And he, whose natural bent it was to be sanguine, whose spirits had already rebounded from the worst, shared the feeling which he imparted. That she knew the worst was something; that, at any rate, was over, and confidently, he began to build his house again. “You won’t lose,” he said, casting back the locks from his forehead with the gesture peculiar to him. “Or not more than a few hundreds at worst, mother. That will be all right. I’ll see to that. And my uncle—you may leave him to me. He’s been vexed with me before, and I’ve brought him round. Oh, I know him. I’ve no doubt that I can manage him.” “But Josina?” timidly. “D’you know, she was terribly low, Arthur—about something yesterday. She wouldn’t tell me, but there was something. She didn’t seem to want to talk about you.” He winced, and for a moment his face fell. But he recovered himself, and, “Oh, I’ll soon put that right,” he answered confidently. “I shall see her in the morning. She’s a good soul, is Josina. I can count on her. Don’t you fret, mother. You’ll see it will all come right—with a little management.” “Well, I know you’re very clever, Arthur. But Jos——” “Jos is afraid of him, that’s all.” And laughing, “Oh, I’ve an arrow in my quiver, yet, mother. We shall see. But I must see Jos in the morning. Is Pugh there? I’ll write to her now and ask her to meet me at the stile at ten o’clock. Nothing like striking while the iron is hot.” On the morrow he did not feel quite so confident. The sunshine and open weather of the day before had given place to rain and fog, and when, after crossing the plank-bridge at the foot of the garden, he took the field path which led to Garth, mist hid the more distant hills, and even the limestone ridge which rose to her knees. The vale had ceased to be a vale, and he walked in a plain, sad and circumscribed, bounded by ghostly hedges, which in their turn melted into grey space. That the day should affect his spirits was natural, and that his position should appear less hopeful was natural, too, and he told himself so, and strove to rally his courage. He strode along, swinging his stick and swaggering, though there was no one to see him. And from time to time he whistled to prove that he was free from care. After all, the fact that it rained did not alter matters. Wet or dry he had saved the Squire’s life, and a man’s life was his first and last and greatest possession, and not least valued when near its end. He who saved it had a claim, and much—much must be forgiven him. Then, too, he reminded himself that the old man was no longer the hard, immovable block that he had been. The loss of sight had weakened him; he had broken a good deal in the last few months. He could be cajoled, persuaded, made to see things, and surely, with Josina’s help, it would not be impossible to put such a color on the—the loan of the securities as might make it appear a trifle. Courage! A little courage and all would be well yet.