But, whatever his feelings, to whatever lover’s heaven that look raised him, he was speedily brought to earth again. The old man had proved himself thankless; now, as if he were determined to show himself in the worst light, he proceeded to prove himself suspicious. “Come here, girl,” he said, “and count these notes.” Fumbling, he took the parcel from his pocket and handed it to her. “Ha’ you got them? Then count them! D’you hear, wench? Count them! And have a care to make no mistake! Lay ’em in piles o’ ten. They are hundreds, are they? Hundreds, eh?” She untied the parcel, and brought all her faculties to bear on the task, though her fingers trembled, and the color, rising and ebbing in her cheeks, betrayed her consciousness that her lover’s eyes were upon her. “Yes, sir, they are hundred-pound notes,” she said. “All?” “Yes, all, I think, sir.” “Bank of England?” He poked at her skirts with his stick. “Bank of England, eh? Are you sure?” “Yes, sir, so far as I can see.” “Ay, ay. Well, count ’em! And mind what you are doing, girl!” Clement did not know whether to smile or to be angry, but a moment later he felt no bent towards either. For with a certain dignity, “I ha’ been deceived once,” the Squire continued. “I ha’ signed once and paid for it. I’m in the dark. But I don’t act i’ the dark again. If I can’t trust my own flesh and blood, I’ll not trust strangers. No, no! I don’t know as there’s any one I can trust.” “I quite understand, sir,” Clement said—though it was the last thing he had had it in his mind to say a moment earlier. “I don’t mind whether you understand or not,” the Squire retorted. “Ha’ you done, girl?” after an interval of silence. “Not quite, sir. I have five heaps of ten.” “Well, well, get on. We are keeping the young man.” He spoke as he would have spoken of any young man in a shop, and Clement winced, and Josina knew that he winced and she reddened. But she went on with her work. “There are sixty-one, sir,” she said. “That makes——” “Six thousand one hundred pounds. Ay, it’s right so far. Right so far. And the gold”—he paused and seemed to be at a nonplus—“I’m afraid ’twould take too long to count it. Well, let it be. Get some paper and write a receipt as I tell you.” “There is no need, sir,” Clement ventured. “There’s every need, young man. I’m doing business. Ha’ you got the pen, girl? Then write as I tell you. ‘I, George Griffin of Garth, in the County of Aldshire, acknowledge that I have this 16th day of December 1825 received from Messrs. Ovington of Aldersbury, six thousand one hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, and’—ha’ you got that? Ha’ you got that?—‘two bags stated by them to contain five thousand pounds in gold.’ Ha’ you got that down? Then show me the place, and——”