CHAPTER VIII.
“By the Lord Harry!” cried the Squire, as he stood with his wife in the park, on a visit of inspection to some first-rate South-Downs just added to his stock; “by the Lord, if that is not Randal Leslie trying to get into the park at the back gate! Hollo, Randal! you must come round by the lodge, my boy,” said he. “You see this gate is locked to keep out trespassers.”
“A pity,” said Randal. “I like short-cuts, and you have shut up a very short one.”
“So the trespassers said,” quoth the Squire “but Stirn would not hear of it;—valuable man Stirn. But ride round to the lodge. Put up
your horse, and you’ll join us before we can get to the house.”
Randal nodded and smiled, and rode briskly on.
The Squire rejoined his Harry.
“Ah, William,” said she anxiously, “though certainly Randal Leslie means well, I always dread his visits.”
“So do I, in one sense,” quoth the Squire, “for he always carries away a bank-note for Frank.”