"No, sir, I bean’t sure, ’cos I never seed un afore; but I axed Tom Penny, who was standing by, who ’twas, and he said, ’Why, ninny-watch, doan’t ’ee know yer own maister’s born cousin? ’Tis the same fine genel’um that give Ike Pendry a groat for carr’n his portmantel.’" Then something happened that scared Sam out of his wits and sent him scampering to the kitchen for his father. "Feyther, Feyther," he cried, "come quick! Squire’s took bad. ’A went all gashly white and wambled about, sighin’ and groanin’ that terrible! He’s dyin’, I b’lieve." Old Reuben was lame, but he caught up a jug of water and hobbled with it as fast as he could to the Squire’s room, sending Sam to fetch the mistress. He found the Squire seated in his chair, with a stony look upon his ashen face. "What ails thee, maister?" cried the terrified servant. "Nothing, nothing, Reuben," replied Mr. Trevanion. "Don’t be afraid, and don’t alarm your mistress." Here Mrs. Trevanion came hastily in, Sam hanging behind as if afraid to approach too near. "I am sorry they called you, my dear," said the Squire. "There is nothing wrong. Leave us, Reuben." The old man hobbled away. Mrs. Trevanion stood by her husband’s chair. "I was overcome for a moment, but it has passed," said the Squire. "John Trevanion is the master of my lands." "It cannot be, Roger!" "It is, it is. Sam saw a party of servants drive to the Dower House, and John himself ride up a while after." "But, Roger, I do not understand." "’Tis very simple. He has bought up the mortgages from Sir Bevil’s attorney—’twas hard to believe that the foreclosure was Sir Bevil’s doing—and has come to mock me and flout me at my own doors; ay, and to drive me away, if he can!" "A penniless man, Roger! You told me he left here a beggar." "Yes, a beggar, and worse—a thousand times worse. But that was ten years ago, and in ten years beggars may become rich, and scoundrels may tread down many an honest man. But he shall not tread me down. He may own my land, and fence me in, and do what he will; but the Towers is mine, and by heaven I will hold it!" Discretion was one of Mrs. Trevanion’s qualities. Being relieved to find that Sam’s alarming report of the Squire’s illness was exaggerated, if not wholly imaginary, she sought with her wonted tact to divert her husband’s thoughts into a calmer channel, and soon had him interested in purely domestic matters.