Hitherto Clarice had implicitly trusted Mr. Barras in her innocence of worldly ways. He had always been frank with her, so far as she could see, and having been delegated by Horran to tell her of all things connected with the estate, Clarice had believed that she knew everything. Now, if the vicar were to be believed, it appeared that Horran had lent him money, and was pressing for the payment of the interest. Also, Dr. Jerce seemed to know of the private business of the Baird orphans, and to be influencing Horran against the wretched Mr. Clarke. Certainly, the vicar was not a very estimable character, and his infatuation for his spendthrift son merited contempt rather than approbation. Nevertheless, Horran had known Clarke all his life and had been to college with him and with Jerce. He therefore, assuredly, should not be hard on the parson, whose sole fault was affection for an unworthy son. Also, if Jerce was influencing Horran, as Clarke suggested, he might advise leniency instead of bearing hard on the man, especially at Christmas time. Barras also appeared to be anxious to force the vicar into discharging the interest at a time when he could ill afford to pay three pounds, much less three hundred; and, more than this, Barras wilfully concealed from Clarice the facts of the case. If the lawyer withheld this item, he certainly withheld others, and Clarice, staring out of her window at the thaw, began to find herself doubting the honesty of Mr. Barras. Added to these troubles were the facts of Horran's mysterious illness, and the mystery of the purple fern. More than ever, Clarice was determined not to speak to Jerce about the missive, which had sent Horran into his second deep sleep. Putting aside the fact that Jerce was in league with Barras--as it would appear--to bankrupt the vicar, the doctor, being in love with her, assuredly was not a person to whom she could talk freely. Then again, Ferdy's manner alarmed the girl. After his first outburst of joy on becoming engaged to Prudence, he had relapsed into moody silence, and seemed to be much worried over something, which he refused to explain to his sister. In vain, on the previous night, had Clarice implored him to be entirely frank. Ferdy, declaring that there was nothing wrong, had maintained his moody manner, and had drunk much more wine than was good for a man with a weak brain. On the whole, Clarice, after reflection, concluded that her uneasiness was due less to the unexampled weather than to the domestic mysteries, by which she seemed to be surrounded.