One market-day a whisper passed through Farnborough that George Fielding had met with wonderful luck.  That he had made his fortune by gold, and was going to marry a young lady out in Australia.  Farmer Merton brought the whisper home.  Meadows was sure he would.

Meadows did not come to the house for some days.  He half feared to look upon his work; to see Susan’s face agonized under his blow.  At last he came.  He watched her by stealth.  He found he might have spared his qualms.  She chatted as usual in very good spirits, and just before he went she told him the report with a smile of ineffable scorn.

She was simple, unsuspicious, and every way without a shield against a Meadows, but the loyal heart by its own virtue had turned the dagger’s edge.

A week after this Jefferies brought Meadows a letter; it was from Susan to George.  Meadows read it writhing.  It breathed kind affection, with one or two demi-maternal cautions about his health, and to be very prudent for her sake.  Not a word of doubt; there was, however, a postscript of which the following is the exact wording: 

“P.  S. It is all over Farnborough that you are going to be married to some one in Australia.”

Two months more passed, and no letter from George.  These two months told upon Susan; she fretted and became restless and irritable, and cold misgivings crept over her, and the anguish of suspense!

At last one day she unbosomed herself, though with hesitation, to a warm and disinterested friend; blushing all over with tearful eyes she confessed her grief to Mr. Meadows.  “Don’t tell father, sir; I hide my trouble from him as well as I can, but what does it mean George not writing to me these four months and three days?  Do pray tell me what does it mean!” and Susan cried so piteously that Meadows winced at his success.

“Oh, Mr. Meadows! don’t flatter me; tell me the truth.”  While he was exulting in her firmness, who demanded the truth, bitter or not, she continued:  “Only don’t tell me that I am forgotten!” And she looked so piteously in the oracle’s face that he forgot everything in the desire to say something she would like him the better for saying; he muttered, “Perhaps he has sailed for home.”  He expected her to say, “And if he has he would have written to me before sailing.”  But instead of this Susan gave a little cry of joy.

“Ah! how foolish I have been.  Mr. Meadows, you are a friend out of a thousand; you are as wise as I am foolish.  Poor George! you will never let him know I was so wicked as to doubt him.”  And Susan brightened with joy and hope.  The heart believes so readily the thing it longs should be true.  She was happy all the rest of the evening.

Meadows went away mad with her for her folly, and with himself for his feebleness of purpose, and next market-day again the whisper went round the market that George Fielding was going to marry out there.  This time a detail was sketched in:  “It was a lady in the town of Bathurst.”  Old Merton brought this home and twitted his daughter.  She answered haughtily that it was a falsehood.  She would stake her life on George’s fidelity.