and he
thought between them they would about manage to keep that young spark in
order.

Robert meanwhile went straight home into his study, and there fell upon
ink and paper. What was the good of protracting the matter any longer?
Something must and should be done for these people, if not one way, then
another.

So he wrote to the squire, showing the letter to Catherine when it was
done, lest there should be anything over-fierce in it. It was the simple
record of twelve months' experience told with dignity and strong
feeling. Henslowe was barely mentioned in it, and the chief burden of
the letter was to implore the squire to come and inspect certain
portions of his property with his own eyes. The rector would be at his
service any day or hour.

Husband and wife went anxiously through the document, softening here,
improving there, and then it was sent to the Hall. Robert waited
nervously through the day for an answer. In the evening, while he and
Catherine were in the footpath after dinner, watching a chilly autumnal
moonrise over the stubbles of the cornfield, the answer came.

'H'm,' said Robert dubiously as he opened it, holding it up to the
moonlight; 'can't be said to be lengthy.'

He and Catherine hurried into the house. Robert read the letter, and
handed it to her without a word.

After some curt references to one or two miscellaneous points raised in
the latter part of the rector's letter, the squire wound up as
follows:--

'As for the bulk of your communication, I am at a loss to
understand the vehemence of your remarks on the subject of my Mile
End property. My agent informed me shortly after my return home
that you had been concerning yourself greatly, and, as he
conceived, unnecessarily about the matter. Allow me to assure you
that I have full confidence in Mr. Henslowe, who has been in the
district for as many years as you have spent months in it, and
whose authority on points connected with the business management of
my estate naturally carries more weight with me, if you will permit
me to say so, than your own.--I am, sir, your obedient servant,

'ROGER WENDOVER.'

Catherine returned the letter to her husband with a look of dismay. He
was standing with his back to the chimney-piece, his hands thrust far
into his pockets, his upper lip quivering. In his happy expansive life
this was the sharpest personal rebuff that had ever happened t