ther brave enough nor bad enough."

"I think not bad enough."

"Too small in his way altogether. And yet it was clear as the sun at
noonday that he was troubled in his conscience. He shut himself up in
his misery, not knowing how strong a tale his own unhappiness told
against him. Why did he not rejoice in the glory of his position?
Then I said to myself that he was conscious of insecurity."

"His condition must have been pitiable."

"Indeed, yes. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. The contumely
with which he was treated by all went to my heart even after I knew
that he was misbehaving. I knew that he was misbehaving;--but how? It
could only be by hiding the will, or by being conscious that it was
hidden. Though he was a knave, he was not cunning. He failed utterly
before the slightest cunning on the part of others. When I asked him
whether he knew where it was hidden, he told a weak lie, but told
the truth openly by the look of his eyes. He was like a little girl
who pauses and blushes and confesses all the truth before she half
murmurs her naughty fib. Who can be really angry with the child who
lies after that unwilling fashion? I had to be severe upon him till
all was made clear; but I pitied him from the bottom of my heart."

"You have been good to all of us."

"At last it became clear to me that your uncle had put it somewhere
himself. Then came a chance remembrance of the sermons he used to
read, and by degrees the hiding-place was suggested to me. When at
last he welcomed us to go and search in his uncle's bed-room, but
forbade us to touch anything in the book-room,--then I was convinced.
I had but to look along the shelves till I found the set, and I
almost knew that we had got the prize. Your father has told you how
he flew at me when I attempted to lift my hand to the books. The
agony of the last chance gave him a moment of courage. Then your
father shook the document out from among the leaves."

"That must have been a moment of triumph to you."

"Yes;--it was. I did feel a little proud of my success. And I am
proud as I see you sitting there, and feel that justice has been
done."

"By your means!"

"That justice has been done, and that every one has his own again.
I own to all the litigious pugnacity of a lawyer. I live by such
fighting, and I like it. But a case in which I do not believe crushes
me. To have an injustice to get the better of, and then to trample
it well under foot,--that i