“Then it should never come to a trial--for the honour of the house--for pity,” said the heir. “A bad man taken in the toils is a very miserable thing to look at, Charlie; let us spare him if we can. I should like you to get some one who is to be trusted--say Mr Foggo, with some well-known man along with him--to wait upon Lord Winterbourne. Let them go into the case fully, and show him everything: say that I am quite willing that the world should think he had done it in ignorance--and persuade him--that is, if he is convinced, and they have perfect confidence in the case. The story need not be publicly known. Is it practicable?--tell me at once.” “It’s practicable if he’ll do it,” said Charlie; “but he’ll not do it, that’s all.” “How do you know he’ll not do it?--it is to save himself,” said Louis. “If he had not known it all along, he’d have given in,” said Charlie, “and taken your offer, of course; but he _has_ known it all along--it’s been his ghost for years. He has his plans all prepared and ready, you may be perfectly sure. It is generous of you to suggest such a thing, but _he_ would suppose it a sign of weakness. Never mind that--it’s not of the least importance what he supposes; if you desire it, we can try.” “I do desire it,” said Louis; “and then, Charlie, there is the Rector.” Charlie shook his head regretfully. “I am sorry for him myself,” said the young lawyer; “but what can you do?” “He has been extremely kind to me,” said Louis, with a slight trembling in his voice--“kinder than any one in the world, except your own family. There is his house--I see what to do; let us go at once and explain everything to him to-night.” “To-night! that’s premature--showing your hand,” said Charlie, startled in his professional caution: “never mind, you can stand it; he’s a fine fellow, though he is the other line. If you like it, I don’t object; but what shall you say?” “He ought to have his share,” said Louis--“don’t interrupt me, Charlie; it is more generous in our case to receive than to give. He ought, if I represent the elder branch, to have the younger’s share: he ought to permit me to do as much for him as he would have done for me. Ah, he bade me look at the pictures to see that I was a Rivers. I did not suppose any miracle on earth could make me proud of the name.” They went on hastily together in the early gathering darkness. The Old Wood House stood blank and dull as usual, with all its closed blinds; but the gracious young Curate, meditating his sermon, and much elated by his persecution, was straying about the well-kept paths. Mr Mead hastened to tell them that Mr Rivers had left home--“hastened away instantly to appear in our own case,” said the young clergyman. “The powers of this world are in array against us--we suffer persecution, as becomes the true church. The Rector left hurriedly to appear in person. He is a devoted man, a noble Anglican. I smile myself at the reproaches of our adversary; I have no fear.”