After a day or two Caldigate recovered his spirits. We all probably know how some trouble will come upon us and for a period seem to quell all that is joyous in our life, and that then by quick degrees the weight of the trouble will grow less, till the natural spring and vivacity of the mind will recover itself, and make little or nothing of that which a few hours ago was felt to be so grievous a burden. So it had been with John Caldigate. He had been man enough to hold up his head when telling his story to Robert Bolton, and to declare that the annoyance would be one that he could bear easily;--but still for some hours after that he had been unhappy. If by sacrificing some considerable sum of money,--even a large sum of money, say ten thousand pounds,--he could at that moment have insured the silence of Crinkett and the woman, he would have paid his money. He knew the world well enough to be aware that he could insure nothing by any such sacrifice. He must defy these claimants;--and then if they chose to come to England with their story, he must bear it as best he could. Those who saw him did not know that aught ailed him, and Robert Bolton spoke no word of the matter to any one at Cambridge. But Robert Bolton thought very much of it,--so much that on the following day he ran up to London on purpose to discuss the matter with his brother William. How would it be with them, and what would be his duty, if the statement made by the woman should turn out to be true? What security had they after the story told by Caldigate himself that there had been no marriage? By his own showing he had lived with the woman, had promised to marry her, had acknowledged his promise in the hearing of a clergyman, and had been aware that she had called herself by his name. Then he had given her money to go away. This had been his own story. 'Do you believe him?' he said to his brother William. 'Yes; I do. In the first place, though I can understand from his antecedents and from his surroundings at the time, that he should have lived a loose sort of life when he was out there, I don't think that he is a rascal or even a liar.' 'One wouldn't wish to think so.' 'I do not think so. He doesn't look like it, or talk like it, or act like it.' 'How many cases do we know in which some abominable unexpected villainy has destroyed the happiness and respectability of a family?' 'But what would you do?' asked the barrister. 'She is married to him. You cannot separate them if you would.' 'No,--poor girl. If it be so, her misery is accomplished; but if it be so she should at once be taken away from him. What a triumph it would be to her mother!' That is a dreadful thing to say, Robert.' 'But nevertheless true. Think of her warnings and refusals, and of my persistence! But if it be so, not the less must we all insist upon--destroying him. If it be so, he must be punished to the extent of the law.'