"Come here, Brian; I want to tell you something," he says, as the young man leans over him. "You are not to talk," says his nephew, peremptorily. "If you won't listen to me, I'll send for Bailey, the steward," says the squire. "Nonsense! it does me good." And then he tells him all the particulars of Miss Priscilla's visit relating to his engagement with Katherine Beresford, with one reservation. "It is all right between us now," he says, in a pleased tone. "She told me everything, and it appears we were both sadly taken in, though I don't wish to say anything against her even now. I daresay she had her own grievances, poor soul; and indeed Priscilla said----" Here he pauses, and a guilty flush covers his pale face. He hesitates, and then beckons Brian to come even nearer. "Look you, lad! I'm not quite at ease even yet. There's something wrong here!" laying his hand upon his heart. "Is it pain?" asks his nephew, anxiously. "I told you you were talk----" "No, no, boy. It's only mental pain. I want to be ashamed of myself, and I _can't_. I'm feeling a satisfaction about something that I shouldn't. It's not right, Brian. It's not a gentlemanly feeling, but I can't curb it. The more I think of it, the more pleased I feel. Eh? You don't look as if you understood me." "I don't, much," confesses Brian, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "You see, you haven't told me what it is all about." "It is about Katherine Beresford. Priscilla told me, and I should like to tell you. I say, Brian, you won't throw it in my teeth, now, when I'm better, eh?" "I swear I won't," says Brian. "Well, she told me Katherine had a regular _devil_ of a life with her husband, and _I'm glad of it_! _There!_" says the squire; after which disgraceful confession he regularly scrambles under the bedclothes, with a view to hiding his shame and his exultation from public view. Brian fairly roars with laughter. At the sound of his welcome mirth, the old man slowly emerges from the sheets again, and looks at him doubtfully, but with growing hope. "_She_ had the best of it, of course; any one would have the best of it with James Beresford," he says. "But she couldn't have been altogether comfortable; that's what I mean. I don't want you to think I should rejoice at her having received bad treatment at her husband's hands. He had all the bad treatment to himself, I expect." "So do I," says Brian, who is laughing still. "And you don't think so badly of me for it?" says the Squire, anxiously. "Not I," says Brian. "Still, it's rather a mean sort of feeling, isn't it, now? It's very low--eh?" "Low or not," says Brian, with decision, "I'm perfectly certain if it was _my_ case I should feel just like that myself." "You're the comfort of my life, Brian," says his uncle, gratefully; and then he indulges in a covert smile himself, after which he drops off into a slumber, sound and refreshing. CHAPTER XXX.