DERELICT

CHAPTER I.

THE MARSTONS-FATHER AND SON

O faster, faster," shouted a young boy to a groom who was leading a bare-backed spirited horse by a long rein round a paddock; and as the groom obeyed the summons, the boy started off at a run, like a greyhound from its leash, and quickly overtaking the horse, he caught a lock of its mane with. one hand and lightly vaulted on its back, while a cheer arose from a group of stablemen and gardeners standing near watching the exploit.

"Well done, Master Tom, well done. I knew you'd do it at last if you only stuck to it," said an old coachman, separating himself from the others and walking towards the boy, who had gathered up the long rein from the groom and was trotting round the paddock.

About as good a specimen of a young Briton as one would meet in a day's march was Master Tom, only child of Robert Marston, Esquire, J.P., of Marston Towers.

Although but thirteen years of age, he looks fully two or three years older, as he gracefully sits the

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barebacked curvetting horse while he leans forward and pats its glossy neck, and soothes it with his voice. He has discarded his coat and hat, and is dressed in white flannel shirt and knickerbockers, which set off his active form.

A small, well-shaped head, with short curly brown hair, a pair of bright blue eyes, a laughing mouth with strong white teeth, a complexion as clear as plain living and hard outdoor exercise can make it, an expression on his face which proclaims a character honest and courageous, and you have young Thomas Marston.

Overflowing with animal spirits, wild, daring, and reckless; easy to lead, but impossible to drive; it would be vain to speculate how his future is likely to result.

He was well-known for many miles around, for he was as peripatetic as a gipsy; he would follow the beagles on foot for distances that would tire many a full-grown man, or walk half through the night to witness a wrestling match; and on one occasion he had been present at a cock fight. There was but little. that he did not know of the angler's art, while few poachers were better versed in woodcraft; he was generally liked by all, the one exception being the only relation he possessed in the world-his father!

Tom Marston had dismounted from his horse, and was about to make another attempt to vault on its back unaided, when the clattering of another horse's hoofs was heard, and almost at the same moment Mr. Marston, senior, appeared. He was riding a very dark roan; a magnificent brute with the shape of a hunter, and the strength of a cart-horse. And it had need to be strong, for Mr. Marston rode fully eighteen stone.

He was a handsome, but dissipated-looking man; square-headed, broad-shouldered, deep-chested. His face was very stern, with a prominent brow, overhanging shaggy eyebrows; deep sunken eyes, and a hooked nose. The corners of his mouth were turned

down; and deep lines ran from the corners of his mouth to his nostrils, which gave him a very determined expression.

The back of his head formed a straight line with his neck, and, as he had a habit of looking on the ground when in deep thought, this, with an extraordinary development of the muscles of his shoulders, gave him the appearance of stooping, and he was reminding of a statue of Atlas.

As he approached the group of by-standers, he called out in a loud, deep voice: "Hulloa! What's going on here? Why are you men not at work?"

In an instant the group dissolved, the individuals. composing it hurrying off in different directions to escape the "Master's" wrath; and then, as Mr. Marston drew nearer, he was just in time to see his son's second successful attempt, and realised that this was the entertainment which had attracted the men from their work.

Turning to the old coachman he said: "What, James! you here? I should have thought you might have been trusted when my back was turned. Take that horse back to the stable."

"Beg pardon, sir," James began.

"Not a word; take the horse to the stable."

Tom dismounted, and having given his horse a farewell pat, he picked up his coat and hat and commenced putting them on while his horse was led away.

As soon as they were alone, his father said: "Upon my word, I don't know what to do with you. You are growing up a regular young blackguard. You are not only idle yourself, but you make all the servants about the place idle. I have a good mind to send you to sea. You are only fit for that, or to be a circus rider or poacher."

"I should like to be a sailor, or a groom, or a gamekeeper very much," answered Tom seriously. "Don't be impertinent; but go into the house and do the sum I set you."