“Yes, that is correct,” said Mr. Quest again.

“Well, sir, the fact is that the Squire can’t git the money.  It can’t be had nohow.  Nobody won’t take the land as security.  It might be so much water for all folk to look at it.”

“Quite so.  Land is in very bad odour as security now.”

“And that being so, sir, what is to be done?”

Mr. Quest shrugged his shoulders.  “I do not know.  If the money is not forthcoming, of course I shall, however unwillingly, be forced to take my legal remedy.”

“Meaning, sir——­”

“Meaning that I shall bring an action for foreclosure and do what I can with the lands.”

George’s face darkened.

“And that reads, sir, that the Squire and Miss Ida will be turned out of Honham, where they and theirs hev been for centuries, and that you will turn in?”

“Well, that is what it comes to, George.  I am sincerely sorry to press the Squire, but it’s a matter of thirty thousand pounds, and I am not in a position to throw away thirty thousand pounds.”

“Sir,” said George, rising in indignation, “I don’t rightly know how you came by them there mortgages.  There is some things as laryers know and honest men don’t know, and that’s one on them.  But it seems that you’ve got ’em and are a-going to use ’em—­and that being so, Mr. Quest, I have summut to say to you—­and that is that no good won’t come to you from this here move.”

“What do you mean by that, George?” said the lawyer sharply.

“Niver you mind what I mean, sir.  I means what I says.  I means that sometimes people has things in their lives snugged away where nobody can’t see ’em, things as quiet as though they was dead and buried, and that ain’t dead nor buried neither, things so much alive that they fare as though they were fit to kick the lid off their coffin.  That’s what I means, sir, and I means that when folk set to work to do a hard and wicked thing those dead things sometimes gits up and walks where they is least wanting; and mayhap if you goes on for to turn the old Squire and Miss Ida out of the Castle, mayhap, sir, summut of that sort will happen to you, for mark my word, sir, there’s justice in the world, sir, as mebbe you will find out.  And now, sir, begging your pardon, I’ll wish you good-morning, and leave you to think on what I’ve said,” and he was gone.

“George!” called Mr. Quest after him, rising from his chair, “George!” but George was out of hearing.

“Now what did he mean by that—­what the devil did he mean?” said Mr. Quest with a gasp as he sat down again.  “Surely,” he thought, “that man cannot have got hold of anything about Edith.  Impossible, impossible; if he had he would have said more, he would not have confined himself to hinting, that would take a cleverer man, he would have shown his hand.  He must have been speaking at random to frighten me, I suppose.  By heaven! what a thing it would be if he had got hold of something.  Ruin! absolute ruin!  I’ll settle up this business as soon as I can and leave the country; I can’t stand the strain, it’s like having a sword over one’s head.  I’ve half a mind to leave it in somebody else’s hands and go at once.  No, for that would look like running away.  It must be all rubbish; how could he know anything about it?”