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I had the blood and the natural affections of a man。 Son？
You are no son； no son of mine； sir！'
'Sir！' said Dick。
'I'll tell you what you are； sir；' pursued the Squire。
'You're a Benthamite。 I disown you。 Your mother would have
died for shame； there was no modern cant about your mother；
she thought … she said to me； sir … I'm glad she's in her
grave； Dick Naseby。 Misinformed！ Misinformed； sir？ Have
you no loyalty； no spring； no natural affections？ Are you
clockwork； hey？ Away！ This is no place for you。 Away！'
（waving his hands in the air）。 'Go away！ Leave me！'
At this moment Dick beat a retreat in a disarray of nerves； a
whistling and clamour of his own arteries； and in short in
such a final bodily disorder as made him alike incapable of
speech or hearing。 And in the midst of all this turmoil； a
sense of unpardonable injustice remained graven in his
memory。
CHAPTER III … IN THE ADMIRAL'S NAME
THERE was no return to the subject。 Dick and his father were
henceforth on terms of coldness。 The upright old gentleman
grew more upright when he met his son； buckrammed with
immortal anger； he asked after Dick's health； and discussed
the weather and the crops with an appalling courtesy； his
pronunciation was POINT…DE…VICE； his voice was distant；
distinct； and sometimes almost trembling with suppressed
indignation。
As for Dick； it seemed to him as if his life had come
abruptly to an end。 He came out of his theories and
clevernesses； his premature man…of…the…worldness； on which he
had prided himself on his travels； 'shrank like a thing
ashamed' before this real sorrow。 Pride； wounded honour；
pity and respect tussled together daily in his heart； and now
he was within an ace of throwing himself upon his father's
mercy； and now of slipping forth at night and coming back no
more to Naseby House。 He suffered from the sight of his
father； nay； even from the neighbourhood of this familiar
valley； where every corner had its legend； and he was
besieged with memories of childhood。 If he fled into a new
land； and among none but strangers； he might escape his
destiny； who knew？ and begin again light…heartedly。 From
that chief peak of the hills； that now and then； like an
uplifted finger； shone in an arrow of sunlight through the
broken clouds； the shepherd in clear weather might perceive
the shining of the sea。 There； he thought； was hope。 But
his heart failed him when he saw the Squire； and he remained。
His fate was not that of the voyager by sea and land； he was
to travel in the spirit； and begin his journey sooner than he
supposed。
For it chanced one day that his walk led him into a portion
of the uplands which was almost unknown to him。 Scrambling
through some rough woods； he came out upon a moorland
reaching towards the hills。 A few lofty Scotch firs grew
hard by upon a knoll； a clear fountain near the foot of the
knoll sent up a miniature streamlet which meandered in the
heather。 A shower had just skimmed by； but now the sun shone
brightly； and the air smelt of the pines and the grass。 On a
stone under the trees sat a young lady sketching。 We have
learned to think of women in a sort of symbolic
transfiguration； based on clothes； and one of the readiest
ways in which we conceive our mistress is as a composite
thing； principally petticoats。 But humanity has triumphed
over clothes； the look； the touch of a dress has become
alive； and the woman who stitched herself into these material
integuments has now permeated right through and gone out to
the tip of her skirt。 It was only a black dress that caught
Dick Naseby's eye； but it took possession of his mind； and
all other thoughts departed。 He drew near； and the girl
turned round。 Her face startled him； it was a face he
wanted； and he took it in at once like breathing air。
'I beg your pardon；' he said； taking off his hat； 'you are
sketching。'
'Oh！' she exclaimed； 'for my own amusement。 I despise the
thing。'
'Ten to one； you do yourself injustice；' returned Dick。
'Besides； it's a freemasonry。 I sketch myself； and you know
what that implies。'
'No。 What？' she asked。
'Two things；' he answered。 'First； that I am no very
difficult critic； and second； that I have a right to see your
picture。'
She covered the block with both her hands。 'Oh no；' she
said； 'I am ashamed。'
'Indeed； I might give you a hint；' said Dick。 'Although no
artist myself； I have known many； in Paris I had many for
friends； and used to prowl among studios。'
'In Paris？' she cried； with a leap of light into her eyes。
'Did you ever meet Mr。 Van Tromp？'
'I？ Yes。 Why； you're not the Admiral's daughter； are you？'
'The Admiral？ Do they call him that？' she cried。 'Oh； how
nice； how nice of them！ It is the younger men who call him
so； is it not？'
'Yes；' said Dick； somewhat heavily。
'You can understand now；' she said； with an unspeakable
accent of contented noble…minded pride； 'why it is I do not
choose to show my sketch。 Van Tromp's daughter！ The
Admiral's daughter！ I delight in that name。 The Admiral！
And so you know my father？'
'Well；' said Dick； 'I met him often； we were even intimate。
He may have mentioned my name … Naseby。'
'He writes so little。 He is so busy； so devoted to his art！
I have had a half wish；' she added laughing； 'that my father
was a plainer man； whom I could help … to whom I could be a
credit； but only sometimes； you know； and with only half my
heart。 For a great painter！ You have seen his works？'
'I have seen some of them；' returned Dick； 'they … they are
very nice。'
She laughed aloud。 'Nice？' she repeated。 'I see you don't
care much for art。'
'Not much；' he admitted； 'but I know that many people are
glad to buy Mr。 Van Tromp's pictures。'
'Call him the Admiral！' she cried。 'It sounds kindly and
familiar； and I like to think that he is appreciated and
looked up to by young painters。 He has not always been
appreciated； he had a cruel life for many years； and when I
think' … there were tears in her eyes … 'when I think of
that； I feel incline to be a fool；' she broke off。 'And now
I shall go home。 You have filled me full of happiness； for
think； Mr。 Naseby； I have not seen my father since I was six
years old； and yet he is in my thoughts all day！ You must
come and call on me； my aunt will be delighted； I am sure；
and then you will tell me all … all about my father； will you
not？'
Dick helped her to get her sketching traps together； and when
all was ready； she gave Dick her hand and a frank return of
pressure。
'You are my father's friend；' she said； 'we shall be great
friends too。 You must come and see me soon。'
Then she was gone down the hillside at a run； and Dick stood
by himself in a state of some bewilderment and even distress。
There were elements of laughter in