“The very papers, sir,” continued Purcel, who could not prevent himself from proceeding, “might enable you to see the state of the country.”

“Oh, d—­n the papers,” said the parson, “I am sick of them.  Our side is perpetually exaggerating matters—­just as you are; and as for the other side, your papist rags I never, of course, see or wish to see.  I want six hundred now, or indeed eight if you can, and I had some notion of taking a day or two’s shooting.  How is the game on the glebe?  Has it been well preserved, do you know?”

“I am not aware,” said the proctor, “that any one has shot over the glebe lands this season; but if you take my advice, sir, you will expose yourself as little as you can in the neighborhood.  There are not two individuals in the parish so unpopular as Dr. Turbot and your humble servant.”

“In that case, then,” replied the other, “the less delay I make here the better—­you can let me have six hundred, I hope?”

“I certainly told you, sir,” replied Purcel, with something of a determined and desperate coolness about him, “that I had money for you, and so I have.”

“Thank you, Purcel; I must say you certainly have, on all occasions, exerted yourself faithfully and honestly in support of my interests.”

“Money, sir,” pursued the other, without appearing to look to the right or to the left, “I have for you.  Would you venture to guess to what amount?”

“Well, under the circumstances you speak of, less, I dare say, than I expect.”

“I have been able to get, within the last six months, exactly fifty-nine pounds thirteen and sevenpence!”

If the ebb which we have described before of the blood from the doctor’s double chin was a gradual one, we can assure the reader that, in this case, it was rapid in proportion to the terror and dismay conveyed by this authentic, but astounding piece of intelligence.  The whole face became pale, his eyes at once lost their lustre, and were, as he fixed them in astonishment upon the proctor, completely without speculation; his voice became tremulous, and, as he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe away the unexpected perspiration which the proctor’s words had brought out upon his forehead, his hands trembled as if he had been suddenly seized with palsy.  In truth, Purcel, who had a kind of good-natured regard for the little man, felt a sensation of compassion for him, on witnessing the extraordinary distress under which he labored.

“I am sorry for this,” said he, “for I really know not what is to be done, and, what is equally distressing, our prospects are not at all likely to improve.”

“You don’t mean to say, Purcel, that circumstances are as bad as you report them—­as bad—­as desperate, I should say—­and as ruinous?”

“I fear,” said Purcel, “they go beyond the gloomiest and most desponding views you could take of them.  The conspiracy, for such we must term it, is, in point of fact, deepening down to the very foundations, if I may use the expression, of society.  Every day it is becoming more dangerous and alarming; but how it is to be checked or mitigated, or how we are to stand out of its way and avoid its consequences, heaven only knows, for I don’t.”