"No, indeed, I never meant—" began
the youth, deprecatingly.

"I put confidence in you, sir; I trusted
to your honour. Do me the justice to say
that in this room I warned you beforehand,
and cautioned you, sir, that I was not
so mean as to let anything that could be
called my own flesh and blood be trifled with.
I warned you solemnly. Do me that justice."

"But, my dear Doctor, let me explain."

"I want no explanation. The mischief's
done now. It was artful and designing,
Mr. Leader, and excuse me if I use strong
terms; making the younger sister a blind
to cover your advances to the elder. It
was organised, sir, organised from the
beginning. D'ye think I'm going to have
their tender names, with the bloom of the
rye on them, belled about the parish; these
bright creatures pointed out by every lout
in the place, whom they've offended for
you?  D'ye think I'm to have their soft
souls pining and fretting away—death to
them and sport to you, sir? D'ye think
I'm going to have your lady mother piling
her insults on me, degrading me and my
old family before the world? I tell you,
sir, neither you, nor she, nor they, know
me, Peter Findlater; not rich, sir, not titled,
sir, not proud, or officially placed; but a
man with a hundred thousand three per
cent consols in his brain, a gentleman
born and bred, and that would not let
child of his be insulted by the Duke."
(This, though it might seem to refer to
some particular illustrious personage, was
only a typical way of describing high rank
in general.)

The young man was listening, cowed
and trembling. "But I tell you," he
said, "I should wish—I should like—to—
nay—that I love Miss Katey, and have
loved——"

"Hush!  What's that to the point?
How's the reparation to be made?"

"Any way, only name it. If you would
agree to our marriage——"

"That's nothing—that's no reparation.
Don't ye know, in your heart of hearts,
that there's more behind; that there are
those who would sooner see the undertaker
measuring you for an oak suit than you
giving your hand to her? Don't you know
that your mother-in-law, step-mother, or
whatever she calls herself, would move
heaven and earth, let alone every court in
the kingdom, to stop it?"

"Oh, as for that, I'm of age, and my own
master. I assure you I am; and if only
Miss Katey would—but she was so unkind
and harsh to me to-day.  As for Miss
Polly, I couldn't—I couldn't bring myself
—from the first day I saw Katey, I felt to
her as if I don't know what to call it: that
she was my fate; and then it seemed to me
that you all wished for Miss Polly——"

"I! we all!" the Doctor said, throwing
his eyes up. "After that!"

"Well, I know, I had that idea.  I was
wrong, no doubt; but I couldn't. Don't
ask me. She is very beautiful and attractive,
but I should not suit her. I should only
make both wretched. But if I thought
Katey——"

"Well," said the Doctor, indulgently,
"you've spoken out in a frank and manly
way that does you infinite credit. But
what can I do in the matter? You must
try and settle it with Katey. Polly will
be heart-broken for a time. This is
what I dreaded from the first day I saw
you; but I kept warning, warning all
parties I could. I'll say and do all I can,
and can say and do no more. Wait. I've
a notion the poor girl will be clinging to
the idea. I know she'll never bring
herself to believe the naked truth. I see only
one way; use the knife. I mean," added
the Doctor, observing the start his
companion gave, "tell her the truth yourself,
boldly and nakedly. Here, sit down and
write a note to your friend Katey, and
say whatever you have to say, as plain as
you can. It's only mercy, cruel mercy
maybe, for th' other."

The young man sat down and wrote.
The Doctor went over to the window, and
smiled out at the night. Suddenly he
started. "My dear boy, that will do. No
verbiage, come to the point. What's this?
'You must forgive me; but, hum—hum—
my heart given to another—to yourself.'
Ah, that will open one of her eyes. 'Ah,
if you would only respond to my affection,
who have long admired you at a distance!'
Oh, never do," said the Doctor, impatiently,
"surely every man admires every girl.
Quick, now. Surely she's been told that
by fifty fellows—at least, I'm sure she has.
Ah, man alive, put it in black and white
whatever you have to offer her."  He said
this so impatiently and roughly, for a reason
that the young man could not guess, but
the latter started back and looked at him
with astonishment and dignity. "I'm
fretted and worried; and, hush! there's
some one at the hall-door. Just say, your
hand and heart. There, now sign it, and
I'll take it in. Nothing could be better; and
—not a word to Morrison—he's coming up."