"And how do you think _I_ should feel?" stamped the Squire, nearly flinging the note into the fire. "Here, put it up; put it up. Why, my good fellow, don't, for mercy's sake, let this bother take your senses away. It's no more your fault that the letter was rifled than it was mine. Well, this is a start--your coming to say this." They went on, battling it out. Rymer praying him to take the note as if he'd pray his life away; the Squire accusing the other of having gone clean mad, to think of such a thing. I happened to go into the room in the middle of it, but they had not leisure to look at me. It ended in Rymer's taking back the note: it could not have ended in any other manner: the Squire vowing, if he did not, that he should go before the magistrates for lunacy. "Get the port wine, Johnny." Rymer declined to take any: his head was not accustomed to wine, he said. The Squire poured out a bumper and made him drink it: telling him he believed it was something of the kind his head wanted, or it would never have got such a wild notion into it as the errand he had come upon that evening. A few minutes after Rymer had left, I heard the Squire shouting to me, and went back to the room. He had in his hand a little thin note-case of green leather, something like two leaves folded together. "Rymer must have dropped this, Johnny, in putting it into his pocket. The note is in it. You had better run after him." I took it, and went out. But which way had Rymer gone? I could see far along the solitary road, and it was light enough yet, but no one was in view, so I guessed he was taking the short-cut through the Ravine, braving the ghost, and I went across the field and ran down the zigzag path. Wasn't it gloomy there! Well, it was a surprise! Thinking himself alone, he had sat down on the stump of a tree, and was sobbing with all his might: sobs that had prevented his hearing me. There was no time for me to draw back, or for him to hide his trouble. I could only hold out the green case and make the best of it. "I am afraid you are in some great trouble, Mr. Rymer?" He got up and was quiet at once. "The best of us have trouble at times, Master Johnny." "What can I do for you?" "Nothing. Nothing. Except forget that you have seen me giving way. It was very foolish of me: but there are moments when--when one loses self-control." Either through his awkwardness or mine, the leaves of the case opened, and the bank-note fluttered out. I picked it up and gave it to him. Our eyes met in the gloom. "I think you know," he whispered. "I think I suspect. Don't be afraid: no one else does: and I'll never drop a hint to mortal man." Putting my hand into his that he might feel its clasp, he took it as it was meant, and wrung it in answer. Had we been of the same age, I could have felt henceforth like his brother. "It will be my death-blow," he whispered. "Heaven knows I was not prepared for it. I was unsuspicious as a child."