“I’ll prosecute them, sir.  Not a man shall escape.  I’ll make them pay back every farthing, I will.  And damages, too.  Crayston, did you say, sir?  Was that one of the names?  Why, that is the very Crayston who was bailiff under my father for years.  The scoundrel!  And I set him up in my best farm when he married.  And he’s been swindling me, has he?”

Mr. Henry ran over the items of the account—­“421_l_, 13_s_. 4-3/4_d_.  Part of this I fear we cannot recover”——­

He was going on, but Mr. Buxton broke in:  “But I will recover it.  I’ll have every farthing of it.  I’ll go to law with the viper.  I don’t care for money, but I hate ingratitude.”

“If you like, I will take counsel’s opinion on the case,” said Mr. Henry, coolly.

“Take anything you please, sir.  Why this Crayston was the first man that set me on a horse—­and to think of his cheating me!”

A few days after this conversation, Frank came on his usual visit to Maggie.

“Can you come up to the thorn-tree, dearest?” said he.  “It is a lovely day, and I want the solace of a quiet hour’s talk with you.”

So they went, and sat in silence some time, looking at the calm and still blue air about the summits of the hills, where never tumult of the world came to disturb the peace, and the quiet of whose heights was never broken by the loud passionate cries of men.

“I am glad you like my thorn-tree,” said Maggie.

“I like the view from it.  The thought of the solitude which must be among the hollows of those hills pleases me particularly to-day.  Oh, Maggie! it is one of the times when I get depressed about men and the world.  We have had such sorrow, and such revelations, and remorse, and passion at home to-day.  Crayston (my father’s old tenant) has come over.  It seems—­I am afraid there is no doubt of it—­he has been peculating to a large amount.  My father has been too careless, and has placed his dependents in great temptation; and Crayston—­he is an old man, with a large extravagant family—­has yielded.  He has been served with notice of my father’s intention to prosecute him; and came over to confess all, and ask for forgiveness, and time to pay back what he could.  A month ago, my father would have listened to him, I think; but now, he is stung by Mr. Henry’s sayings, and gave way to a furious passion.  It has been a most distressing morning.  The worst side of everybody seems to have come out.  Even Crayston, with all his penitence and appearance of candor, had to be questioned closely by Mr. Henry before he would tell the whole truth.  Good God! that money should have such power to corrupt men.  It was all for money, and money’s worth, that this degradation has taken place.  As for Mr. Henry, to save his client money, and to protect money, he does not care—­he does not even perceive—­how he induces deterioration of character.  He has been encouraging my father in measures which I cannot