“So she will.  So then you will run him down to her.”

“Not such a fool, she would hate me.  I shall never mention his name.  I make one of my tools hang jail over old Merton.  Susan thinks George married.  I strike upon her pique and her father’s distress.  I ask him for his daughter.  Offer to pay my father-in-law’s debts and start him afresh.”

“Beautiful!  Beautiful!”

“Susan likes me already.  I tell her all I suffered silent while she was on with George.  I press her to be mine.  She will say no perhaps three or four times, but the fifth she will say yes!”

“She will; you are a great man.”

“And she will be happy.”

“Can’t see it.”

“A man that marries a virtuous woman and loves her is no man at all if he can’t make her love him; they can’t resist our stronger wills except by flight or by leaning upon another man.  I’ll be back directly.”

Mr. Meadows returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.  Crawley was surprised.  This was a beverage he had never seen his friend drink or offer him.  Another thing puzzled him.  When Mr. Meadows came back with the wine he had not so much color as usual in his face—­not near so much.

“Crawley,” said Meadows, in a low voice, “suppose, while I am working, this George Fielding were to come home with money in both pockets?”

“He would kick it all down in a moment.”

“I am glad you see that.  Then you see one hand is not enough; another must be working far away.”

“Yes, but I don’t see—­”

“You will see.  Drink a glass of wine with me, my good friend; your health.”

“Same to you, sir.”

“Is it to your mind?”

“Elixir!  This is the stuff that sharpens a chap’s wit and puts courage in his heart.”

“I brought it for that.  You and I have no chicken’s play on hand.  Another glass.”

“Success to your scheme, sir.”

“Crawley, George Fielding must not come back this year with one thousand pounds.”

“No, he must not—­thank you, sir, your health.  Mustn’t, he shan’t; but how on earth can you prevent him?”

“That paper will prevent him; it is a paper of instructions.  My very brains lie in that paper—­put it in your pocket.”

“In my pocket, sir?  Highly honored—­shall be executed to the letter.  What, wine!”

“And this is a check-book.”

“No! is it though?”

“You will draw on me for one hundred pounds per month.”

“No! shall I, though?  Sir, you are a king!”

“Of which you will account for fifty pounds only.”

“Liberal, sir; as I said before, liberal as running water.”

“You are going a journey.”

“Am I? well!  Don’t you turn pale for that—­I’ll come back to you—­nothing but death shall part us.  Have a drop of this, sir; it will put blood into your cheek, and fire into your heart.  That is right.  Where am I going, sir?”