LITMIR.BIZ

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world to whom I ought to go for money to improve her prospects as well as my own. That’s what you call delicacy. I call it infernal nonsense.”

      “I tell you what I’ll do, George. I’ll ask Aunt Greenow to lend you the money,—or to lend it to me.”

      “I don’t believe she’d give me a shilling. Moreover, I want it quite immediately, and the time taken up in letter-writing and negotiations would be fatal to me. If you won’t apply to Alice, I must. I want you to tell me whether you will oblige me in this matter.”

      Kate was still hesitating as to her answer, when there came a knock at the door, and a little crumpled note was brought up to her. A boy had just come with it across the fell from Vavasor Hall, and Kate, as soon as she saw her name on the outside, knew that it was from her grandfather. It was as follows:—

      “If George wishes to come to the Hall, let him come. If he chooses to tell me that he regrets his conduct to me, I will see him.”

      “What is it?” said George. Then Kate put the note into her brother’s hand.

      “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” he said. “What good should I get by going to the old man’s house?”

      “Every good,” said Kate. “If you don’t go now you never can do so.”

      “Never till it’s my own,” said George.

      “If you show him that you are determined to be at variance with him, it never will be your own;—unless, indeed, it should some day come to you as part of Alice’s fortune. Think of it, George; you would not like to receive everything from her.”

      He walked about the room, muttering maledictions between his teeth and balancing, as best he was able at such a moment, his pride against his profit. “You haven’t answered my question,” said he. “If I go to the Hall, will you write to Alice?”

      “No, George; I cannot write to Alice asking her for the money.”

      “You won’t?”

      “I could not bring myself to do it.”

      “Then, Kate, you and my grandfather may work together for the future. You may get him to leave you the place if you have skill enough.”

      “That is as undeserved a reproach as any woman ever encountered,” said Kate, standing her ground boldly before him. “If you have either heart or conscience, you will feel that it is so.”

      “I’m not much troubled with either one or the other, I fancy. Things are being brought to such a pass with me that I am better without them.”

      “Will you take my money, George; just for the present?”

      “No. I haven’t much conscience; but I have a little left.”

      “Will you let me write to Mrs Greenow?”

      “I have not the slightest objection; but it will be of no use whatsoever.”

      “I will do so, at any rate. And now will you come to the Hall?”

      “To beg that old fool’s pardon? No; I won’t. In the mood I am in at present, I couldn’t do it. I should only anger him worse than ever. Tell him that I’ve business which calls me back to London at once.”

      “It is a thousand pities.”

      “It can’t be helped.”

      “It may make so great a difference to you for your whole life!” urged Kate.

      “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said George. “I’ll go to Vavasor and put up with the old squire’s insolence, if you’ll make this application for me to Alice.” I wonder whether it occurred to him that his sister desired his presence at the Hall solely on his own behalf. The same idea certainly did not occur to Kate. She hesitated, feeling that she would almost do anything to achieve a reconciliation between her grandfather and her brother.

      “But you’ll let me write to Aunt Greenow first,” said she. “It will take only two days,—or at the most three?”

      To this George consented as though he were yielding a great deal; and Kate, with a sore conscience, with a full knowledge that she was undertaking to do wrong, promised that she would apply to Alice for her money, if sufficient funds should not be forthcoming from Mrs Greenow. Thereupon, George graciously consented to proceed to his bedroom, and put together his clothes with a view to his visit to the Hall.

      “I thank Providence, Kate, that circumstances make it impossible for me to stay above two days. I have not linen to last me longer.”

      “We’ll manage that for you at the Hall.”

      “Indeed you won’t do anything of the kind. And look, Kate, when I make that excuse don’t you offer to do so. I will stay there over tomorrow night, and shall go into Kendal early, so as to catch the express train up on Thursday morning. Don’t you throw me over by any counter proposition.”

      Then they started together in the car, and very few words were said till they reached the old lodge, which stood at the entrance to the place. “Eh, Mr George; be that you?” said the old woman, who came out to swing back for them the broken gate. “A sight of you is good for sair een.” It was the same welcome that the innkeeper had given him, and equally sincere. George had never made himself popular about the place, but he was the heir.

      “I suppose you had better go into the drawing-room,” said Kate; “while I go to my grandfather. You won’t find a fire there.”

      “Manage it how you please; but don’t keep me in the cold very long. Heavens, what a country house! The middle of January, and no fires in the room.”

      “And remember, George, when you see him you must say that you regret that you ever displeased him. Now that you are here, don’t let there be any further misunderstanding.”

      “I think it very probable that there will be,” said George. “I only hope he’ll let me have the old horse to take me back to Shap if there is. There he is at the front door, so I shan’t have to go into the room without a fire.”

      The old man was standing at the hall steps when the car drove up, as though to welcome his grandson. He put out his hand to help Kate down the steps, keeping his eye all the time on George’s face.

      “So you’ve come back,” the squire said to him.

      “Yes, sir;—I’ve come back, like the prodigal son in the parable.”

      “The prodigal son was contrite. I hope you are so.”

      “Pretty well for that, sir. I’m sorry there has been any quarrel, and all that, you know.”

      “Go in,” said the squire, very angrily. “Go in. To expect anything gracious from you would be to expect pearls from swine. Go in.”

      George went in, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes met his sister’s. It was in this fashion that the reconciliation took place between Squire Vavasor and his heir.

Chapter XXXIX.

       Mr Cheesacre’s Hospitality

       Table of Contents

      As the winter wore itself away, Mr Cheesacre, happy as he was amidst the sports of Norfolk, and prosperous as he might be with the augean spoils of Oileymead, fretted himself with an intense anxiety to bring to a close that affair which he had on his hands with the widow Greenow. There were two special dangers which disturbed him. She would give herself and all her money to that adventurer, Bellfield; or else she would spend her own money so fast before he got hold upon it, that the prize would be greatly damaged. “I’m –––– if she hasn’t been and set up a carriage!” he said to himself one day, as standing on the pavement of Tombland, in Norwich, he saw

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