Lady Marion in the meantime had carried her grievance against the librarian straight to her mother, who, although not passionately attached to her daughters, was kind and indulgent to them. After hearing the story, she agreed to use her influence to procure the dismissal of Amos Goodhare, the more readily as she herself shared the popular prejudice against him. “I don’t promise that your father will listen to me, my dear,” she said. “I dare say you are old enough to guess that Goodhare is a connection of the family, though, of course, we don’t talk about it. He has to be provided for somehow, and I think your father looks upon him as rather a dangerous man--one whom he likes to keep under his own eye. Perhaps I am wrong, but that has always been my impression. And I don’t suppose your father will think there is much in the story of the lost treasure.” Lady St. Austell was right. The earl pronounced the story to be “all nonsense,” and said that at the beginning of the last century, to which period he assigned the letter when the first part was shown to him, people went mad on the subject of buried money, and would even fit out ships to go in search of hoards said to have been left by pirates on distant islands. However, he listened attentively to Marion’s account of how she saw the librarian secrete part of the letter in his own pocket. Although he said nothing on the subject to Goodhare, perhaps he thought that his MSS. were not in safe keeping. Shortly afterwards he established a public library in the little town of Carstow, dowered it with a handsome supply of books and appointed Amos Goodhare custodian, with a small furnished house rent free and a more than ample salary. Goodhare received news of the change in his position with his usual dignified modesty, and declared that he was entirely at the earl’s service always, and was happy provided he was allowed to remain near the old town and castle of which he had grown so fond.