e and food and comforts; all his scornful contempt for their
household ways and traditions; all that she knew regarding his purchase
of Harry's rights, and its ruthless revelation to her dying father,--all
that she knew wrong of Julius, she told. It was a relief to do it. While
he had been their guest, and afterwards while they had been his guests,
her mouth had been closed. Week after week she had suffered in silence.
The long-restrained tide of wrong flowed from her lips with a strange,
pathetic eloquence; and, as the rector held her hands, his own were wet
with her fast-falling tears. At last she laid her head against his
shoulder, and wept as if her heart would break. "He has been our ruin,"
she cried, "our evil angel. He has used Harry's folly and father's
goodness and Sophia's love--all of them--for his own selfish ends."

"He is a bad one. He should be hanged, and cheap at it! Hear him,
talking of having lived so often! God have mercy! He is not worthy of
one life, let alone of two."

At this juncture, Julius himself entered the room. Neither of its
occupants had heard his arrival, and he saw Charlotte in the abandon of
her grief and anger. She would have risen, but the rector would not let
her. "Sit still, Charlotte," he said. "He has done his do, and you need
not fear him any more. And dry your tears, my dearie; learn while you
are young to squander nothing, not even grief." Then he turned to
Julius, and gave him one of those looks which go through all disguises
into the shoals and quicksands of the heart; such a look as that with
which the tamer of wild beasts controls his captive.

"Well, squire, what want you?"

"I want justice, sir. I am come here to defend myself."

"Very well, I am here to listen."

Self-justification is a vigorous quality: Julius spoke with eloquence,
and with a superficial show of right. The rector heard him patiently,
offering no comment, and permitting no disputation. But, when Julius was
finished, he answered with a certain stern warmth, "Say what you will,
squire, you and I are of two ways of thinking. You are in the wrong, and
you will be hard set to prove yourself in the right; and that is as
true as gospel."

"I am, at least, a gentleman, rector; and I know how to treat
gentlewomen."

"Gentle-man! Gentle-sinner, let me say! Will Satan care whether you be a
peasant, or a star-and-garter gentleman? Tut, tut! in my office I know
nothing about gentlemen. There are plenty of