observant; his were changeful in expression, now abstracted, now dark and
shining as though some inner fire was burning. The head, too, had a
habit of coming up quickly with an almost wilful gesture, and with an air
which, in others, might have been called pride.

"What is thy name?" said another owl-like Elder to him.

A gentle, half-amused smile flickered at the young man's lips for an
instant, then, "David Claridge--still," he answered.

His last word stirred the meeting. A sort of ruffle went through the
atmosphere, and now every eye was fixed and inquiring. The word was
ominous. He was there on his trial, and for discipline; and it was
thought by all that, as many days had passed since his offence was
committed, meditation and prayer should have done their work. Now,
however, in the tone of his voice, as it clothed the last word, there was
something of defiance. On the ear of his grandfather, Luke Claridge, it
fell heavily. The old man's lips closed tightly, he clasped his hands
between his knees with apparent self-repression.

The second Elder who had spoken was he who had once heard Luke Claridge
use profane words in the Cloistered House. Feeling trouble ahead, and
liking the young man and his brother Elder, Luke Claridge, John Fairley
sought now to take the case into his own hands.

"Thee shall never find a better name, David," he said, "if thee live a
hundred years. It hath served well in England. This thee didst do.
While the young Earl of Eglington was being brought home, with noise and
brawling, after his return to Parliament, thee mingled among the
brawlers; and because some evil words were said of thy hat and thy