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 "Where art thou going, my son?" asked the father.

"Somewhere where I shall be safe from insult: if in this house I can find any such place."

Matthew laughed very insolently: Martin threw a strange look at him, and trembled through all his slight lad's frame, but he restrained himself.

"I suppose there is no objection to my withdrawing?" he inquired.

"No; go, my lad: but remember not to bear malice."

Martin went, and Matthew sent another insolent laugh after him. Rose, lifting her fair head from Moore's shoulder, against which, for a moment, it had been resting, said, as she directed a steady gaze to Matthew—"Martin is grieved, and you are glad; but I would rather be Martin than you: I dislike your nature."

Here Mr. Moore, by way of averting, or at least escaping, a scene—which a sob from Mrs. Yorke warned him was likely to come on—rose, and putting Jessy off his knee, he kissed her and Rose; reminding them, at the same time, to be sure and come to the Hollow in good time to-morrow afternoon: then, having taken leave of his hostess, he said to Mr. Yorke—"May I speak a word with you?" and was followed by him from the room. Their brief conference took place in the hall.