"Ay, that he be, sir; and him a gent as seemed so religious and good, and allus saying proper sort o' things. It's set me agen saying ought script'ral evermore." There was a dead silence for a few moments; and then the doctor hissed out: "The scoundrel!" "Ay, that's it, sir; and of course it's all his doing, for she was so good and sweet; and it's touched me quite like to the heart, sir, for master thought so much o' she." "Good heavens!--then my suspicions were right!" "You suspected too, sir? Well, I don't wonder." "No, no; it is impossible, Monnick, impossible. Man, it must be a mistake." "Well, sir," said the old fellow sturdily, "maybe it be. All of us makes mistakes sometimes, and suspects wrongfully. Even you, sir. But I'm pretty sure as I'm right; and for her sake, I'm going to go and tell master, and have it stopped." "No, no, man; are you mad?" cried the doctor, catching him by the arm. "No more nor most folks be, sir; but I'm not going to see a woman go wrong, and a good true young man's heart broke, to save a smooth-tongued gent from getting into trouble. It'll do him good too." "Then you mean Mr Prayle?" "Course I do, sir. There aren't no one else here, I hope, as would behave that how." "Where are you going?" said the doctor, holding the old man tightly by the arm. "Straight up to Sir James, sir." "No, no, man. Let me go." "To master, sir?" "No, no. To Prayle--to them. Where are they?" The doctor's voice sounded very hoarse, and the blood flushed to his face in his bitter anger as he clenched his hand. "They're down in the lower summer-house, sir," said the old man; "and it's my dooty to take Sir James strite down to confront him and ask him what he means; see what a bad un he be and then send him about his business, never to come meddling here no more." Scales stood perfectly silent, but gripping the old man's arm tightly. It was confirmation of suspicions that had troubled him again and again. He had crushed them constantly, telling himself that there was no truth in them; that they disgraced him; and here was the end. What should he do? The shock to his friend would be terrible; but would it not be better that he should know--better than going on in such a state as this? The knowledge must come sooner or later, and why not now? The shock? What of the effects of that shock with his mind in such a state? Would it work ill or good? "Poor fellow!" he muttered, "as if he had not suffered enough. I never thoroughly believed in her, and yet I have tried. No, no; he must not know." "Now, sir, if you'll let go o' me, I'm going up to master." "No, my man; he must not be told." "It's my dooty to tell him, sir; and I'm a-going to do it." "But I don't know what effect it may have upon him, man." "It can't have a bad one, sir; and it may rouse Sir James up into being the man he was afore the accident. I must make haste, please, sir, or I may be too late." "No, Monnick; you must not go."