"All right," said Candlish sulkily; and after reference to certain memoranda laid before him, he opened a secretary, wrote a cheque, and handed it to the lawyer. "Thanks; that's right," said the latter, doubling the slip, and placing it in his pocket-book. "Going back to town to-night?" said Candlish. "No." "To-morrow?" "No." "When then?" "Depends on how matters turn out," said Thompson meaningly. "I suppose if I wanted a friend I might depend on you?" "Of course, of course," cried the squire eagerly. "Thanks," said Cousin Thompson. "I shall not forget, but I don't think I shall want any help. Good-bye." "Good-bye," said Tom Candlish warmly. A wish of a mutual character, expressed in a contraction--that God might be with two as utter scoundrels as ever communed together over a half-hatched plot. "Mrs Milt," said Cousin Thompson, as he entered the Manor that night, "I have been thinking over matters, and you need not say much to your master, but I feel it to be my duty to stay here for the present, and look after his affairs." "But really, sir--" "Have the goodness to remember who you are, Mrs Milt. Leave the room!" "And him going about in the dark watches of the night like a madman," sighed Mrs Milt, as soon as she was alone. "If that wretch sees him, what will he think?" "That wretch," to wit, Cousin Thompson, was biting his nails in North's library, and listening to a regular tramp upstairs. "Strange thing," he said, "but as soon as a man's head is touched, he grows more and more like a four-footed beast." He smiled and listened. All was very still now, and he set to work searching drawers and the bureau for material that might be useful to him in the settlement of Horace North's affairs, and as he searched he talked to himself. "Let me see: it was Nebuchadnezzar--wasn't it?--who used to go about on hands and knees eating grass." He examined a document or two, but did not seem satisfied with the result. "Hah! poor Horace!" he said. "I'm very sorry for him, but I must do my duty to society, and to him as well." He started, for the door-handle had been touched, and, quick as lightning, he dropped the papers he held, and blew down the chimney of the lamp. The door cracked, and as it opened slightly he could hear the church clock chiming, and then a deep-toned _one_ boomed forth. There was a something beside sound entered, for by the faint light which streamed in over the top of the shutters he could see a dark blotch moving slightly, and, as he felt chilled to the marrow, the dark patch changed slowly to a dimly-seen face of so ghastly a kind that he stood there gazing wildly, and fixed helplessly to the spot. Volume 3, Chapter IX. COUSIN THOMPSON'S TOOTH-ACHE. Regularly day after day.