Father Brisdone bowed his head. "I'm afraid I have a good deal of the evil one in me, brother," said Master Peasegood, helping himself to more tobacco. "See here, I try this herb to see what it is like, so that I may be able to follow out his Majesty's wishes, and duly preach it down; and how do I find myself? Why, tied neck and heels, and given over to the hands of the tempter."

"Ah, yes," said Father Brisdone, re-lighting his own pipe, "it is a soothing and seductive weed."

"Then again, about you? Sir Thomas at the Moat twitted me again with our intimacy, as not becoming the parson of Roehurst, and I told him I was converting you fast."

"An untruth, brother Peasegood."

"Yes; but it slipped out unawares. Ah, Brother Francis, I'm afraid that I resemble the unjust steward, and am making friends with such as thou against the days when thy party has the ascendancy once more, and we Protestants are of small account."

Father Brisdone shook his head sadly.

"Nay," he said, "the day is gone; and, if it were not, thou art not the man to stand on the order of taking care of self. But was not that a step?"

They ceased speaking, for it was plainly enough a step, and directly after the door was unceremoniously opened and a figure stood on the threshold.

"Gilbert Carr!" cried Master Peasegood; "why I thought thee miles away."

"And so I should be," was the reply; "but I could not go without first saying a few words."

Master Peasegood rose from his chair, and made way for his fresh visitor to take a seat; but Gil laid his hands upon the stout clerk's shoulders, and gently pressed him back.

"Sit still," he said; "I have not a minute to stay. I have come across from Curtport, and must be back at daybreak, or my vessel will have to wait another tide."

"Have you a horse?"

"No; I walked," said Gil, smiling.

"Why, it is nearly thirty miles," said Father Brisdone.

"Quite," was the reply. "Look here, Master Peasegood, I can speak before Father Brisdone, for he is a friend."

"But first have bite and sup," cried Master Peasegood, essaying to rise.

"I have both in my wallet here," said Gil. "Now, listen to me: I am uneasy about matters at the house by the Pool."

"And thou would'st have me watch over some one there?" said Master Peasegood.

"Yes," was the reply.

"Be easy in thy mind, then, lad, for it is done. Not that I favour thee, or think well of thy suit, mind; but rely on my taking care of the little treasure there."

"I am content, Master Peasegood," said Gil, holding out his hand.

"But you did not walk across country from Curtpool to tell me this?"

said Master Peasegood.

"I did; and why not, Master Peasegood? There, my mission is ended, so good night to both."

Before either could reply he had passed out into the darkness, and they heard his steps die away in the distance.

"A true-hearted, brave man!" said Father Brisdone, fervently. "Heaven's blessing be upon him!"

"Heaven's blessing be upon him, by all means," said Master Peasegood drily; "and I hope it will do him good."

"Why do you speak so cynically of the young man?"

"Because I don't like him after all for our child, and he shall never have her with my consent."

"Poor girl! And yet she loves him."

"He's not good enough man for her," growled Master Peasegood.

"No man that I know is," replied Father Brisdone. "But, there, we cannot dislike him for his love for one so sweet and true. Good night, brother; I must be for home. It grows late."

"I'll see thee half-way back," cried Master Peasegood; and after a short walk with his friend he returned to his cottage, and was soon making the bed vibrate with his heavy breathing, which often degenerated into a snore. But he had not been sleeping many minutes before there was a loud pattering at the casement, one that was repeated again and again.

"He gave them hailstones for rain," muttered Master Peasegood, in his sleep.

Patter, patter, patter again at the casement, when Master Peasegood started up, and the bed gave forth a dismal groan.

Patter, patter, patter at the window once more.

"There's some one ill," said the stout clerk, and, rising hastily, while the bedstead emitted a sound like a sigh of relief, he threw on his old gown, went to the window and threw it open.

"Hallo!" he cried.

"Hallo, parson," came up out of the darkness in a deep growl.

"What is it thou, old son of Belial," said Master Peasegood, sourly, for he had been awakened from a pleasant sleep.

"Ay, Wat Kilby it is."

"I thought thee with thy master, far at sea--safe enough, for thou'lt be hanged some day, Wat Kilby, and never drowned."

"Thou'rt a false prophet," growled Wat Kilby.

"Thou'rt a villainous old unbeliever, worse than a Jew!" cried Master Peasegood, angrily.

"I wish all thy country flock were as good as Jews, parson."

"I wish they were," said Master Peasegood, angrily. "And now why art thou here?"

"We're at anchor. Skipper's ashore."

"He was here an hour ago, man."

"Eh? Was he then? I must get me back. Here, hold down thy hand; I've brought thee some tobacco. I know thou'rt converted, parson, and can smoke."

"I'll come down, if I can convert thee, Wat Kilby."