CHAPTER XLI.

MOUNTJOY SCARBOROUGH GOES TO BUSTON.

Mr. Grey returned to London after staying but one night, having received fresh instructions as to the will.  The will was to be prepared at once, and Mr. Barry was to bring it down for execution.  “Shall I not inform Augustus?” asked Mr. Grey.

But this did not suit with Mr. Scarborough’s views of revenge.  “I think not.  I would do by him whatever honesty requires; but I have never told him that I mean to leave him anything.  Of course he knows that he is to have the estate.  He is revelling in the future poverty of poor Mountjoy.  He turned him out of his house just now because Mountjoy would not obey him by going to—­Brazil.  He would turn him out of this house if he could because I won’t at once go—­to the devil.  He is something overmasterful, is Master Augustus, and a rub or two will do him good.  I’d rather you wouldn’t tell him, if you please.”  Then Mr. Grey departed, without making any promise, but he determined that he would be guided by the squire’s wishes.  Augustus Scarborough was not of a nature to excite very warmly the charity of any man.

Harry remained for two or three days’ shooting with Mountjoy, and once or twice he saw the squire again.  “Merton and I have managed to concoct that letter,” said the squire.  “I’m afraid your uncle will find it rather long.  Is he impatient of long letters?”

“He likes long sermons.”

“If anybody will listen to his reading.  I think you have a deal to answer for yourself, when you could not make so small a sacrifice to the man to whom you were to owe everything.  But he ought to look for a wife in consequence of that crime, and not falsely allege another.  If, as I fear, he finds the wife-plan troublesome, our letter may perhaps move him, and Mountjoy is to go down and open his eyes.  Mountjoy hasn’t made any difficulty about it.”

“I shall be greatly distressed—­” Harry begun.

“Not at all.  He must go.  I like to have my own way in these little matters.  He owes you as much reparation as that, and we shall be able to see what members of the Scarborough family you would trust the most.”

Harry, during the two days, shot some hares in company with Mountjoy, but not a word more was said about the adventure in London.  Nor was the name of Florence Mountjoy ever mentioned between the two suitors.  “I’m going to Buston, you know,” Mountjoy said once.

“So your father told me.”

“What sort of a fellow shall I find your uncle?”

“He’s a gentleman, but not very wise.”  No more was said between them on that head, but Mountjoy spoke at great length about his own brother and his father’s will.

“My father is the most singular man you ever came across.”

“I think he is.”