“But it would not please you quite so much—­eh, Miss Harry?”

“Not so much as father—­certainly not,” answered the girl, gravely.  “It seems to me folks are rich enough when they don’t spend half they get; just as other folk—­like Mr. Carew, who owns all about here—­are poor enough, with all their wealth, who pay out of their purse twice what comes into it.”

“Mr. Carew is known here for a spendthrift, is he, then?”

“Well, Sir, it’s only gossip, for he has never set foot here in his life, I reckon; but, from what we hear, he must fling away his money finely.  However, as father says, there’s one excuse for him—­he has neither chick nor child of his own.  Eh, but you’re looking white, Sir; Gethin air is apt to nip pretty sharp those who are not accustomed to it.  You had best not try the castle to-day.”

“Yes, yes; we will go at once,” cried Richard, impatiently; and, drawing the girl’s hesitating arm through his own, he moved rapidly along the wind-swept way.  Under the circumstances, there really was some danger; but, had there been twice the peril, he would not have shrunk from it at that moment—­the chance observation of the young girl about Carew’s having no offspring had turned his blood to a white heat of wrath.  Although his mother had studiously instilled in him how foolish it was to indulge in any expectations with respect to the Squire, he had always entertained some secret hopes in that quarter until he had proved their fallacy by experiment; and the failure of his expedition to Crompton rankled in his mind.  He regarded his father with the bitterest resentment; he did not altogether forgive his mother for the share which she had had (through her misrepresentation of her own position in the register) in depriving him of his birth-right, and he felt himself at odds with all the world.  He had come to Gethin partly on account of what Parson Whymper had told him of its picturesqueness, but chiefly because it was an out-of-the-way spot, unfrequented by that society with whom he had such good grounds for quarrel, and where he was not likely to have his pride wounded afresh by any reference to his position; and yet he had not been two hours in the place before the only person in it in whom he was likely to be interested had galled him keenly.  He could not long be angry with her, however, for her involuntary offense, nor angry at all in such fair company.  She clung to him, perforce, upon the narrow causeway, and shrank with him into whatever shelter was afforded, here and there, upon their toilsome path, when they took breath, and gathered strength together for once again confronting that pitiless blast.  If either of them had known how fierce a gale was imminent, they would not certainly have ventured upon such an expedition; but, having done so, they were resolved to go through with it.  Harry had plenty of courage, and fought her way with practiced eye and hand along the winding ledge; and Richard was