“Was Dancox here last night?” began Captain Monk.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Carradyne.

“And the evening before—­Monday?”

Mrs. Carradyne felt half afraid to answer, the Captain’s tone was becoming so threatening.  “I—­I think so,” she rather hesitatingly said.  “Was he not, Katherine?”

Katherine Monk, a dark, haughty young woman, twenty-one now, turned round with a flush on her handsome face.  “Why do you ask, papa?”

“I ask to be answered,” replied he, standing with his hands in the pockets of his velveteen shooting coat, a purple tinge of incipient anger rising in his cheeks.

“Then Mr. Dancox did spend Monday evening here.”

“And I saw him walking with you in the meadow by the rill this morning,” continued the Captain.  “Look here, Katherine, no sweet-hearting with Tom Dancox.  He may do very well for a parson; I like him as such, as such only, you understand; but he can be no match for you.”

“You are disturbing yourself unnecessarily, sir,” said Katherine, her own tone an angry one.

“Well, I hope that is so; I should not like to think otherwise.  Anyway, a word in season does no harm; and, take you notice that I have spoken it.  You also, Emma.”

As he left the room, Mrs. Carradyne spoke, dropping her voice:  “Katherine, you know that I had already warned you.  I told you it would not do to fall into any particular friendship with Mr. Dancox; that your father would never countenance it.”

“And if I were to?—­and if he did not?” scornfully returned Katherine.  “What then, Aunt Emma?”

“Be silent, child; you must not talk in that strain.  Your papa is perfectly right in this matter.  Tom Dancox is not suitable in any way—­for you.”

This took place in November.  Katherine paid little heed to the advice; she was not one to put up with advice of any sort, and she and Mr. Dancox met occasionally under the rose.  Early in December she went with Mr. Dancox into the Parsonage, while he searched for a book he was about to lend her.  That was the plea; the truth, no doubt, being that the two wanted a bit of a chat in quiet.  As ill-luck had it, when she was coming out again, the Parson in attendance on her as far as the gate, Captain Monk came by.

A scene ensued.  Captain Monk, in a terrible access of passion, vowed by all the laws of the Medes and Persians, which alter not, that never, in life or after death, should those two rebellious ones be man and wife, and he invoked unheard-of penalties on their heads should they dare to contemplate disobedience to his decree.

Thenceforth there was no more open rebellion; upon the surface all looked smooth.  Captain Monk understood the folly to be at an end:  that the two had come to their senses; and he took Tom Dancox back into favour.  Mrs. Carradyne assumed the same.  But Katherine had her father’s unyielding will, and the Parson was bold and careless, and in love.