Early in his brooding George had decided he must not tell his Mary. First, it would be cruel to set her upon the rack of acting a part before Mr. Marrapit, before the household, before every questioner she must encounter; second--second, my ignoble George had doubts as to in what spirit his Mary would regard this plot did he make her partner in it. That it was wholly justifiable he personally would have contended before archangels. This miserly uncle was keeping from him money that was as incontestably his own as the being which also his mother had given him. Before all the angelic host he would thus have protested-without stammer, without blush; with the inspiration of righteousness, with the integrity of innocence. But to protest his cause before his Mary was another matter. There might be no occasion to protest; his Mary might see eye to eye with him in the matter. She might; but it was an eventuality he did not care to try against a test. His Mary was a girl--and girls are in their conduct narrowed by scruples that do not beset men. His Mary--and this it was that would make a test so violent--his Mary was his Mary, and well he knew, and loved, the little heart so delicately white as instantly to discover the finest specks of sootiness--if specks there were--in any breeze that might cross its surface. No, he would not tell his Mary. When the thing was done--when he, the black-hearted rogue, had the little saint safe in the toils she would find so delicious, then--then he would tell her, would silence her frightened squeals--if she squealed--by his intention to pay back the money, whether won as reward (which was improbable) or earned as token of gratitude (which was highly likely). He had only asked to borrow, and it should only be a loan. Across the dark fields in spirit he kissed his little saint. ... Of course--of course--one must admit these brutal things--of course the scheme might fail. Anything might happen to crash it about his ears. That was a deadly, dismal thought, but he flattened it from sight with that lusty hammer that gay youth uses--“I shan't be any worse off if it does fail.” The smoke came through his pipe in burning whiffs. He shook it bowl downwards. Ashes and sparks fell in a shower. The pipe was done. _Whoop! forrard!_ The game was afoot. IV. A moon as clear as that which shone when Bill stole to Herons' Holt to woo his blessed damosel, gave a clear light to George as now he approached the house. He took his way across the fields, and his progression was that of no stealthy-footed conspirator. Two miles of downward-sloping land lay between the stile whereon he had brooded and the home that his plottings were to disturb. In buoyant spirits--for this was action, and action makes lusty appeal to youth--he trotted or galloped as the descent was easy or sharply inclined; the low hedges he took in great sprawling jumps, the ditches in vast giant strides--arms working as balance-pole, humming as he ran.