the old
butler for Doctor Jolks, who said he died of too much 'loddlum.'

Of my wretched uncle's religion what am I to say? Was it utter hypocrisy,
or had it at any time a vein of sincerity in it? I cannot say. I don't
believe that he had any heart left for religion, which is the highest form
of affection, to take hold of. Perhaps he was a sceptic with misgivings
about the future, but past the time for finding anything reliable in it.
The devil approached the citadel of his heart by stealth, with many zigzags
and parallels. The idea of marrying me to his son by fair means, then by
foul, and, when that wicked chance was gone, then the design of seizing all
by murder, supervened. I dare say that Uncle Silas thought for a while that
he was a righteous man. He wished to have heaven and to escape hell, if
there were such places. But there were other things whose existence was
not speculative, of which some he coveted, and some he dreaded more, and
temptation came. 'Now if any man build upon this foundation, gold, silver,
precious stones, wood, hay, stubble, every man's work shall be made
manifest; for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by
fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is.' There
comes with old age a time when the heart is no longer fusible or malleable,
and must retain the form in which it has cooled down. 'He that is unjust,
let him be unjust still; he which is filthy, let him be filthy still.'

Dudley had disappeared; but in one of her letters, Meg, writing from her
Australian farm, says: 'There's a fella in toon as calls hisself Colbroke,
wi' a good hoose o' wood, 15 foot length, and as by 'bout as silling o' the
pearler o' Bartram--only lots o' rats, they do say, my lady--a bying and
sellin' of goold back and forred wi' the diggin foke and the marchants. His
chick and mouth be wry wi' scar o' burns or vitterel, an' no wiskers, bless
you; but my Tom ee toll him he knowed him for Master Doodley. I ant seed
him; but he sade ad shute Tom soon is look at 'im, an' denide it, wi'
mouthful o' curses and oaf. Tom baint right shure; if I seed un wons i'd no
for sartin; but 'appen,'twil best be let be.' This was all.

Old Hawkes stood his ground, relying on the profound cunning with which
their actual proceedings had been concealed, even from the suspicions of
the two inmates of the house, and on the mystery that habitually shrouded
Bartram-Haugh and all its belongings from the ey