ill tell you. Swear to Gad I will." Then, the little
cunning inherited from his father asserting itself, he added, "Look you,
Richard, I am the son of one of the richest men in the colony, and I get
the pittance of a backwoods pastor. I tell you 'tis not to be borne
with. And I am not of as much consideration at the Hall as Brady, the
Irish convict, who has become overseer."

I little wondered at this. Philip sank back, and for some moments eyed
me between narrowed lids. He continued presently with shortened breath:

"I have evidence--I have evidence to get you back a good share of the
estate, which my father will never miss. And I will do it," he cries,
suddenly bold, "I will do it for three thousand pounds down when you
receive it."

This was why he had come with Tom to Talbot! I was so dumfounded that my
speech was quite taken away. Then I got up and began pacing the room.
Was it not fair to fight a scoundrel with his own weapons? Here at last
was the witness Mr. Swain had been seeking so long, come of his own free
will. Then--Heaven help me!--my mind flew on. As time had passed I had
more than once regretted refusing the Kent plantation, which had put her
from whom my thought never wandered within my reach again. Good Mr.
Swain had erred for once. 'Twas foolish, indeed, not to accept a portion
of what was rightfully mine, when no more could be got. And now, if what
Philip said was true (and I doubted it not), here at last was the chance
come again to win her without whom I should never be happy. I glanced at
my cousin.

"Gad's life!" says he, "it is cheap enough. I might have asked you
double."

"So you might, and have been refused," I cried hotly. For I believe that
speech of his recalled me to my senses. It has ever been an instinct
with me that no real prosperity comes out of double-dealing. And
commerce with such a sneak sickened me. "Go back to your father,
Philip, and threaten him, and he may make you rich. Such as he live by
blackmail. And you may add, and you will, that the day of retribution
is coming for him."

CHAPTER XLVIII

MULTUM IN PARVO

I lost no time after getting to Annapolis in confiding to Mr. Swain the
conversation I had had with my cousin Philip. And I noticed, as he sat
listening to my account in the library in Gloucester Street, that the
barrister looked very worn. He had never been a strong man, and the
severe strain he had been under with the patriots' business was beginnin