“Well, that is plain speaking; by no means complimentary. Poor Georgie, I hope you misjudge her, as she says bad people do. But for the present she is gone. There has been a great fight, all along, between her and Eoa; they could not bear one another. And now my niece has discovered a thing which brings me to her side in the matter, for she at least is genuine.” “That she is indeed, and genuinely passionate; you may trust her with anything. She has been very rude indeed to me; and yet I like her wonderfully. What has she discovered?” “That Mrs. Corklemore is at the bottom of this horrible application for a warrant against my son.” “I can well believe it. It struck me in a moment; though I cannot see her object. I never understand plotting.” “Neither do I, Garnet; I only know she has made me insult the dearest friend I had on earth.” “Yes, Mr. Rosedew; I heard of it, and wondered at your weakness. But it did not become me to interfere.” “Certainly not: most certainly not. You could not expect me to bear it. And the Rosedews never liked you.” “That has nothing to do with it. Very probably they are right; for I do not like myself. And you will not dislike, but hate me, when you know what I have to say.” Bull Garnetʼs mind was now made up. For months he had been thinking, forecasting, doubting, wavering—a condition of mind so strange to him, so adrift from all his landmarks, that this alone, without sense of guilt, must have kept him in wretchedness. Sir Cradock Nowell only said, “Keep it for another time. I cannot bear any more excitement; I have had so much to–day.” Bull Garnet looked at him sorrowfully. He could not bear to see his brother beaten so by trouble, and to feel his own hard hand in it. “Donʼt you know what they say of me? Oh, you know what they say of me; and nothing of the kind in the family!” The old man seemed to prove that there was, by the vague flashing of his eyes: “Garnet, you are my brother; after all, you are my brother. And they say I am going mad; and I know they will try to shut me up, without a horse, or a book, or a boy to brush my trousers. Oh, Garnet, you have been bitterly wronged, shamefully wronged, detestably; but you will not let your own brother—brother, who has no sons now to protect him,—be shut up, and made nothing of? Bull Garnet, promise me this, although we have so wronged you.” Garnet knew not what to do. Even he was taken aback, shocked by this sudden outburst, which partly proved what it denied. And this altogether changed the form of the confession he was come to make—and changed it for the better.