hink you may be right, Alice. I remember that father was a bit mean
with me the last year I was at Oxford. He would have reasons he did not
tell me of. One should never judge a father. He is often forced to cut
the loaf unevenly for the good of every one."

But this new idea troubled Sandal. He was a man of super-sensitive honor
with regard to money matters. If there were really any obligation of
that kind between the two houses, he hardly felt grateful to Latrigg for
being silent about it. And still more the transfer of these papers vexed
him. Ducie might know what he might never know. Steve might have it in
his power to trouble Harry when he was at rest with his fore-elders. The
subject haunted and worried him; and as worries are never complete
worries till they have an individuality, Steve very soon became the
personal embodiment of mortifying uncertainty, and wounded _amour
propre_. For if Mrs. Sandal's suspicion were true, or even if it were
not true, she was not likely to be the only one in Sandal-Side who would
construe Latrigg's singular disposition of his papers in the same way.
Certainly Squire William did not feel as if the dead man had 'done well
to Sandal.'

Stephen was equally annoyed. His grandfather had belonged to a dead
century, and retained until the last his almost feudal idea of the bond
between his family and the Sandals. But the present squire had stepped
outside the shadows of the past, and Stephen was fully abreast of his
own times. He understood very well, that, whatever these papers related
to, they would be a constant thorn in Sandal's side; and he saw them
lying between Charlotte and himself, a barrier unknown, and
insurmountable because unknown.

From Ducie he could obtain neither information nor assistance. "Mother,"
he asked, "do you know what those papers are about?"

"Ratherly."

"When can you tell me?"

"There must be a deal of sorrow before I can tell you."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"If I should dare to want it one minute, I should ask God's pardon the
next. When I unlock that box, Steve, there is like to be trouble in
Sandal. I think your grandfather would rather the key rusted away."

"Does the squire know any thing about them?"

"Not he."

"If he asks, will you tell him?"

"Not yet. I--hope never."

"I wish they were in the fire."

"Perhaps some day you may put them there. You will have the right when I
am gone."

Then Steve silently kissed her, and went into