my work
leaving you in my house. You have nothing to get by my friendship. Go
and see what you can do as my enemy."

"I will," said the Colonel, getting up from his chair; "I will. If I'm to
be treated in this way it shall not be for nothing. I have offered you
the right hand of an affectionate brother-in-law."

"Bosh," said Mr. Peacocke.

"And you tell me that I am an enemy. Very well; I will be an enemy. I
could have put you altogether on your legs, but I'll leave you without an
inch of ground to stand upon. You see if I don't." Then he put his hat
on his head, and stalked out of the house, down the road towards the gate.

Mr. Peacocke, when he was left alone, remained in the room collecting his
thoughts, and then went up-stairs to his wife.

"Has he gone?" she asked.

"Yes, he has gone."

"And what has he said?"

"He has asked for money,--to hold his tongue."

"Have you given him any?"

"Not a cent. I have given him nothing but hard words. I have bade him go
and do his worst. To be at the mercy of such a man as that would be worse
for you and for me than anything that fortune has sent us even yet."

"Did he want to see me?"

"Yes; but I refused. Was it not better?"

"Yes; certainly, if you think so. What could I have said to him?
Certainly it was better. His presence would have half killed me. But
what will he do, Henry?"

"He will tell it all to everybody that he sees."

"Oh, my darling!"

"What matter though he tells it at the town-cross? It would have been
told to-day by myself."

"But only to one."

"It would have been the same. For any purpose of concealment it would
have been the same. I have got to hate the concealment. What have we
done but clung together as a man and woman should who have loved each
other, and have had a right to love? What have we done of which we should
be ashamed? Let it be told. Let it all be known. Have you not been good
and pure? Have not I been true to you? Bear up your courage, and let the
man do his worst. Not to save even you would I cringe before such a man
as that. And were I to do so, I should save you from nothing."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE STORY IS TOLD.

DURING the whole of that morning the Doctor did not come into the school.
The school hours lasted from half-past nine to twelve, during a portion of
which time it was his practice to be there. But sometimes, on a Saturday,
he would be absent, when it was understood gener