"Well, what is he to you? Have pity upon me; be silent, and name your
own price."

"Wrong Walter Clifford with my eyes open? He is the last man in the
world that I would wrong in money matters. I have got a stern account
against him, and I will begin it by speaking the truth and giving him
back his own."

Here the interview was interrupted by an honest miner, one Jim Perkins.
He came in hurriedly, and, like people of that class, thrust everybody
else's business out of his way. "You are wanted at the mine, Mr. Hope.
The shoring of the old works is giving way, and there's a deal of water
collecting in another part."

"I'll come at once," said Hope; "the men's lives must not be endangered.
Have the cage ready." Jim walked away.

Hope turned to Bartley.

"Pray understand, Mr. Bartley, that this is my last visit to your mine."

"One moment, Hope," cried Bartley in despair; "we have been friends so
long, surely you owe me something."

"I do."

"Well, then, I'll make you rich for life if you will but let Mary return
to me and only just be silent; speak neither for me nor against me;
surely that is not much for an old friend to ask. What is your answer?"

"That I will speak the truth, and keep my conscience and my child."

This answer literally crushed Bartley. His very knees knocked together;
he leaned against the palings sick at heart. He saw that Colonel Clifford
would extort not only Walter's legacy, but what the lawyers call the
mesne profits, that is to say, the interest and the various proceeds
from the fraud during fourteen years.

Whilst he was in this condition of bodily collapse and mental horror a
cold, cynical voice dropped icicles, so to speak, into his ear.

"In a fix, governor, eh? The girl won't come back, and Hope won't hold
his tongue."

Bartley looked round in amazement, and saw the cadaverous face and
diabolical sneer of Leonard Monckton. Fourteen years and evil passions
had furrowed that bloodless cheek; but there was no mistaking the man. It
was a surprise to Bartley to see him there and be spoken to by a knave
who had tried to rob him; but he was too full of his immediate trouble to
think much of minor things.

"What do you know about it?" said he, roughly.

"I'll tell you," said Monckton, coolly.

He then walked in a most leisurely way to the gate that led into the
meadow whose eastern boundary was Hope's quick-set hedge, and he came in
the same leisurely way up to Mr. Bartley, a