once written off to Mr. Thorne of Ullathorne, and how Mr. Thorne
had declared that he didn't believe a word of it, and how Flurry
had produced the pad of the fox, with the marks of the trap on the
skin,--then the son began to feel that the ground was becoming very
warm, and that he could not go on much longer without rushing into
details about Grace Crawley. "I've no more doubt that it was one of
our foxes than that I stand here," said the archdeacon.

"It doesn't matter where the fox was bred. It shouldn't have been
trapped," said the major.

"Of course not," said the archdeacon, indignantly. I wonder whether
he would have been so keen had a Romanist priest come into his parish
and turned one of his Protestants into a Papist?

Then Flurry came up, and produced the identical pad out of his
pocket. "I don't suppose it was intended," said the major, looking
at the interesting relic with scrutinising eyes. "I suppose it was
caught in a rabbit-trap,--eh, Flurry?"

"I don't see what right a man has with traps at all, when gentlemen
is particular about their foxes," said Flurry. "Of course they'd call
it rabbits."

"I never liked that man on Darvell's farm," said the archdeacon.

"Nor I either," said Flurry. "No farmer ought to be on that land
who don't have a horse of his own. And if I war Squire Thorne, I
wouldn't have no farmer there who didn't keep no horse. When a farmer
has a horse of his own, and follies the hounds, there ain't no
rabbit-traps;--never. How does that come about, Mr. Henry? Rabbits! I
know very well what rabbits is!"

Mr. Henry shook his head, and turned away, and the archdeacon followed
him. There was an hypocrisy about this pretended care for the foxes
which displeased the major. He could not, of course, tell his father
that the foxes were no longer anything to him; but yet he must make
it understood that such was his conviction. His mother had written to
him, saying that the sale of furniture need not take place. It might
be all very well for his mother to say that, or for his father; but,
after what had taken place, he could consent to remain in England on
no other understanding than that his income should be made permanent
to him. Such permanence must not be any longer dependent on his
father's caprice. In these days he had come to be somewhat in love
with poverty and Pau, and had been feeding on the luxury of his
grievance. There is, perhaps, nothing so pleasant as the preparation
for sel