"To Anthony's excessive regret," said Mr Chester, marching on bravely. "Those are your words, not mine." "Well, are you going to say they are a lie?" broke out the Squire in a white heat again. "His father told me with his own lips that they had done their utmost with the old curmudgeon, and he was the truest-hearted gentleman that ever breathed, sir!" "Did his father tell you that, a week before his death, Mr Tregennas wrote to Anthony Miles, asking whether the Vicar would agree to half the fortune being made over to the grandchild, and--mark this--desiring him if he would not consent to take no notice of the letter?" "Well?" said the Squire, stopping. "Well." "Can't you do anything but repeat one's words?" growled Mr Chester with something else between his teeth. "That is all." "What is all?" "What I say. Mr Tregennas wrote that letter, and there the matter ended." "Ended! Do you pretend to tell me there was no answer from Anthony?" "Never a word more. And that was enough for Mr Tregennas. It had been all I could do to work him up so far, and I confess,--though I was a fool not to know the world better at my time of life,--I confess I hoped there was a chance for poor Margaret's girl when we had got him to that point." "A chance!" stammered Mr Chester, as red and discomfited as if he had been the person accused. "Anthony would have jumped to give it to her, as I've told you already." "So it seemed," said the lawyer, dryly. "Confound you, man, but I tell you he would!" "I can only answer you by the facts of the case." "But--I'll ask him--you don't know what you're saying--my word for it, he never had that letter." "I posted it myself. Besides, where is it? If there had been a non-delivery we should have heard by this time from the Dead-Letter Office. Pooh, pooh, Chester, the temptation was a little too strong, that's the long and short of it, and, after all, no one pretends that there was any fraud. Mr Tregennas put the choice into his hands, and he had no doubt an absolute right to choose." The Squire, who had thrust his hands into his pockets, was striding on at a pace with which his friend found it difficult to keep up. He gave a sort of groan when Mr Pitt finished his deliberate speech, and then stopped and turned suddenly upon him. "I tell you what, Pitt," he said, setting his teeth. "If you weren't who you are, I should like to--to--" "To kick me," said the lawyer, coolly finishing the sentence. "I should not wonder. But considering who I am, and considering that I have certainly no personal animus against the young man,--what can you make of the story?" "Do you want me to say I think my old friend's lad a villain? Good heavens, sir, and he was so proud of him!" Mr Pitt's manner changed a little, losing some of the hard ease with which he had talked, as he began to understand the pain it cost the loyal-hearted Squire to receive his impressions. He said earnestly,--