death was as valid as the father’s claim during his life.  No doubt, the severance of the entail, if made at all, would be made in accordance with the young man’s wishes, and on certain terms which should be declared to be just by persons able to compute the value of such rights.  No doubt, also,—­so Mr. Bolton thought,—­the property would be utterly squandered if left in its present condition.  It would be ruined by incumbrances in the shape of post-obits.  All this had been deeply considered, and at last Mr. Bolton had consented to act between the father and the son.

When John Caldigate was driven up through the iron gates to Mr. Bolton’s door, his mind was not quite at ease within him.  He had seen Mr. Bolton on two or three occasions during his University career, and had called at the house; but he had never entered it, and had never seen the ladies; and now it was necessary that he should discuss his own follies, and own all his faults.  Of course, that which he was going to do would, in the eyes of the British world, be considered very unwise.  The British world regards the position of heirship to acres as the most desirable which a young man could hold.  That he was about to abandon.  But, as he told himself, without abandoning it he could not rid himself from the horror of Davis.  He was quite prepared to acknowledge his own vice and childish stupidity in regard to Davis.  He had looked all round that now, and was sure that he would do nothing of the kind again.  But how could he get rid of Davis in any other way than this?  And then Folking had no charms for him.  He hated Folking.  He was certain that any life would suit him better than a life to be passed as squire of Folking.  And he was quite alive to the fact that, though there was at home the prospect of future position and future income, for the present, there would be nothing.  Were he to submit himself humbly to his father, he might probably be allowed to vegetate at the old family home.  But there was no career for him.  No profession had as yet been even proposed.  His father was fifty-five, a very healthy man,—­likely to live for the next twenty years.  And then it would be impossible that he should dwell in peace under the same roof with his father.  And Davis!  Life would be miserable to him if he could not free himself from that thraldom.  The sum of money which was to be offered to him, and which was to be raised on the Folking property, would enable him to pay Davis, and to start upon his career with plentiful means in his pocket.  He would, too, be wise and not risk all his capital.  Shand had a couple of thousand pounds, and he would start with a like sum of his own.  Should he fail in New South Wales, there would still be something on which to begin again.  With his mind thus fixed, he entered Mr. Bolton’s gates.

He was to stay one night at Puritan Grange; and then, if the matter were arranged, he would go over to Folking for a day or two, and endeavour to part from his father on friendly terms.  In that case he would be able to pay Davis himself, and there need be no ground for quarrelling on that score.