en absorbed by the
miser through a legal technicality at his wife's death.

He would not scruple to prosecute his own child for theft. He would
certainly make her smart for her folly. The bad end, which he always
prophesied for anyone who did not conform to his arrogant decrees, loomed
imminent and forbidding. He was little better than a monster, with no
more paternal instinct than the wild-cat. He would only chuckle and rub
his hands in glee at the thought of her humiliation in the eyes of her
friends. He might accuse the rector of complicity in her fraud. He would
spread ruin around, rather than lose his dollars.

In the morning, half-an-hour after the bank opened, Mr. Barnby appeared
again at the rectory, impelled by a strict sense of duty once more to
enter the house of sorrow, on what was surely the most unpleasant errand
ever undertaken by a man at his employer's bidding. The news of Dick's
death had already spread over the town; and those who knew of the affair
at the club dinner and the taunt of cowardice did not fail to comment on
the glorious end of the brave young officer who had died a hero. A
splendid coward they called him, ironically.

Mr. Barnby asked to see her ladyship, and not the rector. The
recollection of John Swinton's haggard face had kept him awake half the
night. The more he thought of the forgery, the more he was inclined to
believe that Mrs. Swinton could explain the mystery of the checks. He
knew, by referring to several banking-accounts, that she had recently
been paying away large sums of money to tradesmen, and the amounts paid
by Dick Swinton were not particularly large.

Mrs. Swinton stood outside the drawing-room door with her hand on her
heart for a full minute, before she dared enter to meet the visitor.
Then, assuming her most self-possessed manner, with a slight touch of
hauteur, she advanced to greet the newcomer.

He arose awkwardly, and she gave him a distant bow.

"You wish to see me, I understand, and you come from some bank, I
believe?"

She spoke in a manner indicating that her visitor was a person of whose
existence she had just become aware.

"Your husband has not informed you of the purport of my visit last night,
Mrs. Swinton?" asked Mr. Barnby.

"He spoke of some silly blunder about checks. Why have you come to me
this morning--at a time of sorrow? Surely your wretched business can
wait?"

"It cannot wait," replied Mr. Barnby, with growing coolness. He saw a