“That is fair,” cried one of the bridegrooms.  The women secretly admired George.  This is a man, thought they—­won’t stand our nonsense.

Susan looked up in mute astonishment.  “What choice can there be?  The moment I saw your face, and truth still shining in it, I forgot there was a John Meadows in the world!”

With these words Susan cast a terrified look all round, and, losing every other feeling in a paroxysm of shame, hid her burning face in her hands, and made a sudden bolt into the house and upstairs to her room, where she was followed and discovered by one of her bridesmaids tearing off her wedding-clothes, and laughing and crying all in a breath.

1st Bridegroom.  “Well, Josh, what d’ye think?”

2d Bridegroom.  “Why, I think there won’t be a wedding to-day.”

1st Bridegroom.  “No, nor to-morrow neither.  Sal, put on your bonnet and let’s you and I go home.  I came to Meadows’ wedding; mustn’t stay to anybody’s else’s.”

These remarks were delivered openly, pro bono, and dissolved the wedding party.  Four principal parties remained—­Meadows, old Merton, and the two friends.

“Well, uncle, Susan has spoken her mind, now you speak yours.”

“George, I have been an imprudent fool, I am on the brink of ruin.  I owe more than two thousand pounds.  We heard you had changed your mind, and Meadows came forward like a man, and said he would—­”

“Your word, uncle, your promise.  I crossed the seas on the faith of it.”  An upper window was gently opened, and a blushing face listened, and the hand that they were all discussing and disposing of drew back a little curtain, and clutched it convulsively.

“You did, George,” said the old farmer.

“Says you, ’Bring back a thousand pounds to show me you are not a fool, and you shall have my daughter,’ and she was to have your blessing.  Am I right, Mr. Meadows? you were present.”

“Those were the words,” replied Meadows.

“Well! and have you brought back the thousand pounds?”

“I have.”

“John, I must stand to my word; and I will—­it is justice.  Take the girl, and be as happy as you can with her, and her father in the work-house.”

“I take her, and that is as much as to say that neither her father nor any one she respects shall go to the workhouse.  How much is my share, Tom?”

“Four thousand pounds.”

“No, not so much.”

“Yes, it is.  Jacky gave you his share of the great nugget, and you gave him sheep in return.  Here they are, lads and lasses, seventy of them varying from one five six naught to one six two nine, and all as crimp as a muslin gown new starched.  Why?  I never put this,” and he took pieces of newspaper out of his pocketbook, and looked stupidly at each as it came out.

“Why, Tom?”

“Robbed!”

“Robbed, Tom?”

“Robbed! oh!  I put the book under my pillow, and there I found it this morning.  Robbed! robbed!  Kill me, George, I have ruined you.”