Barbara, though obedient, looked blank, and her mother said—-

“My dear, if I went down and helped at the Church till half past twelve, could not we all be set free?  Your brothers want us to bring their luncheon to them at the Hanger.”

“That’s right, mother,” cried Jock; “I’ve half a mind to come and expedite matters.”

“No, no, Skipjack!” cried Bobus; “I had that twenty stone of solid flesh whom I see walking up to the house to myself all yesterday, and I can’t stand another day of it unmitigated!”

Entered the tall heavy figure of Rob.  He reported his father as much the same and not yet up, delivered a note to his aunt, and made no objection to devouring several slices of tongue and a cup of cocoa to recruit nature after his walk; while Bobus reclaimed the reluctant Armine from cutting scarlet geraniums in the ribbon beds to show him the scene in the Greek play which he was to prepare, and Babie tried to store up all the directions, perceiving from the pupil’s roving eye that she should have to be his memory.

Jock saw that the note had brought an additional line of care to his mother’s brow, and therefore still more gaily and eagerly adjured her not to fail in the Long Hanger, and as the shooting party started, he turned back to wave his cap, and shout, “Sharp two!”

Two o’clock found three hungry youths and numerous dead birds on the pleasant thymy bank beneath the edge of the beach wood, but gaze as they might through the clear September air, neither mother, brother, nor sister was visible.  Presently, however, the pony-carriage appeared, and in it a hamper, but driven only by the stable-boy.  He said a gentleman was at the house, and Mrs. Brownlow was very sorry that she could not come, but had sent him with the luncheon.

“I shall go and see after her,” said Jock; and in spite of all remonstrance, and assurance that it was only a form of Parsonic tyranny, he took a draught of ale and a handful of sandwiches, sprang into the carriage, and drove off, hardly knowing why, but with a yearning towards his mother, and a sense that all that was unexpected boded evil.  Leaving the pony at the stables, and walking up to the house, he heard sounds that caused him to look in at the open library window.

On one side of the table stood his mother, on the other Dr. Demetrius Hermann, with insinuating face, but arm upraised as if in threatening.

“Scoundrel!” burst forth Jock.  Both turned, and his mother’s look of relief and joy met him as he sprang to her side, exclaiming, “What does this mean?  How dare you?”

“No, no!” she cried breathlessly, clinging to his arm.  “He did not mean-—it was only a gesture!”

“I’ll have no such gestures to my mother.”

“Sir, the honoured lady only does me justice.  I meant nothing violent.  Zat is for you English military, whose veapon is zie horse-vhip.”

“As you will soon feel,” said Jock, “if you attempt to bully my mother.  What does it mean, mother dear?”