’Country air, Miss Ruthyn, is a right good kitchen to country fare.  I like to see young women eat heartily.  You have had some pounds of beef and mutton since I saw you last,’ said Dr. Bryerly.

And this sly speech made, he scrutinised my countenance in silence rather embarrassingly.

’My system, Doctor Bryerly, as a disciple of Aesculapius you will approve—­health first, accomplishment afterwards.  The Continent is the best field for elegant instruction, and we must see the world a little, by-and-by, Maud; and to me, if my health be spared, there would be an unspeakable though a melancholy charm in the scenes where so many happy, though so many wayward and foolish, young days were passed; and I think I should return to these picturesque solitudes with, perhaps, an increased relish.  You remember old Chaulieu’s sweet lines—­

  Desert, aimable solitude,
  Sejour du calme et de la paix,
  Asile ou n’entrerent jamais
  Le tumulte et l’inquietude.

I can’t say that care and sorrow have not sometimes penetrated these sylvan fastnesses; but the tumults of the world, thank Heaven!—­never.’

There was a sly scepticism, I thought, in Doctor Bryerly’s sharp face; and hardly waiting for the impressive ‘never,’ he said—­

‘I forgot to ask, who is your banker?’

‘Oh!  Bartlet and Hall, Lombard Street,’ answered Uncle Silas, dryly and shortly.

Dr. Bryerly made a note of it, with an expression of face which seemed, with a sly resolution, to say, ‘You shan’t come the anchorite over me.’

I saw Uncle Silas’s wild and piercing eye rest suspiciously on me for a moment, as if to ascertain whether I felt the spirit of Doctor Bryerly’s almost interruption; and, nearly at the same moment, stuffing his papers into his capacious coat pockets, Doctor Bryerly rose and took his leave.

When he was gone, I bethought me that now was a good opportunity of making my complaint of Dickon Hawkes.  Uncle Silas having risen, I hesitated, and began,

‘Uncle, may I mention an occurrence—­which I witnessed?’

‘Certainly, child,’ he answered, fixing his eye sharply on me.  I really think he fancied that the conversation was about to turn upon the phantom chaise.

So I described the scene which had shocked Milly and me, an hour or so ago, in the Windmill Wood.

’You see, my dear child, they are rough persons; their ideas are not ours; their young people must be chastised, and in a way and to a degree that we would look upon in a serious light.  I’ve found it a bad plan interfering in strictly domestic misunderstandings, and should rather not.’

’But he struck her violently on the head, uncle, with a heavy cudgel, and she was bleeding very fast.’

‘Ah?’ said my uncle, dryly.

’And only that Milly and I deterred him by saying that we would certainly tell you, he would have struck her again; and I really think if he goes on treating her with so much violence and cruelty he may injure her seriously, or perhaps kill her.’