have told you. I'll write down by to-night's post, and then he can
meet me at Barchester to-morrow. Or do you write. There's nothing
I hate so much as letter-writing; just tell him that I called, and
that I shall be much obliged if he can meet me at the Dragon of
Wantly--say at two to-morrow. I will go down by the express."

Mark Robarts, in talking over this coming money trouble with Sowerby,
had once mentioned that if it were necessary to take up the bill for
a short time he might be able to borrow the money from his brother.
So much of the father's legacy still remained in the hands of the
private secretary as would enable him to produce the amount of the
latter bill, and there could be no doubt that he would lend it if
asked. Mr. Sowerby's visit to the Petty Bag Office had been caused by
a desire to learn whether any such request had been made--and also
by a half-formed resolution to make the request himself if he should
find that the clergyman had not done so. It seemed to him to be
a pity that such a sum should be lying about, as it were, within
reach, and that he should not stoop to put his hands upon it. Such
abstinence would be so contrary to all the practice of his life that
it was as difficult to him as it is for a sportsman to let pass a
cock-pheasant. But yet something like remorse touched his heart as he
sat there balancing himself on his chair in the private secretary's
room, and looking at the young man's open face.

"Yes; I'll write to him," said John Robarts; "but he hasn't said
anything to me about anything particular."

"Hasn't he? It does not much signify. I only mentioned it because I
thought I understood him to say that he would." And then Mr. Sowerby
went on swinging himself. How was it that he felt so averse to
mention that little sum of L500 to a young man like John Robarts,
a fellow without wife or children or calls on him of any sort, who
would not even be injured by the loss of the money, seeing that
he had an ample salary on which to live? He wondered at his own
weakness. The want of the money was urgent on him in the extreme. He
had reasons for supposing that Mark would find it very difficult to
renew the bills, but he, Sowerby, could stop their presentation if he
could get this money at once into his own hands.

"Can I do anything for you?" said the innocent lamb, offering his
throat to the butcher. But some unwonted feeling numbed the butcher's
fingers, and blunted his knife. He sat