What was he to do--what was he to do? Were all his struggles to be an honest man to be in vain? Yes, he had joined parties in poaching, down about Nottingham, but he had left it all in disgust, and for years he had been trying to be, and had been, an honest man. He had lived here at Dumford four years--had saved money--was respected and trusted--he was old Bultitude's head man; and now these two scoundrels--men who knew of his old life--had found him out, they would expose him, and he should have to go off right away to begin the world afresh. "I've tried enew; I've tried very hard," he groaned. "I left all that as soon as I saw to what it tended, and knew better; and now, after all this struggle, here is the end." What was the use? he asked himself; why had he tried? What were honesty and respectability, and respect to such as he, that he should have fought for them so hard, knowing that, sooner or later, it must come to this? What should he do? The words kept repeating themselves in his brain, and he asked himself again, What? Suppose he told them all at the farm--laid bare the whole of his early life, how he had found himself as a boy thrown amongst poachers. It had been no fault of his, for he had hated it--loathed it all. Suppose he told Mr Bultitude--what then? Yes, what then? Old Bultitude would say--"We're all very sorry for you here, but if it got about that I'd kept a regular poacher on my farm, what would the squire say? And what about my lease?" And Tom Brough! Good heavens, if Tom Brough should learn it all! It was of no use; that man would blast his character gladly, and the end of it all was that he must go! Yes, but where? Where should he go? Somewhere to work for awhile, and get on, and then live a life of wretchedness, expecting to see some old associate turn up and blast his prospects. No; there was no hope for such as he! All he could do was to join some regiment at Lincoln or Sheffield, enlist--get on foreign service, and be a soldier. A man did not want a character to become a good soldier. And about Jessie? His head went lower, and he groaned aloud as this thought flashed across his mind, for his load seemed more than he could bear. "Anything the matter, John Maine?" The young man leaped up to find himself face to face with Mr Selwood, whose steps had been inaudible in the dusty road, and John Maine's thoughts had been too much taken up for him to notice the whine of recognition by the dog, who had leaped up and ran forward to welcome the vicar. "Bit of a headache, sir, bad headache--this heat, sir," stammered the young man.