“Because I have never lived there,” she replied; “and a place can scarcely be called home that one has never seen.”

“But you have never said you wished to see it.”

“Oh, but I have wished it all the same—­may we—­may we go—­home?”

She said the word at last, and Reginald was delighted.

“Home! to be sure—­to-morrow, at daybreak; for, to tell you the truth, I don’t care sixpence for fine views—­in fact, I don’t think there is any difference between any two landscapes—­except that there may be hills in one, and none in another, or woods, or a river—­but they are all exactly the same in reality.  So, let us go home, my love, as fast as we can, or I’m very much afraid Mr Peeper won’t like it.”

“Mr Peeper?” enquired Jane.  “Who is Mr Peeper?”

“You will know him in good time,” said Reginald; “and I hope he will like you.”

“I hope he will—­I hope all your friends will like me—­I will do every thing in my power to please them.”

“You’re a very good girl, Jane; and Mr Peeper can’t help but be pleased, and I am glad of it; for it ought to be our first study to make ourselves agreeable to him.”

“Agreeable to Mr Peeper!” thought Jane.  “How strange that I never was told about him before this moment!  Does he live in the castle, Reginald?” she asked.

“Certainly.  One of his family has lived there ever since one of mine did; so there is a connexion between us of a few hundred years.”

“Have you any other friends who live in the castle?” enquired the bride.

“I don’t know whether Phil Lorimer is there just now or not; he has a room whenever he comes; and a knife and fork at table.”

“Who is he?”

“A capital fellow—­full of wit—­and makes funnier faces and better songs than any man in Yorkshire.  You will like Phil Lorimer.”

“And I hope he will like me!”

“If he don’t, I’ll break every bone in his body.”

“Oh!  I beg you won’t,” said the bride with a smile, and looking up in Reginald’s face to assure herself he spoke in joke.  It was as earnest a face as if it had been of cast-iron; and she saw that Mr Lorimer’s only chance of preserving a whole skin was to like her with all his might.

“Is there any one else?”

“There’s Mr Peeper’s assistant, Mark Lutter—­a clever man, and a great scholar.  I hate scholars, so he dines in the servants’ hall, or far down the table—­below the salt.”

“Are you serious?” enquired Jane.

“Do you not like scholars?”

“What’s the use of them?  I never could see what they were good for—­and, besides, Mr Peeper hates them too.”

“Then why does he keep this man as his assistant?”

“Because if he didn’t, the fellow would rebel.”

“Well, you could turn him off.”

“We never turn any body off at Belfront Castle.  If they go of their own accord, we punish them for it if we can—­if they stay, they are welcome.  Mr Peeper must look to it, or Lutter will make a disturbance.”