‘Now I’ll tell you what it is, Sam’el Cross,’ cried Isaac, who had been shifting from one foot to the other during the latter part of the clerk’s speech, and was purple in the face with suppressed ire, ‘since you’re so fond of advice maybe you’ll take a bit from me. Jist you keep that long tongue o’ yourn quiet. What do ye mean, ye little treecherous spy, by poking your nose into other people’s business and tryin’ to make mischief between them that’s as good as father and son? I know my nevvy a deal better than you know him. My nevvy bain’t a snapper, an’ so I tell ’ee! Now you jist take yourself off out of this, and don’t ’ee come here wi’ no more lyin’ tales, else maybe ye’ll find this here stick o’ mine laid about your shoulders. I bain’t so strong as I were, but I could make a shift to hit ’ee a crack or two—so now ye know.’ Samuel had started back as words and gestures grew threatening, and now deemed it better to beat a retreat; turning, however, at a safe distance to bestow a withering valedictory smile upon his adversary, and to remark that he was sorry for him. Ever since his rejection by Rosalie he had been burning with resentment against her, and desirous of an opportunity of venting it. A chance meeting with Sam Belbin had resulted in the latter’s imparting to him a highly-coloured version of the scene which he had witnessed between Rosalie and Richard in the lane. The desired opportunity seemed to have arrived, and Samuel had hastened to take advantage of it, with, as has been seen, indifferent success. As he now hastened away as rapidly as his short legs would carry him he encountered the very person he had been so anxious to traduce. Richard nodded, and would have passed on, but that Cross, who was still suffering from a redundancy of spite, thought the opportunity favourable for venting it. ‘You are back already,’ he remarked. ‘I wonder you did n’t contrive to be a bit longer over your _business_! You would n’t ha’ been missed yonder. Your uncle seems quite content with your doings. As I told him just now—he has a confiding nature.’ ‘What do you mean?’ said Richard, speaking in a low even voice, but with an ominous flash of the eyes. ‘Ha! you know what I mean well enough, you sly young dog! If you don’t, ask the fascinating young widow—ask lovely, dainty Mrs. F. She knows what she’s about, though she contrives to look so demure. Come,’ marking the expression of Richard’s face, ‘you need n’t turn rusty over it—I’ll tell no tales, bless you! But there’s others besides me that has been passing remarks about the Widow Fiander’s new business-manager. Ha! ha!—You may carry on, though, as far as I am concerned—perhaps I know a little too much about the lady to envy you; she has played a double game before now. As for the old man, _he’ll_ find out nothing; he’s as blind as a bat—as blind as a bat!’