It is just possible that the Squire's little smoulder of resentment against his niece would gradually have died out had he not been beset by a certain underlying consciousness, of which he vainly strove to rid himself, that all through Nell had been undeniably in the right and he indisputably in the wrong. Had he but seen his way to overlook his son's _mésalliance_, and have brought him and his wife to Stanbrook, in all probability Dick would still have been living. And then, with regard to this grandson of his, this child of a play-acting mother---- But when he got as far as that in his musings his passion seemed to choke him. No, he had done right, quite right; no other course was open to him. Come what might, he would never acknowledge the brat. His blood was tainted; he was no true Cortelyon. But all his arguing with himself did not suffice to pluck out the hidden thorn; it was still there, rankling in his flesh. But if he could not get rid of it, no one save himself should know of its existence, and he swore a great oath that in the matter of his grandson he would not go back from his word. A day or two after her interview with her uncle Nell replied to Mr. McManus's letter. What she wished him to do was to inform Mr. Dare that he need be under no apprehension that Mr. Cortelyon would claim his grandson or interfere in any way with the boy's future. She further asked to be informed of the latter's address when Mr. Dare should have settled upon a home for him. To this the old tobacconist replied in the course of a week or two. What he had to tell her was that for the present Mr. Dare had decided to let Evan remain at Lawn Cottage in the care of Mrs. Mardin; but that should he later think well to remove the child, Miss Baynard should be duly advised of the change. And there for the present the matter rested. When Squire Cortelyon found himself once more at home, he went back to his old mode of life with an added relish. He knew now that he had just escaped a great danger. He had been led to believe that the operation he was advised to undergo was of a very simple nature, but a casual remark of the great London doctor, which he chanced to overhear, had served to open his eyes after a very uncomfortable fashion. In reality, the operation was anything but a simple one, in view of possible consequences in the case of a man of threescore years and ten. However, all is well that ends well. The dreaded consequences had not developed themselves. He had come back home feeling a new man, with every prospect of a renewed lease of life, and he smiled grimly to himself to think how "that scoundrel of a Banks"--his local medico--had succeeded in thoroughly hoodwinking him.