"Not very pleasant news," said Horace; "I have just seen old Adam Brodie, the pitman, and stopped him on his way to Armitage Park. He has taken it into his head that Sir John might like to hear his story, and that it might be worth Mr. Musgrave's while to give him an annuity. He will make the whole public if his mouth is not stopped. I came instantly to let you know. He thinks the young Squire might give him ten shillings a-week; he thinks me a friend of the young Squire, so I have persuaded him to let me try what I can do." "Ah! Pouncet, my dear fellow, this is your concern," said Mr. Stenhouse, with his broadest smile. Mr. Pouncet grew graver than before; he raised his head a little from the papers over which he was bending, and spoke with the greatest hesitation, clearing his throat and stammering at every word. "I--I don't see how it can be my concern," he said; "who is Adam Brodie?--I--I never--heard the name." "Unfortunately I know him, and so does our young friend here," said Mr. Stenhouse--"the old fellow who happened to be present when--ah, I see you recollect now! Awkward business, very--and Sir John Armitage himself is a client of yours; how very provoking! I'm afraid you'll have to do something about it, Pouncet; it would not answer you at all to have this affair known." Mr. Pouncet did not look up; rage and provocation almost beyond bearing had risen within him, but he durst not show them. His very integrity and honour in other matters made the bondage of this one guilt more intolerable; he was enraged to be compelled to bow to it, but he dared not resist. "The matter can be easily arranged, if Mr. Pouncet does not object to the cost," said Horace, trying the new rôle of peacemaker. "If I do not object--what do you mean, sir?" cried Mr. Pouncet, with uncontrollable impatience; "what have I to do with it more than Stenhouse? This is a pleasant improvement, certainly. D---- the whole concern!--I wish I had never had anything to do with it, with all my heart!" "My dear fellow, compose yourself; it is too late for that; and, besides, it is you who are endangered," said the bland Mr. Stenhouse; "think of your own interest, my excellent friend." Mr. Pouncet immediately betook himself to his papers as before, turning them over rapidly; he made no answer; habit had accustomed him to the civil taunts of Stenhouse--but he could not bear the same insulting inferences from a new voice. "There is a very easy way of managing the matter," said Horace, once more; "the man is old, and has been long in your service. He lost his son in an accident at the pit two years ago; it is perfectly practicable to pension him on that account."