Now, as they two sat here together this bitter winter evening, the old man grumbling, as ever, half to himself, half to his daughter, of the ill-luck that had steadily dogged him all his days, there came suddenly to them the sound of horses’ feet on the stones of the courtyard outside, and presently one of the few remaining servants entered the room to say that a stranger was outside begging shelter for himself and for his groom.  Nor did the stranger wait to be invited, for, brushing past the servant, and carelessly, as he entered, dusting from his riding-coat the light snow with which it was grimed, taking stock the while with pinched-up little grey eyes of the room and its occupants, he pulled in a chair towards the fire and coolly seated himself.  He was a man considerably over fifty—­probably nearer sixty than fifty—­with a frame burly and coarse, and a face seared by tropical suns and disfigured by the ravages of small-pox; obviously a man of low origin whose mind probably lacked refinement or consideration for others as much as his body lacked grace.

Father and daughter for a minute gazed mutely at their uninvited guest, the girl at least in no very amiable mood.  But whatever her father’s faults might be, want of hospitality was not one of them, and what the house could supply of meat and drink was speedily set before the stranger.  He was, as he made haste to inform them, the new owner of the property, come down to take possession.  “And egad! sir,” said he brusquely, “it strikes me it’s not before it was time.  There’s a bit o’ money wanted here, anybody can see with half an eye.”  And with choice criticisms of a similar nature he lightened the time in the intervals of shovelling food into his heavy-lipped mouth.

“Yes, I’ve bought it—­and paid for it, too—­lock, stock, and barrel,” he resumed; “and we’ll put things to rights in a brace of shakes.  For what’s the use o’ having money, says I, if a man don’t spend it on his whim!  Ay! whether it’s a fine lass, or what not, plank it down, and enjoy yourself while ye can.  That’s what I say.  What’s the sense o’ waiting till a man’s too old?  And I’m not so young as I was, thinks Missie, eh?  But let me tell you, there’s many a fine lass, yet, that would snap me up if she had the chance, if it was only for the sake of the ducats.  Now, when I was in the Spanish Main—­hey! that was the place!—­I mind....”

But what he “minded” Helen had no wish to hear, and she retired, leaving her father and the stranger, both rapidly becoming somewhat over-loose of speech under the influence of brandy.

“A likely wench!” cried the stranger as the door closed.  “A likely wench, sir.  He’ll be a lucky dog that get’s her.  Now ... ah!... hum!... here’s you, an old man, leaving this place—­and not likely to get another, says you; and here’s me, a bachelor, or anyways a widower, with plenty of cash and wanting a wife.  Come I what’s against our making a bargain?  You give me your daughter, and I’ll see that you don’t want a home.  Eh?  What do you say to that, now?”