They were on the borders of a tiff; but Henry recovered himself and said firmly, “I hope we shall not have a thought unshared one day; but, just for the present, it will be kinder to spare me that one topic.”

“Very well, dearest,” said Grace.  “And, if it had not been for the advertisement—­” she said no more, and the thing passed like a dark cloud between the lovers.

Bollinghope house and park were actually sold that very week; they were purchased, at more than their value, by a wealthy manufacturer:  and the proceeds of this sale and the timber cleared off all Coventry’s mortgages, and left him with a few hundred pounds in cash, and an estate which had not a tree on it, but also had not a debt upon it.

Of course he forfeited, by this stroke, his position as a country gentleman; but that he did not care about, since it was all done with one view, to live comfortably in Paris far from the intolerable sight of his rival’s happiness with the lady he loved.

He bought in at the sale a few heirlooms and articles of furniture—­who does not cling, at the last moment, to something of this kind?—­and rented a couple of unfurnished rooms in Hillsborough to keep them in.  He fixed the day of his departure, arranged his goods, and packed his clothes.  Then he got a letter of credit on Paris, and went about the town buying numerous articles of cutlery.

But this last simple act led to strange consequences.  He was seen and followed; and in the dead of the evening, as he was cording with his own hands a box containing a few valuables, a heavy step mounted the stair, and there was a rude knock at the door.

Mr. Coventry felt rather uncomfortable, but he said, “Come in.”

The door was opened, and there stood Sam Cole.

Coventry received him ill.  He looked up from his packing and said, “What on earth do you want, sir?”

But it was not Cole’s business to be offended.  “Well, sir,” said he, “I’ve been looking out for you some time, and I saw you at our place; so I thought I’d come and tell you a bit o’ news.”

“What is that?”

“It is about him you know of; begins with a hel.”

“Curse him!  I don’t want to hear about him.  I’m leaving the country.  Well, what is it?”

“He is wrong with the trade again.”

“What is that to me?—­Ah! sit down, Cole, and tell me.”

Cole let him know the case, and assured him that, sooner or later, if threats did not prevail, the Union would go any length.

“Should you be employed?”

“If it was a dangerous job, they’d prefer me.”

Mr. Coventry looked at his trunks, and then at Sam Cole.  A small voice whispered “Fly.”  He stifled that warning voice, and told Cole he would stay and watch this affair, and Cole was to report to him whenever any thing fresh occurred.  From that hour this gentleman led the life of a malefactor, dressed like a workman, and never went out except at night.