“I dare say, but I didn’t see it.”

“No, and I wish you might have done so, for I do think you must have enjoyed it. Well, there it was, and of course I expected I should have to fork out my knocking-in money, or some such thing, and I didn’t care a fig for that. But then, as I say, the Dean would have it I had stolen the bear, in spite of my telling him that I had only borrowed it, and I fired up at last, and said I’d no need to steal bears, because if you knew I wanted one you would very likely give me one—”

“It is the last thing in the world I would give you.”

“Well, I don’t want one; I should not know what to do with it. But I dare say my saying that put him in a worse pet, for the long and the short of it is that I am rusticated for the rest of the term. But I don’t think the Bagwig was so very angry, you know, because for one thing he don’t like one of the Nobs the bear chased, and for another, I’ll go bail he had a twinkle in his eye, for I saw it. He’s a great gun!”

“Very well, and what happened next?”

“Oh, then, of course, I had to come down! Keighley drove me to London in his new phaeton. He has the prettiest pair of bays, Ned! Regular sixteen-mile-an-hour tits, and—”

“Never mind that! I want to hear the rest of this story.”

“Oh, yes! Well, from London I had to come the rest of the way on the stagecoach to Wisborough Green—”

“Why, in heaven’s name?”

“Oh, pockets to let! To tell you the truth, when I’d paid my fare I’d only a couple of benders left.”

“That I can well believe, but could you not have gone to Mount Street?”

“Yes, but I thought very likely John would be there, and you know what he is, Ned! He would have been prosing on and on, and I don’t mind if you take me to task, but I won’t have John preaching sermons to me, because he’s not my guardian, after all, and it only makes me mad!”

“You are quite out of luck: John is at home.”

“Yes, I know he is: Hitchin told me so. I wish he were not, for he is bound to pull a long face over what has happened, and say I had no business to have done it, just as though he would not have done it himself, which I know he must have, for with all his prosy ways he’s a right one, isn’t he, Ned?”

“Yes; and what is it that he must have done?”

“I was coming to that. I thought, when I reached Wisborough Green, that I would go into the Bull and borrow old Hitchin’s gig to take me up to the Hall. And Jem said he was in the coffee room, and I went in, and he was, and that damned fellow, Eustace, was there too. Everything would have been all right and tight had it not been for that, Ned!”

“Was anyone else in the coffee room?”

“No, only Hitchin and me. Well, I was quite civil to Eustace, and he was too—to me, I mean. And Hitchin said I might borrow the gig, and while the nag was being harnessed would I have some supper? I was devilish hungry, I can tell you, and Hitchin had a rare ham there, so I said I would. And that’s when it all began. Because while I was eating the ham, there Eustace sat, grumbling himself into a fit of the sullens. You know how he does! I wasn’t paying much heed to him, and I would not have, only that he started on you, Ned.” He broke off, and his boyish countenance hardened. Miss Rochdale, curiously watching him, thought that he ground his teeth. “He said such things there was no bearing it!”

“No, I see. Was he foxed, Nicky?”

Nicky gave this his consideration. “Well, he wasn’t as drunk as a wheelbarrow,” he explained. “Just a trifle bosky, you know. He always is. I warned him I’d not sit by while he abused you, but it was all to no purpose. He said—well, that’s no matter! I knocked him down—and so would John have done!”

“Yes, never mind that! Go on!”

“He never could bear to have his cork drawn, and I did—landed him a regular facer! He was ready to murder me! Picked himself up and came at me, and before you could turn round we were at it, milling away! I floored him again, and the table went over in the flurry, and all the plates and things were on the ground, and the big knife Hitchin used to carve the ham. By God, Ned, Eustace is a shocking loose screw! Do you know, he snatched up that knife and tried to stab me with it? We had the devil of a struggle, and there was Hitchin, trying to help me wrench the knife out of his hold, and only getting in the way, and—Oh, God, Ned, I don’t know how it happened, and I swear I never meant to do it! I had hold of the knife, and suddenly he let go, and whether he tripped, or it was Hitchin trying to grasp him—though I don’t mean to say it was anyone’s fault but mine!—but however it was he fell forward, and before I knew—before I had time to move—!” He broke off, covering his face with his hands.

