hich, after the manner of brewers, he was much in the habit
of following. Mrs. Annesley had lived at Buston all her life, having
been born at the Hall. She was an excellent mother of a family, and a
good clergyman's wife, being in both respects more painstaking and
assiduous than her husband. But she did maintain something of respect
for her brother, though in her inmost heart she knew that he was a fool.
But to have been born Squire of Buston was something, and to have
reached the age of fifty unmarried, so as to leave the position of heir
open to her own son, was more. To such a one a great deal was due; but
of that deal Harry was but little disposed to pay any part. He must be
talked to, and very seriously talked to, and if possible saved from the
sin of offending his easily-offended uncle. A terrible idea had been
suggested to her lately by her husband. The entail might be made
altogether inoperative by the marriage of her brother. It was a fearful
notion, but one which if it entered into her brother's head might
possibly be carried out. No one before had ever dreamed of anything so
dangerous to the Annesley interests, and Mrs. Annesley now felt that by
due submission on the part of the heir it might be avoided.

But the squire himself was the foe whom Harry most feared. He quite
understood that he would be required to be submissive, and, even if he
were willing, he did not know how to act the part. There was much now
that he would endure for the sake of Florence. If Mr. Prosper demanded
that after dinner he should hear a sermon, he would sit and hear it out.
It would be a bore, but might be endured on behalf of the girl whom he
loved. But he much feared that the cause of his uncle's displeasure was
deeper than that. A rumor had reached him that his uncle had declared
his conduct to Mountjoy Scarborough to have been abominable. He had
heard no words spoken by his uncle, but threats had reached him through
his mother, and also through his uncle's man of business. He certainly
would go down to Buston, and carry himself toward his uncle with what
outward signs of respect would be possible. But if his uncle accused
him, he could not but tell his uncle that he knew nothing of the matter
of which he was talking. Not for all Buston could he admit that he had
done anything mean or ignoble. Florence, he was quite sure, would not
desire it. Florence would not be Florence were she to desire it. He
thought that he could trace th