Mr. Chattaway sat in what was called the steward's room that fine autumn morning--but autumn was merging into winter now. When rents were paid to him, it was here he sat to receive them. It was where the steward, in the old days of Squire Trevlyn, sat to receive them; see the tenants and work-people upon other matters; transact business generally--for it was not until the advent of Mr. Chattaway that Trevlyn Hold had been without its steward or bailiff. In the estimation of Miss Diana, it ought not to be without one now. Mr. Chattaway was not in a good humour that morning--which is not saying much: but he was in an unusually bad one. A man who rented a small farm of fifty acres under him had come in to pay his annual rent. That is, he had paid part of it, pleading unavoidable misfortune for not being able to make up the remainder, and begging time and grace. It did not please Mr. Chattaway--never a more exacting man than he with his tenants--and the unhappy defaulter wound up the displeasure to a climax by inquiring, innocently and simply, really not meaning any offence, whether any news of the poor young Squire had come to light. Mr. Chattaway had not done digesting the unpalatable remark when George entered. "Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," was his greeting. And perhaps of all his tenants George Ryle was the only one who did not on these occasions, when they met face to face as landlord and tenant, address him by his coveted title of "Squire." "Good morning," returned Mr. Chattaway, shortly and snappishly. "Take a seat." George drew a chair to the table at which Mr. Chattaway sat. Opening a substantial bag, he counted out notes and gold, and a few shillings in silver, which he divided into two portions; then, with his hands, he pushed each nearer Mr. Chattaway, one after the other. "This is the year's rent, Mr. Chattaway; and this, I am happy to say, is the last instalment of the debt and interest which my father owed--or was said to owe--to Squire Trevlyn. Will you be so good as to give me a receipt in full?" Mr. Chattaway swept towards him the heap designated as the rent, apparently ignoring the other. "What have you deducted?" he asked, in angry tones, as he counted it over, and found that it came somewhat short of the sum expected. "Not much," replied George; "only what I have a right to deduct. The fences, and----But I have the accounts with me," he continued, taking three or four papers from his pocket. "You can look them over." Mr. Chattaway scrutinised the papers one by one, but he was unable to find anything to object to in the items. George Ryle knew better than to deduct money for anything that did not fall legally to the landlord. But it was in Mr. Chattaway's nature to dispute. "If I brought this matter of the fences into court I believe it would be given against you."