That evening John Garstang sat over his modest glass of wine alone, fitting together the pieces of his plans, and as he did so he smiled and seemed content. "No," he said, softly, "you will not pocket brother Robert's money, friend James, for I hold the winning trump. What beautiful soft wax it is to mould! Only patience--patience! The fruit is not quite ripe yet. A hundred and fifty thou--a hundred and fifty thou!" CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. "If I could only get poor Pierce to believe in me again!" sighed Jenny, as she lay back in an easy chair at the cottage, after a month of illness; for in addition to the violent sprain from which she had suffered, the exposure had brought on a violent rheumatic cold and fever, from which she was slowly recovering. "But he doesn't believe in me a bit now, even after all I've suffered. Oh, how I should like to punish that wretched boy before I go!" She was sitting close to the window, where she could look down the road toward the village, her eyes dull, her face listless, thinking over the past--her favourite way of making herself miserable, as she had no heart attachment, or disappointment, as a mental "piece de resistance" to feast upon during her illness. Everything had gone so differently from the way she had planned. Pierce was to marry Kate Wilton, and be rich and happy ever afterwards; she intended to be what she called a nice, little, old maiden aunt, to pet and tend all her brother's children, for, of course, Kate and Pierce would have her to live with them; but it was all over--Kate had gone, no one knew where; Pierce, who had always loved her so tenderly, scarcely ever spoke to her as he used. He was quiet, grave, and civil, but never walked up and down the garden with his arm round her waist, laughing and joking with her, and talking about the prince who was to come some day to carry her off to his palace. It was all misery and wretchedness. "I'm sure nobody could have been so ill and suffered so much before," she said, "and I'm growing so white, and thin, and ugly, and old looking, and I'm sure I shall have to go about with a crutch; and it's so lonely with Pierce always going out to see old women and old men who are not half so bad as I am; and I wish I was dead! Oh, dear, oh, oh, dear, I wonder whether it hurts much to die. If it does, I'll ask Pierce to give me some laudanum to put me out of my misery, and--Oh, who's that?" A carriage had drawn up at the gate, and she leaned forward to see. "Mrs Wilton's carriage," she said, quickly growing interested, "and poor Pierce out. Oh, dear, how vexatious it is, when he wants patients so badly! I wonder who's ill now. It can't be that little wretch, because I saw him ride by an hour ago, and stare at the place; and it can't be Mr Wilton, because he always goes over to Dixter market on Fridays. It must be Mrs Wilton herself."