Deep Down | Page 4

man, I would advise you to beware of that same uncle of yours."
"How!" exclaimed the youth in surprise; "did you not tell me just now that he is a very good fellow?"
"No, sir, I did not. I told you that some people say he is a very good fellow, but for myself I think him an uncommonly bad man, a man who has done me great injury in his day--"
"It grieves me to hear you say so," interrupted Oliver, whose ire was again roused by the tone and manner of his companion.
"A decidedly bad man," continued the old gentleman, not noticing the interruption, "a thorough rascal, a smuggler, and a drunkard, and--"
"Hold, sir!" cried the youth sternly, as he stopped and faced the old gentleman, "remember that you speak of my relative. Had you been a younger man, sir--"
Again the youth paused abruptly.
"Go on, sir," said the old gentleman ironically, "you would have pommelled me to a jelly with your cudgel, I suppose; is that it?--acting somewhat in the spirit of your kinsman, that same smuggling and tippling old scoundrel, who--"
"Enough, sir," interrupted the young man angrily; "we part company here."
So saying, he vaulted over the wall that separated the road from the moor, and hurried away.
"Take the first turn to the left, and keep straight on, else you'll lose yourself aga-a-a-in," roared the old gentleman, "and my compliments to the rascally old smugg-le-e-r-r!"
"The old scoundrel!" muttered the youth as he hurried away.
"The young puppy!" growled the old gentleman as he jogged along. "Given to smuggling and the bottle indeed--humph! the excitable jackanapes! But I've given him a turn in the wrong direction that will cool his blood somewhat, and give me leisure to cool mine too, before we meet again."
Here the old gentleman's red countenance relaxed into a broad grin, and he chuckled a good deal, in the midst of a running commentary on the conduct and appearance of his late companion, from the disjointed sentences of which it might have been gathered that although his introduction to the young doctor had been unfortunate, and the succeeding intercourse stormy, his opinion of him was not altogether unfavourable.
CHAPTER TWO.
SHOWS WHAT ASTONISHING RESULTS MAY FOLLOW FROM TAKING THE WRONG ROAD.
Before Oliver Trembath had advanced half a mile on his path, he had cooled sufficiently to experience some regret at having been so quick to take offence at one who, being evidently an eccentric character, should not, he thought, have been broken with so summarily. Regrets, however, had come too late, so he endeavoured to shake off the disagreeable feelings that depressed him, and, the more effectually to accomplish this, burst forth into a bravura song with so much emphasis as utterly to drown, and no doubt to confound, two larks, which, up to that time, had been pouring their melodious souls out of their little bodies in the bright blue sky above.
Presently he came to a part of the moor where two roads diverged--one to the right and the other to the left. Recalling the shout of advice which the old gentleman had given him in parting, he took that which led to the left, and was gratified, on gaining an eminence a short distance in advance, to see in the far distance a square turret, which he concluded was that of the church of St. Just.
Keeping this turret in view, the youth stepped out so vigorously that he soon reached the small town that clustered round the church, and going up to the first man he met, said, "This is the town of St. Just, I suppose, is it not?"
"No, et is'n; thee's come the wrang road, sur," replied the rustic. "This es Sennen church-town. St. Just es up over th' hill theere."
Oliver Trembath's first feeling was one of surprise; this was followed by annoyance, which quickly degenerated into anger as it flashed into his mind that the old gentleman might possibly have led him wrong on purpose.
"How far is it to St. Just?" he inquired.
"'Bout six miles, sur."
"Then I suppose I am not far from the Land's End?" said Oliver after a pause.
"No, not fur," replied the man. "Et do lie straight before 'ee."
Thanking the man, Oliver started off at a smart pace, resolving, before proceeding to St. Just, to visit this extreme western point of England-- a visit to which he had often looked forward with pleasant anticipation.
During the last hour of his walk the sun had been obscured by clouds, but, just as he approached the cliffs, the clouds separated, and a golden flood rushed over the broad Atlantic, which now lay spread out before him in all its wide majesty as far as the eye could see.
"A good omen!" cried the youth with a shout, as he hurried towards the shore, intending to fling off his