o get rid of this debt,
and that he had also taken a great deal of his money.

'I just recollect these points which were exactly what made the
impression,' continued Lady Knollys, after a short pause; 'the letter was
written in the evening of the last day of the wretched man's life, so that
there had not been much time for your uncle Silas to win back his money;
and he stoutly alleged that he did not owe Mr. Charke a guinea. It
mentioned an enormous sum as being actually owed by Silas; and it cautioned
the man, an agent, to whom he wrote, not to mention the circumstance, as
Silas could only pay by getting the money from his wealthy brother, who
would have the management; and he distinctly said that he had kept the
matter very close at Silas's request. That, you know, was a very awkward
letter, and all the worse that it was written in brutally high spirits, and
not at all like a man meditating an exit from the world. You can't imagine
what a sensation the publication of these letters produced. In a moment
the storm was up, and certainly Silas did meet it bravely--yes, with great
courage and ability. What a pity he did not early enter upon some career of
ambition! Well, well, it is idle regretting. He suggested that the letters
were forgeries. He alleged that Charke was in the habit of boasting, and
telling enormous falsehoods about his gambling transactions, especially in
his letters. He reminded the world how often men affect high animal spirits
at the very moment of meditating suicide. He alluded, in a manly and
graceful way, to his family and their character. He took a high and
menacing tone with his adversaries, and he insisted that what they dared to
insinuate against him was physically impossible.'

I asked in what form this vindication appeared.

'It was a letter, printed as a pamphlet; everybody admired its ability,
ingenuity, and force, and it was written with immense rapidity.'

'Was it at all in the style of his letters?' I innocently asked.

My cousin laughed.

'Oh, dear, no! Ever since he avowed himself a religious character, he had
written nothing but the most vapid and nerveless twaddle. Your poor dear
father used to send his letters to me to read, and I sometimes really
thought that Silas was losing his faculties; but I believe he was only
trying to write in character.'

'I suppose the general feeling was in his favour?' I said.

'I don't think it was, anywhere; but in his own county it was certain