Here Farmer Price made a dead stop; and his wife and Susan looked up in his face, breathless with anxiety. “It must come out,” said he, with a short sigh; “I must leave you in three days, wife.” “Must you?” said his wife, in a faint, resigned voice. “Susan, love, open the window.” Susan ran to open the window, and then returned to support her mother’s head. When she came a little to herself she sat up, begged that her husband would go on, and that nothing might be concealed from her. Her husband had no wish indeed to conceal anything from a wife he loved so well; but, firm as he was, and steady to his maxim, that the truth was the thing the fittest to be spoken at all times, his voice faltered, and it was with great difficulty that he brought himself to speak the whole truth at this moment. The fact was this. Case met Farmer Price as he was coming home, whistling, from a new ploughed field. The attorney had just dined at _The Abbey_. The Abbey was the family seat of an opulent baronet in the neighbourhood, to whom Mr. Case had been agent. The baronet died suddenly, and his estate and title devolved to a younger brother, who was now just arrived in the country, and to whom Mr. Case was eager to pay his court, in hopes of obtaining his favour. Of the agency he flattered himself that he was pretty secure; and he thought that he might assume the tone of command towards the tenants, especially towards one who was some guineas in debt, and in whose lease there was a flaw. Accosting the farmer in a haughty manner, the attorney began with, “So, Farmer Price, a word with you, if you please. Walk on here, man, beside my horse, and you’ll hear me. You have changed your opinion, I hope, about that bit of land—that corner at the end of my garden?” “As how, Mr. Case?” said the farmer. “As how, man! Why, you said something about its not belonging to me, when you heard me talk of inclosing it the other day.” “So I did,” said Price, “and so I do.” Provoked and astonished at the firm tone in which these words were pronounced, the attorney was upon the point of swearing that he would have his revenge; but, as his passions were habitually attentive to the _letter_ of the law, he refrained from any hasty expression, which might, he was aware, in a court of justice, be hereafter brought against him. “My good friend, Mr. Price,” said he, in a soft voice, and pale with suppressed rage. He forced a smile. “I’m under the necessity of calling in the money I lent you some time ago, and you will please to take notice, that it must be paid to-morrow morning. I wish you a good evening. You have the money ready for me, I daresay.” “No,” said the farmer, “not a guinea of it; but John Simpson, who was my substitute, has not left our village yet. I’ll get the money back from him, and go myself, if so be it must be so, into the militia—so I will.”