“I am afraid,” he said at length, in a tone of gentle compassion, “that you must have suffered a great deal, Caresfoot.”

“Suffered!  I have suffered the tortures of the damned!  I still suffer them, I shall always suffer them.”

“I do not wish,” said the clergyman, with a little hesitation, “to appear officious or to make a mockery of your grief by telling you that it is for your good; but I should fail in my duty if I did not point out to you that He who strikes the blow has the power to heal the wound, and that very often such things are for our ultimate benefit, either in this world or the next.  Carry your troubles to Him, my dear fellow, acknowledge His hand, and, if you know in your heart of any way in which you have sinned, offer Him your hearty repentance; do this, and you will not be deserted.  Your life, that now seems to you nothing but ashes, may yet be both a happy and a useful one.”

Philip smiled bitterly as he answered—­

“You talk to me of repentance—­how can I repent when Providence has treated me so cruelly, robbing me at a single blow of my wife and my fortune?  I know that I did wrong in concealing my marriage, but I was driven to it by fear of my father.  Ah! if you had seen him as I saw him, you would have known that they were right to call him ’Devil Caresfoot.’” He checked himself, and then went on—­“He forced me into the engagement with Miss Lee, and announced it without my consent.  Now I am ruined—­everything is taken from me.”

“You have your little daughter, and all the entailed estate—­at least, so I am told.”

“My little daughter!—­I never want to see her face; she killed her mother.  If it had been a boy, it would have been different, for then, at any rate, that accursed George would not have got my birthright.  My little daughter, indeed! don’t enumerate her among my earthly blessings.”

“It is rather sad to hear you talk like that of your child; but, at any rate, you are not left in want.  You have one of the finest old places in the county, and a thousand a year, which to most men would be riches.”

“And which to me,” answered Philip, “is beggary.  I should have had six, and I have got one.  But look you here, Fraser, I swear before God——­”

“Hush!  I cannot listen to such talk.”

“Well, then, before anything you like, that, while I live, I will never rest one single moment until I get my own back again.  It may seem impossible, but I will find a way.  For instance,” he added, as a thought struck him, “strangely enough, the will does not forbid me to buy the lands back.  If I can get them no other way, I will buy them—­ do you hear?—­I will buy them.  I must have them again before I die.”

“How will you get the money?”

“The money—­I will save it, make it, steal it, get it somehow.  Oh! do not be afraid; I will get the money.  It will take a few years, but I will get it somehow.  It is not the want of a few thousands that will stop a determined man.”