To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. It was ended. “Ah!” said Ramage, impressively. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. Today you shall promise me that you will pull no more of these stunts. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes.
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