One afternoon, after the lapse of about a week, Dick, leaving the Parsonage after his daily lessons, was surprised to see his father approaching across the glebe. The Squire was on foot: his last horse had been sold long ago. "Ha, Dick!" he said, as he met his son, "you have finished with Greeks and Romans for the day, then. I have come for a word with the parson. Shall be home to supper." Dick went on, and his father entered the house. "Ah, Trevanion, I am glad to see you," said Mr. Carlyon, cordially, his keen eyes not failing to note a certain gravity in his old friend’s expression. "I want your advice, Carlyon," said Mr. Trevanion abruptly. "And you shall have the best I can give, as you know well. Come into the garden and smoke a pipe with me. Good, honest tobacco, even if ’tis contraband—and I can’t swear to that—will do no harm to you or me." When they were seated side by side in wide wicker chairs beneath the shade of an elm-tree, the Squire drew from his pocket a folded paper which had been sealed at the edges. "Read that," he said, handing it to the vicar. Mr. Carlyon carefully rubbed his spectacles, set them on his nose with deliberation, and slowly opened the paper. "H’m! God bless my soul! Poor old Trevanion!" he murmured, as he read, unconscious that his words were audible. "This is bad news, Trevanion," he said, aloud, looking over the rims of his spectacles with grave concern. "It is. It is the very worst," said the Squire, gloomily. "It is the end of things for me." "No, no; don’t say that. Every cloud has a silver lining." "A musty proverb, Carlyon. You don’t see the silver lining in a thunderstorm, and it doesn’t keep your skin dry. This spells ruin, ruin irretrievable." The parson pressed his lips together, and read the document again. It was a brief intimation from a Truro attorney of his client’s intention to foreclose on the mortgages he held upon certain parcels of land, if the sums advanced on them were not repaid within a month from that date. "This is not your own man?" said the parson. "No. I never heard of him before." "What is the extent of the obligation?" "Two thousand pounds. I can’t muster as many shillings. I am in arrear with the interest. Within a month we shall be in the poor-house—a noble end for Trevanion of the Towers!" "Tut, tut! You take too black a view of things. ’I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.’" "But I have, and so have you, Carlyon. I see things as they are. ’Tis no surprise to me; these many months I have felt the blow might fall at any moment; but the condemned man hopes to the last for a reprieve, and I have gone from day to day, like a weakling and simpleton, refusing to face the facts. Not that I could have done anything; I am bankrupt; there’s no way out of it." "Who holds the mortgages?"