is without any fresh shock. The worst had
passed, and nothing henceforth could hurt him.

He could eat nothing. He found himself adding up the number of glasses;
dividing it into couples; counting the squares on the wall-pattern;
going through all the forlorn trivialities that employ the mind when
suffering has passed out of the conscious stage. When his time came for
meeting the terrible old man, he stepped straight into the study without
knocking, and stood stupidly waiting for the voice that he knew would
come. A thought of dignity never occurred to him. Had he been a mere
libertine he would have brazened it out, and would have tried at
flippancy. But he was not a libertine; he was simply an inexperienced
young man who was suffering remorse at its deadliest.

"You had better sit down."

He sought a chair, took his seat, and once more waited.

"Need we exchange any words about this business? You can have nothing to
say, so perhaps you had better leave the talking to me. You have behaved
like a scoundrel. You have crippled my hands. Only a year ago I turned
Thomson's girl off the estate, and gave her father notice to quit the
cottage after her. I got some newspaper chatter aimed at me then, and
now, by God, you've done worse than the fellow who ruined poor Thomson.
Look up there, and you'll see your father's portrait. He was a merry lad
in his day, but he wouldn't have intrigued with a washerwoman. That's
about what you have done. However, we'll have no more scolding. Of
course, you understand that the affair is to be done with?"

"It depends upon you, Sir. If you will, I dare marry her."

"I thought you were a little mad. Go! I wish I could say go for
altogether. I have some time to live though, and you shall know
something meanwhile. Go!"

The unfortunate had not a word to say even against his grandfather's
brutal insolence. He went, and passed the night in much the same way as
did Casely, save that where Casely's pride was still stubborn,
Ellington's pride was broken.

III.

When the spring came there were gay doings at the Hall. Old Mr.
Ellington had taken a sudden turn, and the housekeeper was near bidding
good-bye to her reason. There were extra men engaged in the stables, and
the black mare, Matchem, and the Squire's cob had very grand company
indeed. Things went so far that one morning the Branspath hounds met on
the Common by the Hall. For fifty-five years such a thing had not been
seen. The great