is part of the
bargain upon the other side, that he should keep his name before the
world. And on this side he hath promised Padley, if that he may but keep
the rest of the estates, and have his liberty. I tell you that alone
cuts all the knots of this tangle.... Can you cut them in any other
manner?"

* * * * *

There was a long silence. From the direction of the kitchen came the
sound of cheerful voices, and the clatter of lids, and from the walled
garden outside the chatter of birds....

At last the girl spoke.

"I cannot believe it without evidence," she said. "It may be so. God
knows! But I do not.... Mr. Biddell?"

"Well, mistress?"

The lawyer's head was sunk on his breast; he spoke listlessly.

"He will have given some writing to Mr. Topcliffe, will he not? if this
be true. Mr. Topcliffe is not the man--"

The old man lifted his head sharply; then he nodded.

"That is the shrewd truth, mistress. Mr. Topcliffe will not trust to
another's honour; he hath none of his own!"

"Well," said Marjorie, "if all this be true, Mr. Topcliffe will already
have that writing in his possession."

She paused.

"Eh?" said the lawyer.

They looked at one another again in silence. It would have seemed to
another that the two minds talked swiftly and wordlessly together, the
trained thought of the lawyer and the quick wit of the woman; for when
the man spoke again, it was as if they had spoken at length.

"But we must not destroy the paper," he said, "or the fat will be in
the fire. We must not let Mr. FitzHerbert know that he is found out."

"No," said the girl. "But to get a view of it.... And a copy of it, to
send to his family."

Again the two looked each at the other in silence--as if they were
equals--the old man and the girl.

II

It was the last night before the Londoners were to return.

They had lived royally these last three months. The agent of the Council
had had a couple of the best rooms in the inn that looked on to the
market-square, where he entertained his friends, and now and then a
magistrate or two. Even Mr. Audrey, of Matstead, had come to him once
there, with another, but had refused to stay to supper, and had ridden
away again alone.

Downstairs, too, his men had fared very well indeed. They knew how to
make themselves respected, for they carried arms always now, since the
unfortunate affair a day after the arrival, when two of them had been
gravely