FARMER MERTON received a line from Meadows telling him he had gone into Lancashire on important business, and did not expect to be back for three months, except perhaps for a day at a time. Merton handed the letter to Susan. “We shall miss him,” was her remark. “That we shall. He is capital company.” “And a worthy man into the bargain,” said Susan warmly, “spite of what little-minded folk say and think. What do you think that Will Fielding did only yesterday?” “I don't know.” “Well, he followed me into--there, it is not worth while having an open quarrel, but I shall hate the sight of his very face. I can't think how such a fool can be George's brother. No wonder George and he could not agree. Poor Mr. Meadows--to be affronted in his own house, just for treating me with respect and civility. So that is a crime now.” “What are you saying, girl? That young pauper affront my friend Meadows, the warmest man for fifty miles round. If he has, he shall never come on my premises again. You may take your oath of that.” Susan looked aghast. This was more than she had bargained for. She was the last in the world to set two people by the ears. “Now don't you be so peppery, father,” said she. “There is nothing to make a quarrel about.” “Yes there is, though, if that ignorant beggar insulted my friend.” “No! no! no!” “Why, what did you say?” “I say--that here is Mr. Clinton coming to the door.” “Let him in, girl, let him in. And you needn't stay. We are going to talk business.” CHAPTER XXXV. MRS. MEADOWS, preparing her son's new home and defeating the little cheating tradesmen and workmen that fasten like leeches on such as carry their furniture to a new house; Hannah, working round and round her in a state of glorious excitement; Crawley, smelling of Betts' British brandy, and slightly regretting he was not No. 1's tool (Levi's) instead of No. 2's, as he now bitterly called him, and writing obsequious letters to, and doing the dirty work of, the said No. 2; old Merton speculating, sometimes losing, sometimes winning; Meadows gone to Lancashire with a fixed idea that Susan would be his ruin if he could not cure himself of his love for her; Susan rather regretting his absence, and wishing for his return, that she might show him how little she sympathized with Will Fielding's suspicions, injustice and brutality. Leaving all this to work, our story follows an honest fellow to the other side of the globe. CHAPTER XXXVI. GEORGE FIELDING found Farmer Dodd waiting to drive him to the town where he was to meet Mr. Winchester. The farmer's wife would press a glass of wine upon George. She was an old playmate of his, and the tear was in her eye as she shook his hand and bade Heaven bless him, and send him safe back to “The Grove.” “A taking of his hand and him going across sea!! Can't ye do no better nor that?” cried the stout farmer; “I'm not a-looking, dame.”