in it a dash of comedy,
which, though he was in no mirthful mood, caught the quick eye of Mr.
May. He was himself very painfully affected, to tell the truth, but yet
it cost him an effort not to smile.

"Cotsdean," he said, "have I ever failed you yet? You have done a good
deal for me, I don't deny it--you have had all the trouble, but beyond
that what have you suffered except in imagination? If you choose to
exaggerate dangers, it is not my fault. Your children are as safe as--as
safe as the Bank of England. Now, have I ever failed you? answer me
that."

"I can't say as you have, sir," said Cotsdean, "but it's dreadful work
playing with a man's ruin, off and on like this, and nobody knowing what
might happen, or what a day or an hour might bring forth."

"That is very true," said Mr. May. "I might die, that is what you mean;
very true, though not quite so kind as I might have expected from an old
friend--a very old friend."

"I am sure, Sir, I beg your pardon," cried the poor man, "it wasn't
that; but only just as I'm driven out o' my seven senses with thinking
and thinking."

"My dear Cotsdean, don't think; there could not be a more unnecessary
exercise; what good does your thinking do, but to make you unhappy?
leave that to me. We have been driven into a corner before now, but
nothing has ever happened to us. You will see something will turn up
this time. I ask you again, have I ever failed you? you know best."

"No, sir," said Cotsdean, somewhat doubtfully. "No, I didn't say as you
had. It's only--I suppose I ain't so young as I once was--and a man's
feelin's, sir, ain't always in his own control."

"You must take care that it is only to me that you make such an
exhibition as this," said Mr. May. "Who is there? oh, my coffee! put it
on the table. If you are seen coming here to me with red eyes and this
agitated appearance," he went on, waiting pointedly till the door was
closed, "it will be supposed there is some family reason for
it--again--"

"Oh, lor', Sir! you know--"

"Yes, I know very well," said the clergyman. "I know that there couldn't
be a better wife, and that bygones are bygones; but you must remember
and take care; everybody doesn't know you--and her--so well as I do.
When you come to see your clergyman in this agitated state, I put it to
yourself, Cotsdean, I put it to your good sense, what is anybody to
think? You must take great care not to betray yourself to anybody but
me."

The man l