Meadows heard him out; then simply reminded him of his theft, and assured him with an oath that if he dared to confess his villainy—­

“My villainy?” shrieked the astonished postmaster.

“Whose else?  You have intercepted letters—­not I. You have abused the public confidence—­not I. So if you are such a fool and sneak as to cut your throat by peaching on yourself, I’ll cry louder than you, and I’ll show you have emptied letters as well as stopped them.  Go home to your wife, and keep quiet, or I’ll smash both you and her.”

“Oh, I know you are without mercy, and I dare not open my heart while I live; but I will beat you yet, you cruel monster.  I will leave a note for Miss Merton, confessing all, and blow out my brains to-night in the office.”

The man’s manner was wild and despairing.  Meadows eyed him sternly.  He said with affected coolness:  “Jefferies, you are not game to take your own life.”

“Ain’t I?” was the reply.

“At least I think not.”

“To-night will show.”

“I must know that before night,” cried Meadows, and with the word he sprang on Jefferies and seized him in a grasp of iron, and put a pistol to his head.

“Ah! no!  Mr. Meadows.  Mercy! mercy!” shrieked the man, in an agony of fear.

“All right,” said Meadows, coolly putting up the pistol.  “You half imposed on me, and that is something for you to brag of.  You won’t kill yourself, Jefferies; you are not the stuff.  Give over shaking like an aspen, and look and listen.  You are in debt.  I’ve bought up two drafts of yours—­here they are.  Come to me to-morrow, after the wedding, and I will give you them to light your pipe with.”

“Oh, Mr. Meadows, that would be one load off my mind.”

“You are short of cash, too; come to me—­after the wedding, and I’ll give you fifty pounds cash.”

“You are very liberal, sir.  I wish it was in a better cause.”

“Now go home, and don’t be a sneak and a fool—­till after the wedding, or I will sell the bed from under your wife’s back, and send you to the stone-jug.  Be off.”

Jefferies crept away, paralyzed in heart, and Meadows, standing up, called out in a rage:  “Are there any more of you that hope to turn John Meadows? then come on, come a thousand strong, with the devil at your back—­and then I’ll beat you!” And for a moment the respectable man was almost grand; a man-rock standing braving earth and heaven.

“Hist!  Mr. Meadows.”  He turned, and there was Crawley.  “A word, sir.  Will Fielding is in the town, in such a passion.”

“Come to stop the wedding?”

“He was taking a glass of ale at the ‘Toad and Pickax,’ and you might hear him all over the yard.”

“What is he going to do?”

“Sir, he has bought an uncommon heavy whip; he was showing it in the yard.  ‘This is for John Meadows’ back,’ said he, ’and I will give it him before the girl he has stolen from my brother.  If she takes a dog instead of a man, it shall be a beaten dog,’ says he.”