is father as to cut that superfluous sister
Maria very short indeed in the matter of cash. With this generous and
amiable view, he now for a course of sundry years had whispered,
back-bitten, and lied; he had, as occasion offered, taken mean
advantages of Maria's outspeaking honesty, had set her warm-hearted
sayings and charitable doings in the falsest lights, and had entirely
"mildewed the ear" of her listening papa. The knight in truth listened
unreluctantly; it was consolation, if not happiness to him, if he could
make or find excuses for harshness to a being who would not worship
wealth; it would be joy and pride, and an honour to his idol, if he
should keep Maria pretty short of cash, and so make her own its
preciousness; triumphant would he feel, as a merely-moneyed man, to see
troublesome, obtrusive Heart, with all its win-ways, and whimperings,
and incomprehensible spirituality, with its sermons and its prayers,
bending before him "for a bit of bread." Yes, poor loving disinterested
Maria ran every chance of being disinherited, from the false witness of
her brother, simply because she gave him antecedent opportunities, by
her honest likings and dislikings, by her bold rebuke of wrong and open
zeal for right, by her scorn of hypocrisies as to what she did feel, or
did not feel, and by the unpopular fact that she wore a heart, and
refused to be the galley-slave of gold.

"Oh, ho, then!" said our crafty John, "we shall soon set this all right
with our governor; thank you for the chance, Miss Maria. If father
doesn't kick out this Clements, and cut you off with a shilling, he is
not Sir Thomas, and I am not his son."

CHAPTER VII.

PROVIDENCE SEES FIT TO HELP VILLANY.

"Now that's what I call bones."

It was a currish image, suggestive of the choicest satisfaction. Let us
try to discover what good news such an idiosyncrasy as that of John
Dillaway would be pleased to designate as "bones." He had forthwith gone
to his father's room as merry at the chance of ousting poor Maria, as
the heartlessness of avarice could make him; and omnipresent authorship
jotted down the dialogue that follows:

"So, governor, there's to be a wedding here, I find; when does it come
off?"

"Ey? what? a wedding? whose?"

"Oh, ho! you don't know, ey? I guessed as much: what do you think now of
our laughing, and crying, and kissing, and praying Miss Maria with--

"Not that beggar Clements? Ey? what? d----" &c., &c.

"Ha, h