The stranger was evidently on the point of departure.  There was a sound of wheels on the gravel outside the parlour window—­the familiar sound of Stephen Whitelaw’s chaise-cart; and that gentleman was busy helping his visitor on with his great-coat.

“I shall be late for the last train,” said the stranger, “unless your man drives like the very devil.”

“He’ll drive fast enough, I daresay, if you give him half-a-crown,” Mr. Whitelaw answered with a grin; “but don’t let him go and do my horse any damage, or you’ll have to pay for it.”

“Of course.  You’d like to get the price of a decent animal out of me for that broken-kneed hard-mouthed brute of yours,” replied the stranger with a scornful laugh.  “I think there never was such a money-grubbing, grinding, grasping beggar since the world began.  However, you’ve seen the last shilling you’re ever likely to get out of me; so make the best of it; and remember, wherever I may be, there are friends of mine in this country who will keep a sharp look-out upon you, and let me know precious quick if you don’t stick to your part of our bargain like an honest man, or as nearly like one as nature will allow you to come.  And now good-night, Mr. Whitelaw.—­Ladies, your humble servant.”

He was gone before Ellen or Mrs. Tadman could reply to his parting salutation, had they been disposed to do so.  Mr. Whitelaw went out with him, and gave some final directions to the stable-lad who was to drive the chaise-cart, and presently came back to the parlour, looking considerably relieved by his guest’s departure.

Mrs. Tadman rushed at once to the expression of her fears.

“Stephen Whitelaw,” she exclaimed solemnly, “tell us the worst at once.  It’s no good keeping things back from us.  That man has come here to turn us out of house and home.  You’ve sold Wyncomb.”

“Sold Wyncomb!  Have you gone crazy, you old fool?” cried Mr. Whitelaw, contemplating his kinswoman with a most evil expression of countenance.  “What’s put that stuff in your head?”

“Your own doings, Stephen, and that man’s.  What does he come here for, with his masterful ways, unless it’s to turn us out of house and home?  What did you show him the house for?  Nigh upon an hour you were out of this room with him, if you were a minute.  Why did money pass from him to you?  I saw you put it in your pocket—­a bundle of bank-notes.”

“You’re a prying old catemeran!” cried Mr. Whitelaw savagely, “and a drunken old fool into the bargain.—­Why do you let her muddle herself with the gin-bottle like that, Ellen?  You ought to have more respect for my property.  You don’t call that taking care of your husband’s house.—­As for you, mother Tadman, if you treat me to any more of this nonsense, you will find yourself turned out of house and home a precious deal sooner than you bargained for; but it won’t be because of my selling Wyncomb.  Sell Wyncomb, indeed!  I’ve about as much thought of going up in a balloon, as of parting with a rood or a perch of my father’s land.”