For indeed it had become plain that it had been his flight that had given opportunity and substance to the accusation.  If he had remained, backed by the confidence of such a family as the Poynsetts, Gadley would have seen that testimony in his favour would be the safer and more profitable speculation; and Moy himself, as he had said, would have testified to the innocence of a living man on the spot, though he had let the blame rest on one whom he thought in the depths of the sea.  Archie’s want of moral courage had been his ruin.  It had led him to the scene of temptation rather than resist his companions, and had thus given colour to the accusation, and in the absence of both Joanna and of his cousins, it had prevented him from facing the danger.

This sense made him the more willing to be forbearing, when, after dinner, the whole council sat round to hear in full the history of the interview with Mr. Moy; Anne taking up her position beside Frank, with whom, between her pencil and the finger-alphabet, she had established such a language as to make her his best interpreter of whatever was passing in the room.

“One could not help being sorry for Moy,” said Miles, as he concluded; “he turns out to be but half the villain after all, made so rather by acquiescence than by his own free will.”

“But reaping the profit,” said Mrs. Poynsett.

“Yes, though in ignorance of the injury he was doing, and thus climbing to a height that makes his fall the worse.  I am sorry for old Proudfoot too,” added Julius.  “I believe they have not ventured to tell him of his granddaughter’s marriage.”

“I do not think the gain to me would be at all equal to the loss to them,” said Archie.  “Exposure would be ruin and heartbreak there, and I don’t see what it would do for me.”

“My dear Archie!” exclaimed both Mrs. Poynsett and Joanna, in amazement.

“So long as you and Mr. Bowater are satisfied, I care for little else,” said Archie.

“But your position, my dear,” said Mrs. Poynsett.

“We don’t care much about a man’s antecedents, within a few years, out in the colonies, dear Aunt Julia,” said Archie, smiling.

“You aren’t going back?”

“That depends,” said Archie, his eyes seeking Joanna’s; “but I don’t see what there is for me to do here.  I’m spoilt for a solicitor anyway—­”

“We could find an agency, Miles, couldn’t we?—­or a farm—­”

“Thank you, dear aunt,” said Archie; “I don’t definitely answer, because Mr. Bowater must be consulted; but I have a business out there that I can do, and where I can make a competence that I can fairly offer to Jenny here.  If I came home, as I am now, I should only prey on you in some polite form, and I don’t think Jenny would wish for that alternative.  I must go back any way, as I have told her, and whether to save for her, or to make a home for her there, it must be for her to decide.”