perpetual study, but he knew something of horses and dogs, and Yorkshiremen were like Jews in the trouble they took to over-reach in a bargain.  “Walloping men is poor work, if you come to compare it with walloping Nature,” he said, and explained that, according to his opinion, “to best a man at buying and selling was as wholesome an occupation as frowzlin’ along the gutters for parings and strays.”  He himself preferred to go to the heart of things:  “Nature makes you rich, if your object is to do the same for her.  Yorkshire fellows never think except of making theirselves rich by fattening on your blood, like sheep-ticks.”  In fine, Jonathan spoke sensibly, and abused Yorkshire, without hesitating to confess that a certain Yorkshireman, against whom he had matched his wits in a purchase of horseflesh, had given him a lively recollection of the encounter.

Percy asked him what he thought of his country.  “I’ll tell you,” said Jonathan; “Englishmen’s business is to go to war with the elements, and so long as we fight them, we’re in the right academy for learnin’ how the game goes.  Our vulnerability commences when we think we’ll sit down and eat the fruits, and if I don’t see signs o’ that, set me mole-tunnelling.  Self-indulgence is the ruin of our time.”

This was the closest remark he made to his relations with Robert, who informed him that he was going to London on the following day.  Jonathan shook his hand heartily, without troubling himself about any inquiries.

“There’s so much of that old man in me,” said Robert, when Percy praised him, on their return, “that I daren’t call him a Prince of an old boy:  and never a spot of rancour in his soul.  Have a claim on him—­and there’s your seat at his table:  take and offend him—­there’s your seat still.  Eat and drink, but you don’t get near his heart.  I’ll surprise him some day.  He fancies he’s past surprises.”

“Well,” said Percy, “you’re younger than I am, and may think the future belongs to you.”

Early next morning they parted.  Robert was in town by noon.  He lost no time in hurrying to the Western suburb.  As he neared the house where he was to believe Dahlia to be residing, he saw a man pass through the leafless black shrubs by the iron gate; and when he came to the gate himself the man was at the door.  The door opened and closed on this man.  It was Nicodemus Sedgett, or Robert’s eyes did him traitorous service.  He knocked at the door violently, and had to knock a second and a third time.  Dahlia was denied to him.  He was told that Mrs. Ayrton had lived there, but had left, and her present address was unknown.  He asked to be allowed to speak a word to the man who had just entered the house.  No one had entered for the last two hours, was the reply.  Robert had an impulse to rush by the stolid little female liar, but Percy’s recent lesson to him acted as a restraint; though, had it been a brawny woman or a lacquey in his path, he would certainly have followed his natural counsel.  He turned away, lingering outside till it was dusk and the bruise on his head gave great throbs, and then he footed desolately farther and farther from the house.  To combat with evil in his own country village had seemed a simple thing enough, but it appeared a superhuman task in giant London.