dn't like to trust to it, unless I got
Madge on my side."

His father, I think I have mentioned, was too blind to read, and George
used to keep all his accounts; so that nothing would seem at first to
look more easy than to imitate his father's signature, and obtain what
money he wished. But George knew well that the old man was often in the
habit of looking through his banker's book, with the assistance of
Madge, so that he was quite unsafe without her. His former embezzlement
he had kept secret, by altering some figure in the banker's book; but
this next one, of such a much larger amount, he felt somewhat anxious
about. He, however, knew his woman well, and took his measures
accordingly.

On the day mentioned, he met Lee, and gave him the money agreed on; and
having received his assurances that he valued his life too much to
trouble him any more, saw him depart, fully expecting that he should
have another application at an early date; under which circumstances,
he thought he would take certain precautions which should be conclusive.

But he saw Lee no more. No more for many, many years. But how and when
they met again, and who came off best in the end, this tale will truly
and sufficiently set forth hereafter.

Chapter VII

MAJOR BUCKLEY GIVES HIS OPINION ON TROUT-FISHING, ON EMIGRATION, AND ON
GEORGE HAWKER.

Spring had come again, after a long wet winter, and every
orchard-hollow blushed once more with appleblossoms. In warm sheltered
southern valleys hedges were already green, and even the tall
hedgerow-elms began, day after day, to grow more shady and dense.

It was a bright April morning, about ten o'clock, when Mary Thornton,
throwing up her father's studywindow from the outside, challenged him
to come out and take a walk; and John, getting his hat and stick,
immediately joined her in front of the house.

"Where is your aunt, my love?" said John.

"She is upstairs," said Mary. "I will call her."

She began throwing gravel at one of the upper windows, and crying out,
"Auntie! Auntie!"

The sash was immediately thrown (no, that is too violent a word--say
lifted) up, and a beautiful old lady's face appeared at the window.

"My love," it said, in a small, soft voice, "pray be careful of the
windows. Did you want anything, my dear?"

"I want you out for a walk, Auntie; so come along."

"Certainly, my love. Brother, have you got your thick kerchief in your
pocket?"

"No," said the Vicar, "I