"We must not accuse him; we must not let it be known that we suspect him," he said; "the matter here can be hushed up--got over--but were suspicion once directed to him on the score of the school losses, the disgrace would never be lived down, now or later. It would cling to him through life." Mrs. Todhetley clasped her slender and rather bony fingers, from which the wedding-ring looked always ready to drop off. "Joseph," she said, "you assume confidently that he has done it; I see that. Perhaps you know he has? Perhaps you have some proof that you are concealing?" "No, on my honour. But for my father's laying stress on the curious coincidence of the disappearances at school I should not have thought of Sanker. 'Losses there; losses here,' he said----" "Now then, Peter!" mocked the bird, from his perch on the old tree. "Be quiet!" shouted Tod. "And then the Squire went on adroitly to the fact, without putting it into words, that nobody else seems to have been within hail of this room either time." "He has had so few advantages; he is kept so short of money," murmured poor Mrs. Todhetley, seeking to find an excuse for him. "I would almost rather have found my boy Hugh--when he shall be old enough--guilty of such a thing, than Edward Sanker." "I'd a great deal rather it had been me," I exclaimed. "I shouldn't have felt half so uncomfortable. And we are not _sure_. Can't we keep him here, after all? It will be an awful thing to turn him out--a thief." "He is not going to be turned out, a thief. Don't put in your oar, Johnny. The pater intends to hush it up. Why! had he suspected any other living mortal about the place, except Sanker, he'd have accused them outright, and sent for old Jones in hot haste." Mrs. Todhetley, holding her hand to her troubled face, looked at Tod as he spoke. "I am not sure, Joseph--I don't quite know whether to hush it up entirely will be for the best. If he---- Oh!" The exclamation came out with a shriek. We turned at it, having been standing together at the table, our backs to the window. There stood Sanker. How long he had been there was uncertain; quite long enough to hear and comprehend. His face was livid with passion, his voice hoarse with it. "Is it possible that _I_ am accused of taking the bank-note and the ring?--of having been the thief at school? I thank you, Joseph Todhetley." Mrs. Todhetley, always for peace, ran before him, and took his hands. Her gentle words were drowned--Tod's were overpowered. When quiet fellows like Sanker do get into a rage, it's something bad to witness. "Look here, old fellow," said Tod, in a breath of silence; "we don't accuse you, and don't wish to accuse you. The things going here, as they did at school, is an unfortunate coincidence; you can't shut your eyes to it; but as to----"