dropped back, letting his chin sink on his high stock-collar.

"It serves me right. Who shall deliver me from the wrath to come?"

"Oh! as for that--" Sir Harry finished tying the neck of the bag, and
lazily fell to fingering the setter's ear.

The old man was muttering to himself. Taffy looked at the dead bird,
then at Honoria. She was gazing at it too, with untroubled eyes.

"But I _will_ be saved! I tell you, Harry, I _will!_ Take those
birds away. Honoria, hand me my Bible. It's all here"--he tapped
the heavy book--"miracles, redemption, justification by faith--I
_will_ have faith. I _will_ believe, every damned word of it!"

Sir Harry broke in with a peal of laughter. Taffy had never heard a
laugh so musical.

The old man was adjusting his spectacles; but he took them off and
laid them down, his hands shaking with rage.

"You came here to taunt me"--his voice shook as his hand--"me, an
old man, with no son to my house. You think, because I'm seeking
higher things, there's no fight left in us or in the parish. I tell
you what; make that boy of yours strip and stand up, and I'll back
the Parson's youngster for doubles or quits. Off with your coat, my
son, and stand up to him!"

Taffy turned round in a daze. He did not understand. His eyes met
Honoria's, and they were fastened on him curiously. He was white in