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A sudden； dip in the high ground made it necessary for the coach to put
on the drag； and thus it slowly entered a village； which attracted
attention from its wretched appearance。 The cottages； of the rough
stone of the country； were little better than hovels； slates were torn
off； windows broken。 Wild…looking uncombed women； in garments of
universal dirt colour； stood at the doors； ragged children ran and
shrieked after the coach； the church had a hole in the roof； and stood
tottering in spite of rude repairs； the churchyard was trodden down by
cattle； and the whole place only resembled the pictures of Irish
dilapidation。
'What miserable place is this？' asked a passenger。 'Yes； that's what
all gentlemen ask；' replied the coachman； 'and well you may。 There's
not a more noted place for thieves and vagabonds。 They call it Coombe
Prior。'
Guy well knew the name； though he had never been there。 It was a
distant offset of his own property； and a horrible sense of
responsibility for all the crime and misery there came over him。
'Is there no one to look； after it？' continued the traveller。 'No
squire； no clergyman？'
'A fox…hunting parson；' answered the coachman； 'who lives half…a…dozen
miles off； and gallops over for the service。'
Guy knew that the last presentation had been sold in the days of his
grandfather's extravagance； and beheld another effect of ancestral sin。
'Do you know who is the owner of the place？'
'Yes； sir； 'tis Sir Guy Morville。 You have heard tell of the old Sir
Guy Morville； for he made a deal of noise in the world。'
'What！ The noted'
'I ought not to allow you to finish your sentence；' said Guy； very
courteously； 'without telling you that I am his grandson。'
'I beg your pardon！' exclaimed the traveller。
'Nay；' said Guy； with a smile； 'I only thought it was fair to tell
you。'
'Sir Guy himself！' said the coachman； turning round； and touching his
hat； anxious to do the honours of his coach。 'I have not seen you on
this road before； sir； for I never forget a face； I hope you'll often
be this way。'
After a few more civilities； Guy was at liberty to attend to the fresh
influx of sad musings on thoughtless waste affecting not only the
destiny of the individual himself； but whole generations besides。 How
many souls might it not have ruined？ 'These sheep； what had they
done！' His grandfather had repented； but who was to preach repentance
unto these？ He did not wonder now that his own hopes of happiness had
been blighted； he only marvelled that a bright present or future had
ever been his
While souls were wandering far and wide；
And curses swarmed on every side。
The traveller was； meanwhile； observing the heir of Redclyffe；
possessor of wealth and wide lands。 Little did he guess how that
bright…eyed youth looked upon his riches。
Miles were passed in one long melancholy musing； till Guy was roused by
the sight of familiar scenes； and found himself rattling over the
stones of the little borough of Moorworth； with the gray； large…
windowed； old…fashioned houses； on each side； looking at him with
friendly eyes。 There； behind those limes cut out in arches； was the
commercial school； where he had spent many an hour in construing with
patient Mr。 Potts； and though he had now a juster appreciation of his
old master's erudition； which he had once thought so vast； he
recollected with veneration his long and patient submission to an
irksome； uncongenial life。 Rumbling on； the coach was in the square
market…place； the odd…looking octagon market…house in the middle； and
the innthe respectable old 'George'with its long rank of stables
and out…buildings forming one side。 It was at this inn that Guy had
been born； and the mistress having been the first person who had him in
her arms； considered herself privileged to have a great affection for
him； and had delighted in the greetings he always exchanged with her
when he put up his pony at her stable； and went to his tutor。
There was a certainty of welcome here that cheered him； as he swung
himself from the roof of the coach； lifted Bustle down； and called out
to the barmaid that he hoped Mrs。 Lavers was well。
The next moment Mrs。 Lavers was at the door herself； with her broad；
good…humoured face； close cap； bright shawl； and black gown； just as
Guy always recollected； and might； if he could； have recollected； when
he was born。 If she had any more guests she neither saw nor cared for
them； her welcome was all for him； and he could not but smile and look
cheerful； if only that he might not disappoint her； feeling； in very
truth； cheered and gratified by her cordiality。 If he was in a hurry；
he would not show it； and he allowed her to seat him in her own
peculiar abode； behind the glass…cases of tongue and cold chicken； told
her he came from Oxford； admired her good fire； and warmed his hands
over it； before he even asked if the 'something' had arrived which was
to take him home。 It was coming to the door at the moment； and proved
to be Mr。 Markham's tall； high…wheeled gig； drawn by the old white…
faced chestnut； and driven by Markham himselfa short； sturdy； brown…
red； honest…faced old man； with frosted hair and whiskers； an air more
of a yeoman than of a lawyer； and though not precisely gentlemanlike；
yet not ungentlemanlike； as there was no pretension about him。
Guy darted out to meet him； and was warmly shaken by the hand； though
the meeting was gruff。
'So； Sir Guy！ how d'ye do？ I wonder what brings you here on such short
notice？ Good morning； Mrs。 Lavers。 Bad roads this winter。'
'Good morning； Mr。 Markham。 It is a treat； indeed； to have Sir Guy
here once more； so grown； too。'
'Grownhum！' said Markham； surveying him； 'I don't see it。 He'll
never be as tall as his father。 Have you got your things； Sir Guy？
Ay； that's the way；care for nothing but the dog。 Gone on by the
coach； most likely。'
They might have been； for aught Guy knew to the contrary； but Boots had
been more attentive； and they were right。 Mrs。 Lavers begged he would
walk in； and warm himself； but Markham answered；
'What do you say； Sir Guy？ The road is shocking； and it will be as
dark as a pit by the time we get home。'
'Very well； we won't keep old Whiteface standing；' said Guy。 'Good…
bye； Mrs。 Lavers thank you。 I shall see you again before long。'
Before Markham had finished a short private growl on the shocking state
of the Moorworth pavement； and a protest that somebody should be called
over the coals； Guy began；'
'What a horrible place Coombe Prior is！'
'I only know I wish you had more such tenants as Todd；' was Markham's
answer。 'Pays his rent to a day； and improves his land。'
'But what sort of man is he？'
'A capital farmer。 A regular screw； I believe；