Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

8 RAVENSHOE.
"Consistent, indeed," groaned poor Densil.
" Now, look here," said Saltire; "I may have been to blame
in this. But I give you my honor, I had no more idea that
you would be obstinate enough to bring matters to this pass,
than I had that you would burn down Ravenshoe House because
I laughed at it for being old-fashioned. Go home, my poor little
Catholic pipkin, and don't try to swim with iron pots like Wrekin and me. Make submission to that singularly distingue'-looking old turkey-cock of a priest, kiss your mother, and get your
usual autumn's hunting and shooting."
"Too late! too late, now!" sobbed Densil.
"Not at all, my dear fellow," said Saltire, taking a pinch of
snuff; "the partridges will be a little wild of course - that you
must expect; but you ought to get some very pretty pheasant
and cock-shooting. Come, say yes. Have your debts paid, and
get out of this infernal hole. A week of this would tame the
Devil, I should think."
" If you think you could do anything for me, Saltire."
Lord Saltire immediately retired, and reappeared, leading in a
lady by her hand. She raised the veil from her head, and he
saw his mother. In a moment she was crying on his neck; and,
as he looked over her shoulder, he saw a blue coat passing out
of the door, and that was the last of Lord Saltire for the present.
It was no part of the game of the priests to give Densil a cold
welcome home. Twenty smiling faces were grouped in the porch
to welcome him back; and among them. all none smiled more
brightly than the old priest and his father. The dogs went wild
with joy, and his favorite peregrine scolded on the falconer's
wrist, and struggled with her jesses, shrilly reminding him of the
merry old days by the dreary salt marsh, or the lonely lake.
The past was never once alluded to in any way by any one in
the house. Only Squire Petre shook hands with faithful James,
and gave him a watch, ordering him to ride a certain colt next
day, and see how well forward he could get him. So next day
they drew the home covers, and the fox, brave fellow, ran out to
Parkside, making for the granite walls of Hessitor. And when
Densil felt his nostrils filled once more by the free, rushing
nlountain air, he shouted aloud for joy, and James's voice along
side of him said,"This is better than the Fleet, sir."
And so Densil played a single-wicket match with the Holy
Church, and, like a great many other people, got bowled out in
the first innings. He returned to his allegiance in the most
exemplary manner, and settled down into the most humdrum of
young country gentlemen. He did exactly what every one else
about him did. He was not naturally a profligate or vicious
man; but there'Was a wild devil of animal passion in him, which