e object of so much
thought, were really concerned about Ger; it seemed so senseless of
him, "why couldn't he say why he wanted the beastly shilling and have
done with it?"

The squire himself was very seriously disturbed. He had stormed and
raged, he had argued, he had even spoken very kindly and eloquently on
the subject of dishonesty, and the necessity there was for full
confession before forgiveness could be obtained (this last appeal
sorely trying Ger's fortitude), but all to no avail. As the needle
points ever to the north, so all the squire's exhortations ended with
the same question, to be met with the same answer, growing fainter in
tone as the hours wore on, but no less firm in substance. "I can't
tell you, father."

Mr Ffolliot could no longer bear the little white-faced figure standing
so silently in the corner of the room. He went forth and walked about
the garden. He really was a much tried man just then. Only last night
Buz, lying in wait for Reggie as he came to bed, had concealed himself
in an angle of the staircase, and when his cousin, as he thought,
reached his hiding-place, pounced out upon him, blowing out his lighted
candle, and exclaiming in a sepulchral voice, "Out, out, damned
candle!" (Buz was doing _Macbeth_ at school and had a genius for inept,
and generally inaccurate quotation)--then flew up the dark staircase
two steps at a time fully expecting hot pursuit, but none came. Dead
silence, followed by explosive bursts of smothered laughter from Reggie
and Grantly who had followed the squire upstairs. It did not comfort
Mr Ffolliot at the present moment to reflect that Buz had had to write
out the whole scene in which the "germ," as his father called it, of
his misquotation occurred. At present his mind was full of Ger, and
ever and anon like the refrain of a song, there thrust into his
thoughts a sentence he had been reading when the little boy had
interrupted him that morning, "and towards such a full and complete
life, a life of various yet select sensation, the most direct and
effective auxiliary must be, in a word, insight." "Could it be
possible?" he asked himself, "that he was in some way lacking in this
quality?"

He turned somewhat hastily and went back into the house. Once more Ger
heard the key turn in the lock, and his father came in, followed by
Fusby, bearing tea upon a tray.

The front door banged, and Ger's heart positively hammered against his
ribs, for no one