"A great evil, indeed," answered Lockwood, laughing. "For instance: your brother is a great deal too rich; and it would be a capital thing, if his property were distributed." Chandos thought for a moment or two, very gravely, and then replied: "I envy him not, Lockwood. Perhaps you may think it strange; but, I assure you, what I am going to say is true: I would a great deal rather be as I am, with the poor pittance I possess, than my brother with his thoughts and feelings, and all his wealth. There must be things resting on his mind, which, to me at least, would embitter the richest food, and strew with thorns the softest bed." "Ah, I know what you mean," answered Lockwood; "I heard of it at the time: seven or eight years ago. You mean that story of Susan Grey, the Maid of the Mill, as they called her, who drowned herself." Chandos nodded his head, but made no reply; and Lockwood went on, "Ay, I remember her well; she was as pretty a creature as ever I saw, and always used to put me in mind of the ballad of the 'Nut-brown Maid.' You know, the old man died afterwards. He never held up his head after your brother took her away. He became bankrupt in two years, and was dead before the third was over. And the ruins of the mill stand upon the hill, with the wind blowing through the plankless beams, as through a murderer's bones in chains on a gibbet. But, after all, though it was a very bad case, Sir William was but following his father's example. The Greeks used to say, 'Bad the crow, bad the egg!' and he trod in Sir Harry's footsteps."