a sister’s.  And then, as they two had gone away equal, and as he, John Caldigate, had returned rich, whereas poor Dick was a wretched menial creature, he felt that his very presence in England would carry with it some reproach against himself.  He had in truth been both loyal and generous to Dick; but still,—­there was the truth.  He had come back as a rich man to his own country, while Dick was a miserable Queensland shepherd.  It was very well for him to tell his father that a few glasses of whisky had made the difference; but it would be difficult to explain this to the large circle at Pollington, and very disagreeable even to him to allude to it.  And he did not feel disposed to discuss the subject with Maria, with that closer confidence of which full sympathy is capable.  And yet he did not know how to refuse to pay the visit.  He wrote a line to say that as soon as he was at liberty he would run up to Pollington, but that at present business incidental to his return made such a journey impossible.

But the letter, or letters, which he received from Babington were more difficult to answer even than the Shand despatch.  There were three of them,—­from his uncle, from Aunt Polly, and from—­not Julia—­but Julia’s second sister; whereby it was signified that Julia’s heart was much too heavily laden to allow her to write a simple, cousinly note.  The Babington girls were still Babington girls,—­would still romp, row boats, and play cricket; but their condition was becoming a care to their parents.  Here was this cousin come back, unmarried, with gold at command,—­not only once again his father’s heir, but with means at command which were not at all diminished by the Babington imagination.  After all that had passed in the linen-closet, what escape would there be for him?  That he should come to Babington would be a matter of course.  The real kindness which had been shown to him there as a child would make it impossible that he should refuse.

Caldigate did feel it to be impossible to refuse.  Though Aunt Polly had on that last occasion been somewhat hard upon him, had laid snares for him, and endeavoured to catch him as a fowler catches a bird, still there had been the fact that she had been as a mother to him when he had no other mother.  His uncle, too, had supplied him with hunting and shooting and fishing, when hunting and shooting and fishing were the great joys of his life.  It was incumbent on him to go to Babington,—–­ probably would be incumbent on him to pay a prolonged visit there.  But he certainly would not marry Julia.  As to that his mind was so fixed that even though he should have to declare his purpose with some rudeness, still he would declare it.  ’My aunt wants me to go over to Babington,’ he said to his father.

‘Of course she does.’

‘And I must go?’

’You know best what your own feelings are as to that.  After you went, they made all manner of absurd accusations against me.  But I don’t wish to force a quarrel upon you on that account.’