“I became very wroth, and said that it was a lie!  I did think that it was a lie.  I did flatter myself that in a matter concerning my own business, and in which I was bound to look after the welfare of others, he could not have so deceived me; but I find myself as a child—­as a baby—­in his hands.”

“Then you do believe him now?”

“I am afraid so.  I will never see him again, if it be possible for me to avoid him.  He has treated me as no one should have treated his enemy, let alone a faithful friend.  He must have scoffed and scorned at me merely because I had faith in his word.  Who could have thought of a man laying his plots so deeply,—­arranging for twenty years past the frauds which he has now executed?  For thirty years, or nearly, his mind has been busy on these schemes, and on others, no doubt, which he has not thought it necessary to execute, and has used me in them simply as a machine.  It is impossible that I should forgive him.”

“And what will be the end of it?” she asked.

“Who can say?  But this is clear.  He has utterly destroyed my character as a lawyer.”

“No.  Nothing of the kind.”

“And it will be well if he have not done so as a man.  Do you think that when people hear that these changes have been made with my assistance they will stop to unravel it all, and to see that I have been only a fool and not a knave?  Can I explain under what stress of entreaty I went down there on this last occasion?”

“Papa, you were quite right to go.  He was your old friend, and he was dying.”

Even for this he was grateful.  “Who will judge me as you do,—­you who persuaded me that I should not have gone?  See how the world will use my name!  He has made me a party to each of his frauds.  He disinherited Mountjoy, and he forced me to believe the evidence he brought.  Then, when Mountjoy was nobody, he half paid the creditors by means of my assistance.”

“They got all they were entitled to get.”

“No; till the law had decided against them, they were entitled to their bonds.  But they, ruffians though they are, had advanced so much hard money, and I was anxious that they should get their hard money back again.  But unless Mountjoy had been illegitimate,—­so as to be capable of inheriting nothing,—­they would have been cheated; and they have been cheated.  Will it be possible that I should make them or make others think that I have had nothing to do with it?  And Augustus, who will be open-mouthed,—­what will he say against me?  In every turn and double of the man’s crafty mind I shall be supposed to have turned and doubled with him.  I do not mind telling the truth about myself to you.”

“I should hope not.”