boy lived. They christened him Josiah, and he took for surname the
maiden name of his mother, Bonnithorne. He was a weakling, and had no
love of boyish sports; but he excelled in scholarship. In spite of these
tendencies, he was apprenticed to a butcher when the time came to remove
him from school. An accident transferred him to the office of a
solicitor, and he was articled. Ten years later he succeeded to his
master's practice, and then he sailed with all sail set.

He disappointed the "connection" by developing into a Churchman, but
otherwise aroused no hostile feeling. It was obviously his cue to
conciliate everybody. He was liked without being popular, trusted
without being a favorite. Churchwarden, trustee for public funds,
executor for private friends, he had a reputation for disinterested
industry. And people said how well it was that one so unselfish as
Josiah Bonnithorne should nevertheless prosper even as this world goes.

But there was a man in Cumberland who knew Mr. Bonnithorne from the
crown of his head to the sole of his foot. That man was Mr. Hugh Ritson.
Never for an instant did either of these palter with the other.

When Mr. Bonnithorne left the charcoal pit, he followed the road that
crossed the Newlands Beck, and returned on the breast of the Eel Crags.
This led him close to the booth where the sports were proceeding. He
heard, as he passed, the gurgling laugh with which the dalesfolk
received the peddler's story of how he saw Paul Ritson at Hendon. A
minute afterward he encountered Hugh Ritson on the road. There was only
the most meagre pretense at greeting when these men came face to face.

"Your father sent for me," said Mr. Bonnithorne.

"On what business?" Hugh Ritson asked.

"I have yet to learn."

They walked some steps without speaking. Then the lawyer turned with his
constant smile, and said in his soft voice:

"I have just seen your little friend. She looks pale, poor thing!
Something must be done, and shortly."

Hugh Ritson's face flushed perceptibly. His eyes were on the ground.

"Let us go no further in this matter," he said, in a low tone. "I saw
her yesterday. Then there is her father, poor, broken creature! Let it
drop."

"I did not believe it of you!" Mr. Bonnithorne spoke calmly and went on
smiling.

"Besides, I am ashamed. The thing is too mean," said Hugh Ritson. "In
what turgid melodrama does not just such an episode occur?"

"So, so! Or is it the story of the ca