Merton left the house in a rage, and resolved to spare nothing to convict the miserable gardener. Now this quarrel produced certain events—it set on foot another chain of circumstances. Violet was now alone at The Place. Miss Merton could not stay longer. Before she went she asked if she should send back the dog Dando, which Merton had taken to Barnham. Violet, still bitter, in an unreasoning way, against the dog, said no. “Then,” said Miss Merton, “may I take him with me to Torquay?” She had taken a fancy to the dog. Violet was quite willing—anything so that he did not return to vex her with memories of the dead. Miss Merton took him home, sorry for her friend, and yet glad to quit that dismal house and neighbourhood. Next day there came a note from Mr Merton, in which the writer, in a formal way, expressed regret if he had uttered anything which had annoyed her, and asked her to accompany Miss Merton to Torquay for change of scene. Violet thanked him, but refused. Aymer saw her every day. She did not give way to tears and fits of excited sorrow, but a dull weakness seemed to have taken possession of her. All the old spirit and joy had left her. She wandered about listlessly, stunned, in fact. All the interest she took was in poor Jenkins’ fate. Aymer, at her wish, went to Barnham, and engaged a lawyer to defend him. This soon reached Merton’s ears, and annoyed him exceedingly; though, to do him justice, he was at that very hour striving to put Violet’s affairs into order. Those affairs were—unknown to her—in a most critical state. The deceased, as he had told Aymer, had three thousand pounds out at interest, as he believed, upon good security, but which he thought of calling in. This money had been advanced to a Mr Joseph Herring, a large farmer at Belthrop, some ten miles from World’s End. Mr Herring was a successful man and a good man; at all events he had no worse failing than an inordinate love of foxhunting. He had a large family, six sons and eight daughters, but there always seemed to be plenty for them. They lived and dressed well, rode out to the Meet, and one by one, as the sons grew older, they were placed in farms. Foxhunting men, with the reputation of some means, can always find favour in the eyes of landlords. If any one had been asked to point out a fortunate family in that county, he would at once have placed his finger upon the name of Herring. The original home farm, where dwelt old Herring and his wife, four of the daughters, and one son, who really managed it, was of good size, fertile, and easily rented. The eldest son, Albert Herring, who was married and had children, occupied a fine farm at no great distance; and the two other sons had a smaller farm between them, and with them lived the other four sisters. Of course it was understood that these farms had been stocked partly with borrowed money; but that was a common thing, and there was every indication that all the family were prospering.