“It did,” said Mr. Knight. “I read it and have it to this day. In my discretion as a father I did not consider it desirable that my young son should receive that letter. What I have witnessed this afternoon shows me how right was my judgment.” “Thank you so much,” said Isobel. “That takes a great weight off my mind. Godfrey, my dear, I apologise to you for my doubts. The truth did occur to me, but I thought it impossible that a clergyman,” here she looked again at Mr. Knight, “could be a thief also who did not dare to own to his theft.” “Never mind all that,” went on Sir John in his heavy, masterful voice. “It stands like this. You,” and he pointed a fat finger at Godfrey, “are—well, I’ll tell you what you are—you’re just a cunning young fortune-hunter. You found out that this property and a good bit besides are coming to Isobel, and you want to collar the sag, like you did that of the old woman out in Lucerne. Well, you don’t do it, my boy. I’ve other views for Isobel. Do you think I want to see her married to—to—the son of a fellow like that—a canting snuffler who prigs letters and splits on his own son?” and swinging the fat finger round he thrust it almost into the face of Mr. Knight. “What did you say?” gasped Godfrey. “That I am a fortune-hunter?” “Yes, that’s what I said, and I’ll repeat it if you like.” “Then,” went on Godfrey, speaking in a thick, low voice, for now his temper had mastered him thoroughly, “I say that you are a liar. I say that you are a base and vulgar man who has made money somehow and thinks that this justifies him in insulting those who are not base or vulgar, because they have less money.” “You infernal young scamp,” shouted Sir John in a roar like to that of an angry bull. “Do you dare to call me a liar? Apologise at once, or——” and he stopped. “I do not apologise. I repeat that you are a liar, the greatest liar I ever met. Now—or what?” Thus spoke Godfrey, drawing up his tall, slim young form to its full height, his dark eyes flashing, his fine face alight with righteous rage. Isobel, who was standing quite still and smiling a little, rather contemptuously, looked at him out of the corners of her eyes and thought that anger became him well. Never before had he seemed so handsome to her approving judgment. “Or this,” bellowed Sir John, and, lifting the tightly rolled umbrella he carried, he struck Godfrey with all his strength upon the side of the head. Godfrey staggered, but fortunately the soft hat he was wearing, upon the brim of which the stroke fell, broke its weight to some extent, so that he was not really hurt. Only now he went quite mad in a kind of icy way, and, springing at Sir John with the lightness of a leopard, dealt him two blows, one with his left hand and the next with his right.