But I was not to leave the home of my ancestors without a parting shot. As I closed the front door behind me I heard a window go up, and on looking round there was the old fellow shaking his fist, at me from the second floor.
"Leave my house—leave my park, or I'll send for the constable to turn you off. Bah! You came to steal. You're no nephew of mine; I disown you. You're a common cheat—a swindler—an impostor! Go!"
I went. And, leaving the park, walked straight across to the rectory and enquired if I might see the clergyman. To him I told my tale, and, among other things, asked if anything could be done for the child—my cousin. He only shook his head.
"I fear it is hopeless, Mr. Hatteras. The old gentleman is a terrible character, and as he owns half the village, and every acre of the land hereabouts, we all live in fear and trembling of him. We have no shadow of a claim upon the child, and unless we can prove that he actually illtreats it, I am sorry to say I think there is nothing to be done."
So ended my first meeting with my father's family.
From the rectory I returned to my inn. What should I do? London was a desert to me now that my sweetheart was gone, and every other place seemed as bad. Then an advertisement on the wall of the bar parlour caught my eye:
"For Sale or Hire,
THE YACHT, "ENCHANTRESS."
Ten Tons.
Apply, Screw & Matchem, Bournemouth."
