The Squire, who was striding up and down the room in his irritation, stopped suddenly in his walk, and looked at his retainer with a sharp and searching gaze upon his noble features.  Notwithstanding his prejudices, his simplicity, and his occasional absurdities, he was in his own way an able man, and an excellent judge of human nature.  Even his prejudices were as a rule founded upon some solid ground, only it was as a general rule impossible to get at it.  Also he had a share of that marvellous instinct which, when it exists, registers the mental altitude of the minds of others with the accuracy of an aneroid.  He could tell when a man’s words rang true and when they rang false, and what is more when the conviction of the true, and the falsity of the false, rested upon a substantial basis of fact or error.  Of course the instinct was a vague, and from its nature an undefinable one, but it existed, and in the present instance arose in strength.  He looked at the ugly melancholy countenance of the faithful George with that keen glance of his, and observed that for the moment it was almost beautiful—­beautiful in the light of conviction which shone upon it.  He looked, and it was borne in upon him that what George said was true, and that George knew it was true, although he did not know where the light of truth came from, and as he looked half the load fell from his heart.

“Hullo, George, are you turning prophet in addition to your other occupations?” he said cheerfully, and as he did so Edward Cossey’s splendid bay horse pulled up at the door and the bell rang.

“Well,” he added as soon as he saw who his visitor was, “unless I am much mistaken, we shall soon know how much truth there is in your prophecies, for here comes Mr. Cossey himself.”

Before George could sufficiently recover from his recent agitation to make any reply, Edward Cossey, looking particularly handsome and rather overpowering, was shown into the room.

The Squire shook hands with him this time, though coldly enough, and George touched his forelock and said, “Sarvant, sir,” in the approved fashion.  Thereon his master told him that he might retire, though he was to be sure not to go out of hearing, as he should want him again presently.

“Very well, sir,” answered George, “I’ll just step up to the Poplars.  I told a man to be round there to-day, as I want to see if I can come to an understanding with him about this year’s fell in the big wood.”

“There,” said the Squire with an expression of infinite disgust, “there, that’s just like your way, your horrid cadging way; the idea of telling a man to be ‘round about the Poplars’ sometime or other to-day, because you wanted to speak to him about a fell.  Why didn’t you write him a letter like an ordinary Christian and make an offer, instead of dodging him round a farm for half a day like a wild Indian?  Besides, the Poplars is half a mile off, if it’s a yard.”