ter a fashion. He had promised to marry her. He had
done worse than that. And then, when he had found that the passion for
gold was strong upon her, he had bought his freedom from her. The story
would be very bad as told in Court, and yet he had told it all to his
wife! She had admitted his excuse when he had spoken of the savageness
of his life, of the craving which a man would feel for some feminine
society, of her undoubted cleverness, and then of her avarice. And then
when he swore that through it all he had still loved her,--her, Hester
Bolton,--whom he had but once seen, but whom, having seen, he had never
allowed to pass out of his mind, she still believed him, and thought
that the holiness of that love had purified him. She believed him;--but
who else would believe him? Of course he was most anxious that those
people should go.

Before he left London he wrote both to Mr. Seely and to Robert Bolton,
saying what he had done. The letter to his own attorney was long and
full. He gave an account in detail of the whole matter, declaring that
he would not allow himself to be hindered from paying a debt which he
believed to be due, by the wickedness of those to whom it was owing.
'The two things have nothing to do with each other,' he said, 'and if
you choose to throw up my defence, of course you can do so. I cannot
allow myself to be debarred from exercising my own judgment in another
matter because you think that what I decide upon doing may not tally
with your views as to my defence.' To Robert Bolton he was much shorter.
'I think you ought to know what I have done,' he said; 'at any rate, I
do not choose that you should be left in ignorance.' Mr. Seely took no
notice of the communication, not feeling himself bound to carry out his
threat by withdrawing his assistance from his client. But Robert and
William Bolton agreed to have Crinkett's movements watched by a
detective policeman. They were both determined that if possible Crinkett
and the woman should be kept in the country.

In these days the old Squire made many changes in his residence,
vacillating between his house in Cambridge and the house at Folking. His
books were at Cambridge, and he could not have them brought back; and
yet he felt that he ought to evince his constancy to his son, his
conviction of his son's innocence, by remaining at Folking. And he was
aware, too, that his presence there was a comfort both to his son and
Hester. When John Caldigate ha