your legacy sooner. Tell me again, and kill
me at once. I'll go—I'll go at once,
myself, and I'll prove it is a lie. The boy's good
and honest; he deceives no one. But I see he
has enemies, and he must be warned and
guarded; and he shall be, he shall be."

When a man repeats an assertion twice, be
sure it is a doubtful assertion. Pure truth
is simple, humble, unconscious. The doctor's
earnestness showed some dawning suspicion
of danger, now first taking palpable shape. He
was about to leave the conservatory abruptly,
but he turned suddenly and pressed his friend's
hand:

"I'm not angry with you, Buller, for repeating
these scandals. It may be right for me to
hear them, to prove they're lies—for I would
have Jack's honour pure as ermine—but I say
you have given me greater pain than if you had
flung unslaked lime into an ophthalmic man's
eyes—your surgery has been somewhat rough.
You shouldn't listen to those ass-fool servants—
fat, ignorant, tattling——"

"Miss Paget," cried the page-boy's voice at
this moment; and a young lady came running
down the passage to the conservatory. Such a
tall, graceful girl, with the frank high spirit and
manner of her class; her bright face radiant
with innocence, luminous with swift changing
expression. In her pretty neat costume, a
round black hat, plumed with a grebe's wing,
and a silver-grey mohair dress, she looked a
very type of English girlhood.

"Good morning, Mr. Buller," she said, offering
her hand; "and good morning, uncle
Edward. Oh, I'm so glad to find you here. Aunt
Fanny is not nearly so well this morning; the
medicine doesn't agree with her. Another bottle's
come, but cousin Jack hasn't been, though he
promised us to come by this. Oh, do come,
uncle, and see her. I knew I should find you
here."

"Very well, child. "What symptoms?"

"Sickness, pain in the throat, sleepiness."

"I'll be there, Letty, in half an hour. I
suppose Jack has been detained at Ashstead.
You run on, child. I can't take you on, I've
got to call at the King's Arms; or stop, I'll take
you to the corner of Church-street. Come,
quick. Good-bye, Buller; I must take Letty
from you. Come, Letty, this is—this is serious
about aunt."

II.

The billiard-room at the King's Arms was the
haunt of every sot, scamp, and swindler in
Crossford.

There they all were when the doctor drew
hastily up to the door. The pale, sodden, mean,
crafty, ignoble faces stared over the dirty blind
to see who it was. A cue paused in its stroke; a
player stopped as he seized a piece of chalk; the
marker stayed as he moved the score-peg; a
fat-faced man with large whiskers held his
glass of smoking rum-and-water midway in the
air. Then broke forth a dozen voices.

"Harkness, Jack! Here's the governor—
here's Old Murder—it's your governor come to
look for you. Run into the smoking-room, and
if he comes here we'll check it out for you.
Get out of that, my boy."

A bold, indolent looking young fellow, with
glossy black whiskers, who was playing,
instantly took the alarm, caught up his coat, for
he was in his shirt-sleeves, ran into the inner
room and slammed the green-baize door behind
him, amidst a shout of half-tipsy laughter.

The next moment the front bell rang, and
the doctor's voice could be heard.

"Is Mr. Harkness in the billiard-room?"

"Don't know, sir, I'm sure; I'll see, sir."

"No, I'll see for myself. I want to leave
my chaise here while I go to the library. Let
some one hold my horse."

Immediately afterwards the old doctor pushed
roughly open the swing door of the billiard-room,
and glanced round the place with a contemptuous
curiosity. "Morning, gentlemen. Is my son
Jack here? Ha! How d'ye do, Travers?"

"No, sir, we've not seen Mr. Harkness
here," said the fat man, as he made a cannon.

"Don't patronise this sort of thing," said a
drunken ganger, who was smoking, with his
head leaning on a bag of pyramid balls.

The doctor gave a grunt of relief, and his face
brightened as he walked round the room with a
sarcastic smile at the beguiling green cloth. As
he passed each man he touched his chest, or
looked with ironical friendliness into his eyes.

"You've a fatty heart, Travers," he said.
"Take care—less brandy. One lung gone,
Davies, you know. Early hours—no night air.
Liver enlarged, Marker—not so much smoking.
Jones, don't be alarmed, but you look as if
you'd have a fit, if you don't mind. Harris,
you've dropsy coming on—less ale."

The old doctor left the rascals miserable and
dejected, as he wished to leave them.

As he mounted his chaise once more, he sang
Lilibulero for very joy.

"I knew," he said, "Buller was wrong—idle
tattle. Jack wouldn't associate with dregs like
that. Jack is a gentleman, and a young man of
honour and right feeling. Who should know
Jack, if I don't? Who should I trust, if I don't
trust Jack?"

Then he drove straight to his sister's, as much
relieved as if a mountain had been lifted off him,
and pleased at his own energy and triumph.

III.

The doctor was in high spirits. The haunch
of mutton had been hung to a day. Buller had
praised his wine. He had won two rubbers,
and Letty had sung him his favourite old Cavalier
song—that manly, vigorous, triumphant
outburst of mistaken and self-deceived loyalty—
"The King shall enjoy his Own again." As
coffee came in at the end of the second game, he
discoursed, and told some of his best old stories.
One thing only troubled him, and that was his
adopted son's absence. "Detained by business,
dear boy, no doubt," said the doctor, in an
important way.