THE HILL OF DREAMS
help speaking the truth. Write books!' Her expression filled up the incomplete sentence; she waggled with indignant emotion. These passages came to Lucian's ears, and indeed the Gervases boasted of 'how well poor Agatha had behaved.'
'Never mind, Gathy,' old Gervase had observed. 'If the impudent young puppy comes here again we'll see what Thomas can do with the horsewhip.'
'Poor dear child,' Mrs. Gervase added in telling the tale, 'and she was so fond of him too. But of course it couldn't go on after his shameful behaviour.'
But Lucian was troubled; he sought vainly for the ideal womanly, the tender note of 'come rest on this bosom.' Ministering angels, he felt convinced, do not rub red pepper and sulphuric acid into the wounds of suffering mortals.
Then there was the case of Mr. Vaughan, a squire in the neighbourhood, at whose board all the aristocracy of Caermaen had feasted for years. Mr. Vaughan had a first-rate cook, and his cellar was rare, and he was never so happy as when he shared his good things with his friends. His mother kept his house, and they delighted all the
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