unwholesome pallor, and then the bloodseemed to flush to his face and head. His eyes flashed and his lipsparted as if to speak, but the dragoon saluted, turned upon his heel,and strode away.
"Anything the matter, Denville?" said the Major, who had seen somethingof the encounter.
"Matter, matter," said the old man hoarsely, and he now began to trembleviolently. "No--no,--a little faint. You'll pardon me,--a chair,--a--"
The old man would have fallen, but the Major caught his arm and helpedhim to a seat, where a crowd of fashionables surrounded him, and did allthey possibly could to prevent his recovery from his fit by keeping awayevery breath of air, and thrusting at him bottles of salts,vinaigrettes, and scents of every fashionable kind.
"What's the matter with the old fellow?" said the Major, as he twirledhis moustache. "Could he have known about the note? Impossible; and ifhe had known, why should he turn faint? Bah! Absurd! The heat. He'slittle better than a shadow, after all."
Volume One, Chapter XXII.
A SURREPTITIOUS VISITOR.
"Major Rockley's servant to see you, miss."
Claire started from her seat and looked at Footman Isaac with a troubledexpression that was full of shame and dread.
She dropped her eyes on the instant as she thought of her position.
It was four o'clock, and the promenade on cliff and pier in full swing.Her father would not be back for two hours, Morton was away somewhere,and it was so dreadful--so degrading--to be obliged to see her brother,the prodigal, in the servants' part of the house.
For herself she would not have cared, but it was lowering her brother;and, trying to be calm and firm, she said:
"Show him in here, Isaac."
"In here, miss?"
"Yes."
"Please ma'am, master said--"
"Show him in here, Isaac," said Claire, drawing herself up with her eyesflashing, and the colour returning to her cheeks.
The footman backed out quickly, and directly after there was the clinkof spurs, and a heavy tread. Then the door opened and closed, and MajorHockley's servant, James Bell, otherwise Fred Denville, strode into theroom; and Isaac's retreating steps were heard.
"Fred!" cried Claire, throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing thehandsome bronzed face again and again.
"My darling girl!" he cried, holding her tightly to his breast, whilehis face lit up as he returned her caresses.
"Oh, Fred!" she said, as she laid her hands then upon his shoulders andgazed at him at arm's length, "you've been drinking."
"One half-pint of ale. That's all: upon my soul," he said. "I say, Iwish it were not wicked to commit murder."
If he had by some blow paralysed her he could not have produced agreater change in her aspect, for her eyes grew wild and the colourfaded out of her cheeks and lips.
"Don't look like that," he said, smiling. "I shan't do it--at least,not while I'm sober; but I should like to wring that superciliousscoundrel's neck. He looks down upon me in a way that is quitecomical."
&nb
sp; "Why did you come, dear?" said Claire sadly. "Oh, Fred, if I could butbuy you out, so that you could begin life again."
"No good, my dear little girl," he said tenderly. "There's somethingwrong in my works. I've no stability, and I should only go wrongagain."
"But, if you would try, Fred."
"Try, my pet!" he said fiercely; "Heaven knows how I did try, but thedrink was too much for me. If we had been brought up to some honest wayof making a living, and away from this sham, I might have beendifferent, but it drove me to drink, and I never had any self-command.I'm best where I am; obliged to be sober as the Major's