you would. So you’ll manage to get that little sum o’ money, and I’ll bid you good-bye, though I’m sorry to part.” 

 Dunstan was moving off, but Godfrey rushed after him and seized him by the arm, saying, with an oath— 

 “I tell you, I have no money: I can get no money.” 

 “Borrow of old Kimble.” 

 “I tell you, he won’t lend me any more, and I shan’t ask him.” 

 “Well, then, sell Wildfire.” 

 “Yes, that’s easy talking. I must have the money directly.” 

 “Well, you’ve only got to ride him to the hunt to-morrow. There’ll be Bryce and Keating there, for sure. You’ll get more bids than one.” 

 “I daresay, and get back home at eight o’clock, splashed up to the chin. I’m going to Mrs. Osgood’s birthday dance.” 

 “Oho!” said Dunsey, turning his head on one side, and trying to speak in a small mincing treble. “And there’s sweet Miss Nancy coming; and we shall dance with her, and promise never to be naughty again, and be taken into favour, and—” 

 “Hold your tongue about Miss Nancy, you fool,” said Godfrey, turning red, “else I’ll throttle you.” 

 “What for?” said Dunsey, still in an artificial tone, but taking a whip from the table and beating the butt-end of it on his palm. “You’ve a very good chance. I’d advise you to creep up her sleeve again: it ’ud be saving time, if Molly should happen to take a drop too much laudanum some day, and make a widower of you. Miss Nancy wouldn’t mind being a second, if she didn’t know it. And you’ve got a good-natured brother, who’ll keep your secret well, because you’ll be so very obliging to him.” 

 “I’ll tell you what it is,” said Godfrey, quivering, and pale again, “my patience is pretty near at an end. If you’d a little more sharpness in you, you might know that you may urge a man a bit too far, and make one leap as easy as another. I don’t know but what it is so now: I may as well tell the Squire everything myself—I should get you off my back, if I got nothing else. And, after all, he’ll know some time. She’s been threatening to come herself and tell him. So, don’t flatter yourself that your secrecy’s worth any price you choose to ask. You drain me of 

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