“_Warn_ me!” said the farmer, suddenly changing colour, and with looks of distrust at the stranger’s uneasiness of voice and manner. “You have had a quarrel with him to-day, and slammed the door in his face.” “I did. Who told you?” the old man asked. “No one but him and I were present.” “I overheard him say as much to another in a whispered conversation.” “Indeed!” “Yes; he knows that you have a large sum of money in the house, and is determined to rob you of it, and then run off with the slut he calls his sweetheart.” “Rob me! his own father!” “It is as true as gospel. That I am correct is plain, or how could I have learned so much of his and your affairs unless I overheard him?” “Mr. Bolton, I’m sure you are right, and very kind to come here and warn me!” “Oh, no thanks; it is a duty we owe one to another as men and Christians,” said Bolton, with a very pious air. “I was well armed myself, and though I am much pressed for time, I thought I would call and see you; fore-warned is fore-armed.” “True, sir, true; and what would you have me do?” “Do? that depends. Have you any servants about you that you can arm?” “Not one, save an old woman I keep as housekeeper, more out of charity than anything else; all the rest are at the ‘Black Bull,’ having a dance and supper.” “I see, I see,” said Bolton, biting his lip. “Well, you don’t want your son’s guilt exposed before the whole village, do you?” “No! true, sir, true; he is my son, and, with all his faults, I don’t want to heap more shame on his head and mine.” “Then I’ll tell you what to do.” “What?” “Send your old servant down to the two village constables with a private message, telling them all about the intended robbery; they will then come up and remain with you all night, and all will be well.” “But the village is two miles or more by the road, and the old servant would take an hour or two to go and return. Bob might come in the meantime, find me all alone, and rob me of every penny I have in the world.” “But he doesn’t know where you keep it, surely?” said Bolton, with a dry, cunning smile. “Yes, he does; he knows I always keep my gold in that chest yonder by the window; but no one, save my friend Redgill, has any idea where I keep my bank notes,” said the farmer, with a sickly smile. The stranger did. He had heard Mr. Redgill speak of it as a capital joke that Farmer Bertram always concealed his bank notes in the inner lining of his boots! But of this he said not a word. “Ah! it’s a sad case,” said Bolton. “I am very sorry I cannot remain with you until the constables come, but business of pressing importance calls me away.” Betty, the old servant, was instantly summoned, and toddled off to the village in all haste, much amazed at the message she had to tell to the constables. Despite all the old farmer’s entreaties Mr. Bolton would not stay, but left at the same moment old Betsy did. Both of them went down the lane together.