eper shot, I
hope? It's what I should expect, when a fellow like Trapping Bass is
let off so easily."

"Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the house, you
know," said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the Cadwalladers, to show that he
included them in his confidence. "As to poachers like Trapping Bass,
you know, Chettam," he continued, as they were entering, "when you are
a magistrate, you'll not find it so easy to commit. Severity is all
very well, but it's a great deal easier when you've got somebody to do
it for you. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, you
know--you're not a Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing."

Mr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous perturbation. When he
had something painful to tell, it was usually his way to introduce it
among a number of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that
would get a milder flavor by mixing. He continued his chat with Sir
James about the poachers until they were all seated, and Mrs.
Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said--

"I'm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that is
settled. What is it, then?"

"Well, it's a very trying thing, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "I'm glad
you and the Rector are here; it's a family matter--but you will help
us all to bear it, Cadwallader. I've got to break it to you, my dear."
Here Mr. Brooke looked at Celia--"You've no notion what it is, you
know. And, Chettam, it will annoy you uncommonly--but, you see, you
have not been able to hinder it, any more than I have. There's
something singular in things: they come round, you know."

"It must be about Dodo," said Celia, who had been used to think of her
sister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seated
herself on a low stool against her husband's knee.

"For God's sake let us hear what it is!" said Sir James.

"Well, you know, Chettam, I couldn't help Casaubon's will: it was a
sort of will to make things worse."

"Exactly," said Sir James, hastily. "But _what_ is worse?"

"Dorothea is going to be married again, you know," said Mr. Brooke,
nodding towards Celia, who immediately looked up at her husband with a
frightened glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almost
white with anger, but he did not speak.

"Merciful heaven!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Not to _young_ Ladislaw?"

Mr. Brooke nodded, saying, "Yes; to Ladislaw," and then fell into a
prudential silence.

"You see