ds money. He has courage enough to be poor himself
without unhappiness, but he has not courage to endure poverty with a
wife. I know well what his feelings are."

"Well, we shall see," said Lily. "I shouldn't wonder if you were
married first now, Bell. For my part I'm quite prepared to wait for
three years."

Late on that evening the squire returned to Allington, Bernard having
driven over to meet him at the station. He had telegraphed to his
nephew that he would be back by a late train, and no more than this
had been heard from him since he went. On that day Bernard had seen
none of the ladies at the Small House. With Bell at the present
moment it was impossible that he should be on easy terms. He could
not meet her alone without recurring to the one special subject of
interest between them, and as to that he did not choose to speak
without much forethought. He had not known himself, when he had gone
about his wooing so lightly, thinking it a slight thing, whether or
no he might be accepted. Now it was no longer a slight thing to him.
I do not know that it was love that made him so eager; not good,
honest, downright love. But he had set his heart upon the object, and
with the wilfulness of a Dale was determined that it should be his.
He had no remotest idea of giving up his cousin, but he had at last
persuaded himself that she was not to be won without some toil, and
perhaps also some delay.

Nor had he been in a humour to talk either to Mrs Dale or to Lily. He
feared that Lady Julia's news was true,--that at any rate there might
be in it something of truth; and while thus in doubt he could not
go down to the Small House. So he hung about the place by himself,
with a cigar in his mouth, fearing that something evil was going to
happen, and when the message came for him, almost shuddered as he
seated himself in the gig. What would it become him to do in this
emergency if Crosbie had truly been guilty of the villainy with which
Lady Julia had charged him? Thirty years ago he would have called the
man out, and shot at him till one of them was hit. Nowadays it was
hardly possible for a man to do that; and yet what would the world
say of him if he allowed such an injury as this to pass without
vengeance?

His uncle, as he came forth from the station with his travelling-bag
in his hand, was stern, gloomy, and silent. He came out and took his
place in the gig almost without speaking. There were strangers about,
and there