“He doesn’t make me blush,” cried George; “but he makes me sick.  This old man would make me walk out of heaven if he was in it.  Come, let us go back to Australia.”

“Ay, that is the best thing you can do,” cried old Merton.

“If he does, I shall go with him,” said Susan, with sudden calmness.  She added, dropping her voice, “If he thinks me worthy to go anywhere with him.”

“You are worthy of better than that, and better shall be your luck;” and George sat down on the bench with one bitter sob that seemed to tear his manly heart in two.

There was a time Meadows would have melted at this sad sight, but now it enraged him.  He whispered fiercely to old Merton:  “Touch him on his pride; get rid of him, and your debts shall be all paid that hour; if not—­” He then turned to that heart-stricken trio, touched his hat, “Good-day, all the company,” said he, and strode away with rage in his heart to set the law in motion against old Merton, and so drive matters to a point.

But before he had taken a dozen steps he was met by two men who planted themselves right before him.  “You can’t pass, sir.”

Meadows looked at them with humorous surprise.  They had hooked noses.  He did not like that so well.

“Why not?” said he, quietly, but with a wicked look.

One of the men whistled, a man popped out of the churchyard and joined the two; he had a hooked nose.  Another came through the gate from the lane; another from behind the house.  The scene kept quietly filling with hooked noses till it seemed as if the ten tribes were reassembling from the four winds.

“Are they going to pitch into me?” thought Meadows; and he felt in his pocket to see if his pistol was there.

Meantime, George and Susan and Tom rose to their feet in some astonishment.

“There is a chentleman coming to put a question or two,” said the first speaker.  And, in fact, an old acquaintance of ours, Mr. Williams, came riding up, and, hooking his horse to the gate, came in, saying, “Oh, here you are, Mr. Meadows.  There is a ridiculous charge brought against you, but I am obliged to hear it before dismissing it.  Give me a seat.  Oh, here is a bench.  It is very hot.  I am informed that two men belonging to this place have been robbed of seven thousand pounds at the ’King’s Head’—­the ’King’s Heads in Newborough.”

“It is true, sir,” cried Robinson, “but how did you know?”

“I am here to ask questions,” was the sharp answer.  “Who are you?”

“Thomas Robinson.”

“Which is George Fielding?”

“I am George Fielding, sir.

“Have you been robbed?”

“We have, sir.”

“Of how much?”

“Seven thousand pounds.”

“Come, that tallies with the old gentleman’s account.  Hum! where did you sleep last night, Mr. Meadows?”

“At the ‘King’s Head’ in Newborough, sir,” replied Meadows, without any visible hesitation.