e known, that little offences may always entail dire evils.
Measured by their possibility to work havoc with lives, there are no
_small_ sins. The man who enters carelessly upon a trivial deviation
is therefore as much to be held responsible as he that walks
deliberately into the blackest crime. Not to know this, is not to have
studied life; and not to have studied life is, in a person of mature
years, a mighty sin of omission, because of the great evils that may
arise from ignorance. But Captain Falconer must have known life, must
have seen the hazards of his course. Therefore he was responsible in
any view; and therefore I would do my utmost toward exacting payment
from him. Plainly, in Philip's absence, the right fell to me, as his
friend and Tom's--nay, too, as the provisionally accepted husband of
Mr. Faringfield's second daughter.

But before I got an opportunity to make a quarrel with Falconer (who
had moved his quarters from the Faringfield house, wherein he had not
slept or eaten since the night of Margaret's leaving it, though he had
spent some time in his rooms there on the ensuing day) I had a curious
interview with Mr. Faringfield.

While in the town one day, I had stopped as usual to see my mother.
Just as I was about to remount my horse, Mr. Faringfield appeared at
his garden gate. Beckoning me to him, he led the way into the garden,
and did not stop until we were behind a fir-tree, where we could not
be seen from the house.

"Tell me the truth," said he abruptly, his eyes fixed piercingly upon
mine, "how Tom met his death."

After a moment's confusion, I answered:

"I can add nothing to what has been told you, sir."

He looked at me awhile in silence; then said, with a sorrowful frown:

"I make no doubt you are tongue-tied by a compact. But you need not
fear me. The British authorities are not to be moved by any complaint
of mine. My object is not to procure satisfaction for my son's death.
I merely wish to know whether he took it upon himself to revenge our
calamities; and whether that was not the true cause of his death."

"Why, sir," I said awkwardly, as he still held me in a searching gaze
that seemed to make speech imperative, "how should you think that?"

"From several things. In the first place, I know Tom was a lad of
mettle. The account of the supposed attack that night, has it that
Falconer was in your party; he was one of those who returned with you.
What would Tom have been doing in