Arthur had not anticipated this, though he might easily have foreseen it; and he cursed his folly. He ought to have known that the old question would be raised, and that it would revive the Squire’s antagonism. He was like a fox caught in a trap, nay, like a fox that has put its own foot in the trap; and he had no time to give any but a candid answer. “I am afraid, sir,” he said. “I mean—I am quite willing to comply with your wishes. But unfortunately there’s a difficulty. I am tied to the bank for three years. At the end of three years——” “Three years be d—d!” In a passion the Squire struck his stick on the floor. “Three years! I’m to sit here for three years while you go in and out, partner with Ovington! Then my answer is, No! No! Do you hear? I’ll not have it.” The perspiration stood on Arthur’s brow. Here was a _débâcle!_ An end, crushing and complete, to all his hopes! Desperately he tried to explain himself and mend matters. “If I could act for myself, sir,” he said, “I would leave the bank to-morrow. But the agreement——” “Agreement? Don’t talk to me of agreements! You could ha’ helped it!” the Squire snarled. “You could ha’ helped it! Only you would go on! You went in against my advice! And for the agreement, who but a fool would ha’ signed such an agreement? No, you may go, my lad. As you ha’ brewed you may bake! You may go! If I’d known this was going on, I’d not ha’ seen so much of you, you may be sure of that! As it is, Good-day! Good-day to you!” It was indeed a _débâcle_; and Arthur could hardly believe his ears, or that he stood in his own shoes. In a moment, in one moment he had fallen from the height of favor and the pinnacle of influence, and disowned and defeated, he could hardly take in the mischance that had befallen him. Slowly he got to his feet, and as soon as he could master his voice, “I’m grieved, sir,” he answered, “more grieved than I, can say, that you should take it like this—when I have no choice. I am sorry for my own sake.” “Ay, ay!” with grim irony. “I can believe that.” “And sorry for Josina’s.” He could think of no further plea at the moment—he must wait and hope for the best; and he moved towards the door, cursing his folly, his all but incredible folly, but finding no remedy. His hand was on the latch of the door when “Wait!” the old man said. Arthur turned and waited; wondering, even hoping. The Squire sat, looking straight before him, if that might be said of a blind man, and presently he sighed. Then, “Here, come back!” he ordered. But again for awhile he said no more, and Arthur waited, completely in the dark as to what was working in the other’s mind. At last. “There, maybe I’ve been hasty,” the old man muttered, “and not thought of all. Will you leave the bank when you can, young man?” “Of course, I will, sir!” Arthur cried. “Then—then you may speak to her,” the Squire said reluctantly, and he marked the reluctance with another sigh.