Between Pollington and London, Caldigate remained for six weeks, during which time he fitted himself out, took his passage, and executed the necessary deeds as to the estate.  It might have been pleasant enough,—­this little interval before his voyage,—­as the Shands, though rough and coarse, were kind to him and good-humoured, had it not been that a great trouble befell him through over conscientiousness as to a certain matter.  After what had passed at Babington House, it was expedient that he should, before he started for New South Wales, give some notice to his relatives there, so that Julia might know that destiny did not intend her to become Mrs. Caldigate of Folking.  Aunt Polly had, no doubt, been too forward in that matter, and in wishing to dispose of her daughter had put herself in the way of merited rebuke and disappointment.  It was, however, not the less necessary that she should be told of the altered circumstances of her wished-for son-in-law.  But, had he been wise, he would so have written his letter that no answer should reach him before he had left the shores of England.  His conscience, however, pinched him, and before he had even settled the day on which he would start, he wrote to his aunt a long letter in which he told her everything,—­how he had disposed of his inheritance,—­how he had become so indebted to Davis as to have to seek a new fortune out of England,—­how he had bade farewell to Folking for ever,—­and how impossible it was under all these circumstances that he should aspire to the hand of his cousin Julia.

It was as though a thunderbolt had fallen among them at Babington.  Mr. Babington himself was certainly not a clever man, but he knew enough of his own position, as an owner of acres, to be very proud of it, and he was affectionate enough towards his nephew to feel the full weight of this terrible disruption It seemed to him that his brother-in-law, Daniel Caldigate, was doing a very wicked thing, and he hurried across the country, to Folking, that he might say so.  ’You have not sense enough to understand the matter,’ said Daniel Caldigate.  ’You have no heart in your bowels if you can disinherit an only son,’ said the big squire.  ‘Never mind where I carry my heart,’ said the smaller squire; ‘but it is a pity you should carry so small an amount of brain.’  No good could be done by such a meeting as that, nor by the journey which aunt Polly took to Pollington.  The Caldigates, both father and son, were gifted with too strong a will to be turned from their purpose by such interference.  But a great deal of confusion was occasioned; and aunt Polly among the Shands was regarded as a very wonderful woman indeed.  ‘Oh, my son, my darling son!’ she said, weeping on John Caldigate’s shoulder.  Now John Caldigate was certainly not her son, in the usual acceptation of the word, nor did Maria Shand believe that he was so even in that limited sense in which a daughter’s husband may be so designated.  It was altogether very disagreeable, and made our hero almost resolve to get on board the ship a week before it started from the Thames instead of going down to Plymouth and catching it at the last moment.  Of course it would have been necessary that the Babingtons should know all about it sooner or later, but John very much regretted that he had not delayed his letter till the day before his departure.