Of High Descent. Fenn George Manville

was half a dozen yards away, rising and falling on the swell.

      “Give me your hand, my dear,” said the tall grey gentleman, leaning down.

      “Oh, I can manage, papa,” she cried, and the next moment she was by his side. Looking back, “Thank you, Mr Van Heldre,” she said.

      “Eh! All right, my child. Now, Maddy. Steady, my lads. Mind that ledge; don’t get her under there. Bravo! that’s right. Now, my girl. Well done!”

      Madelaine leaped to his side, and was in turn assisted to the top, she accepting the tall gentleman’s help, while Uncle Luke, with his hands resting on his rod, which he held with the butt on the rock, stood grimly looking down at the boat.

      “I think I’ll land here,” said Leslie. “You don’t want my help with the boat.”

      “Oh, no; we can manage,” said Harry sourly; and Leslie gave up his oar and leaped on to the rock as the boat was again backed in.

      “That chap looks quite green,” said Uncle Luke with a sneering laugh. “Our London friend been poorly, Louie?”

      Before she could answer the tall gentleman cried to those in the boat —

      “Don’t be long, my boy. Tea will be waiting.”

      “All right, dad. Lay hold of this oar, Vic, and let’s get her moored.”

      “Why, you’re wet, Mr Leslie,” said the tall gentleman, shaking hands.

      “Only sea-water, sir. It’s nothing.”

      “But,” said the former speaker, looking quickly from one to the other, and his handsome, thoughtful face seemed troubled, “has there been anything wrong?”

      “Harry fell in,” said Louise, speaking rather quickly and excitedly; “and Mr Leslie – ”

      “Ah!” ejaculated the tall gentleman excitedly.

      “It was nothing, sir,” said Leslie hastily. “He swam in among the rocks – into a cave, and he was a long time gone, and I went after him; that’s all.”

      “But, my dear boy, you must make haste and change your things.”

      “I shall not hurt, Mr Vine.”

      “And – and – look here. Make haste and come on then to us. There will be a meal ready. It’s Harry’s last day at home.”

      “Oh, thank you, Mr Vine; I don’t think I’ll come to-night.”

      “But you have been one of the party so far, and I should – Louie, my dear – ”

      “We shall be very glad if you will come, Mr Leslie,” said Louise, in response to her father’s hesitating words and look, and there was a calm, ingenuous invitation in her words that made the young man’s heart throb.

      “I, too, shall be very glad,” he said quietly.

      “That’s right, that’s right,” said Mr Vine, laying one of his long thin white hands on the young man’s arm; and then changing its position, so that he could take hold of one of the buttons on his breast. Then turning quickly: “Madelaine’s coming, of course.”

      “Louie says so,” said the girl quietly.

      “To be sure; that’s right, my dear; that’s right,” said the old man, beaming upon her as he took one of her hands to hold and pat it in his. “You’ll come too, Van?”

      “I? No, no. I’ve some bills of lading to look over.”

      “Yah!” ejaculated Uncle Luke with a snarl.

      “Yes; bills of lading, you idle old cynic. I can’t spend my time fishing.”

      “Pity you can’t,” said Uncle Luke. “Money, money, always money.”

      “Hear him, Mr Leslie?” said Van Heldre smiling. “Are you disposed to follow his teachings?”

      “I’m afraid not,” said Leslie.

      “Not he,” snarled Uncle Luke.

      “But you will come, Van?” said Mr Vine.

      “My dear fellow, I wish you would not tempt me. There’s work to do. Then there’s my wife.”

      “Bring Mrs Van Heldre too,” said Louise, laying her hand on his.

      “Ah, you temptress,” he cried merrily.

      “It’s Harry’s last evening,” said Mr Vine.

      “Look here,” said Van Heldre, “will you sing me my old favourite if I come, Louie?”

      “Yes; and you shall have a duet too.”

      “Ah, never mind the duet,” said Van Heldre laughingly; “I can always hear Maddy at home. There, out of pocket again by listening to temptation. I’ll come.”

      “Come and join us too, Luke,” said Mr Vine.

      “No!” snapped the old fisher.

      “Do, uncle,” said Louise.

      “Shan’t,” he snarled, stooping to pick up his heavy basket.

      “But it’s Harry’s last – ”

      “Good job too,” snarled the old man.

      “I’m going your way, Mr Luke Vine,” said Leslie. “Let me carry the basket.”

      “Thank ye; I’m not above carrying my own fish,” said the old man sharply; and he raised and gave the basket a swing to get it upon his back, but tottered with the weight, and nearly fell on the uneven rocks.

      “There, it is too heavy for you,” said Leslie, taking possession of the basket firmly; and Louise Vine’s eyes brightened.

      “Be too heavy for you when you get as old as I am,” snarled the old man.

      “I dare say,” said Leslie quietly; and they went off together.

      “Luke’s in fine form this afternoon,” said Van Heldre, nodding and smiling.

      “Yes,” said the brother, looking after him wistfully. “We shall wait till you come, Mr Leslie,” he shouted, giving vent to an after-thought.

      The young man turned and waved his hand.

      “Rather like Leslie,” said Van Heldre. “Maddy, you’ll have to set your cap at him.”

      Madelaine looked up at him and laughed.

      “Yes, poor Luke!” said Mr Vine thoughtfully, as he stooped and picked up a small net and a tin can, containing the treasures he had found in sundry rock pools. “I’m afraid we are a very strange family, Van,” he added, as they walked back towards the little town.

      “Very, old fellow,” said his friend, smiling. “I’ll be with you before Leslie gets back, wife and the necessary change of dress permitting.”

      Volume One – Chapter Four.

      A Thunderbolt

      George Vine, gentleman, as he was set down in the parish books and the West-country directory, lived in a handsome old granite-built residence that he had taken years before, when, in obedience to his sister’s wish, he had retired from the silk trade a wealthy man. But there he had joined issue with the lady in question, obstinately refusing to make France his home, and selecting the house above named in the old Cornish port for two reasons: one, to be near his old friend Godfrey Van Heldre, a well-to-do merchant who carried on rather a mixed business, dealing largely in pilchards, which he sent in his own ships to the Italian ports, trading in return in such produce of the Levant as oranges, olives, and dried fruit; the other, so that he could devote himself to the branch of natural history, upon which he had grown to be an authority so great that his work upon the Actiniadae of our coast was looked forward to with no little expectation by a good many people, in addition to those who wrote F.Z.S. at the end of their names.

      The pleasant social meal known as high tea was spread in the long low oak-panelled dining-room, whose very wide