Leaving this question unanswered, John walked slowly away; but either unable to resist the fascination which had "come over" him, or moved by a chivalric desire to protect the damsel, if need were, he presently retraced his steps, venturing nearer this time, though partially concealed from view under the foliage of an old chestnut tree, at the foot of which was a rustic seat.
"I have a right to be here," quoth John, inwardly; "and if people choose to talk loud enough in other people's grounds to be overheard, it is no fault of mine."
If Mr. John had cared (which he did not) to hear the dispute, he was baulked, for the conversation had by this time subsided. He saw plainly enough, though, that the girl was in some kind of distress, and he partly guessed the reason when he observed that her father's face was flushed, and that he was, with unsteady hand, pouring out into a tea-cup some transparent fluid from a flask he had drawn from his pocket. He had evidently had recourse to this before, and was again raising the cup to his lips when a voice from some distance caused him to hold his hand and look round.
Tincroft looked too in the direction of the voice, and saw his friend the clergyman, with Farmer Wilson and his wife within a dozen yards of the table. It was Wilson who had spoken. He spoke again when he came nearer.
"So you are at it again, Mark," said he, angrily, and looking the other in the face. "If you must be getting drunk," he added, snatching the cup out of the drinker's hand, and dashing out its contents on to the greensward, "you might at least have the decency to do it at home, and not come here making a show of yourself, and disgracing your kith and kin."
"And so I've been telling him, and so has Sarah," cried Mrs. Mark; "but he wouldn't heed us—you know you wouldn't, Mark," said she, deprecatingly.
By this time the unhappy man, whom our readers will before now have recognised, was on his feet, and giving vent to ebullitions of rage against his wife, his daughter, his brother, and all and sundry besides. And it was plain to Tincroft that the poor miserable man had made such bad use of his time and his gin-flask since tea as to be unsteady alike on his legs and in his speech.
The quarrel might have heightened to a disturbance had not the peace-making clergyman interfered, by replying to the thickly-spoken demand of Mark to his brother—"What business is it of yours what I do or don't do, Matthew? What right have you to come prying about like a sneak, as you are?"
"Gently, gently, friend," said the rector; "and you, Mr. Matthew, don't answer your brother, for 'grievous words stir up strife,' you know, and 'a brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city.' It was I, Mr. Mark, who persuaded your brother and sister to come and speak to you and Mrs. Mark here. I told them that it would not look well if it were known that you were all at this pleasant holiday party, and should go away without having passed a word with each other. I am sorry now that I interfered."
"Oh, never mind, sir, never mind," said the sober brother; "Mark knows that I know that there's nothing new in this. As good a fellow as ever lived, sir, till he took to drinking; and now—there, the least said the soonest mended."