“In fact, it was an accident?”

“Yes, it was an accident. Of course it was an accident! Why, is it likely I would—”

“No, certainly not. But there is no need to be so agitated, if that is what happened. The case is not desperate.”

“Oh, Ned, do you think so indeed? Shall I have to stand my trial? Will they say I murdered Eustace? For I suppose that is what I have done, though I did not mean to.”

“Nothing of the sort! Don’t be silly, Nicky! As for standing your trial, it won’t come to that. You will have to face a coroner’s inquest, but Hitchin’s evidence must clear you of blame.”

“Oh, yes!” Nicky said naively. “Hitchin told me not to put myself in a pucker, because ifit had been ten times as bad he would swear the devil out of hell for one of us!”

“I dare say he may have said so, but you will do better not to repeat it.”

“No, of course not. Besides, he has only to tell the truth, for it happened exactly as I have told you. And it is not that I am sorry he’s dead, because I’m not, but I never thought it would have been so horrid! When I think of the way that knife slid into Eustace I feel quite sick!”

“No useful purpose is served by your thinking of it any more.”

“No. Well, I will not, but I can tell you, Ned, it almost makes me wish I had not been rusticated at all!”

At this point, Miss Rochdale, who had all the time been standing by the table, listening with gradually increasing appreciation to young Mr. Carlyon’s artless recital, was betrayed into uttering a sound between a choke and a gasp. It brought Carlyon’s head round quickly. He said, “We are both of us forgetful of our manners. You will allow me to introduce my brother Nicholas to you, Miss Rochdale. Nicky, you do not know Miss Rochdale, I think.”

“Oh, no! I beg pardon! I did not immediately perceive—How do you do?” Nicky stammered, making his bow.

She gave her hand. “Pray do not regard it! It was very natural you should not. I should have left you with your brother but that I do not know my way about this house, and had no very clear notion where I should go. Perhaps, my lord, I might await you in—”

“No, I beg you will be seated, Miss Rochdale. I shall not detain you for many more minutes, I trust.”

“Ned, you do not say so, but I know very well you cannot like this!” Nicky burst out. “And indeed I would rather by far that you should curse me for putting you in such a fix, for of course I see that is just what I have done, though I never meant to, and Bedlington and the rest of them will set it about that you wanted me to pick a quarrel with Eustace, and I can’t see how it will all end!”

“No, I don’t like it at all,” Carlyon replied, “but there would be very little sense in my cursing you for what you could not help. It has been an unlucky mischance, but we must trust to come about. I dare say we shall do so. Did the knife enter some vital organ? Was he killed instantly?”

“Oh, no! In fact, I did not at first think—It seemed so unlikely that I could possibly have—But when Greenlaw saw him—”

“Greenlaw is there?” Carlyon interrupted.

“Yes—oh, yes! Well, of course, as soon as I knew what had occurred I ran instantly to fetch him. I thought you would say I should do so, though I never supposed it was anything but what might be easily mended. But Greenlaw says he will not last the night, and—”

“Are you telling me that Eustace is still alive?” Carlyon asked sharply.

“I don’t know, but I fancy so. Greenlaw said it could not be many hours, but—”

“Good God, Nicky, why did you not tell me this before? It puts quite a different complexion on the matter!”

“Does it make it better?” Nicky asked hopefully.

“Most certainly it does! One evil consequence may at least be averted. How came you here? In Hitchin’s gig?”

“Yes—and now I come to think of it I have left it standing outside, so I had best—”

“Matthew may drive it back to Wisborough Green. Tell him so! You will find my traveling carriage in the stable yard. Desire Steyning to convey you to the Hall, and say I shall not need him again tonight. Now go, Nicky! And mind you do not talk of this to any save John!”

“Yes, but, Ned, I had as lief—”

“No, do as I bid you!”

“Yes, but where do you go, Ned?”

“I am going to Eustace, of course, to try what I can do to untangle this coil.”

“Well, I think I should come with you. For, after all—”

“You would be very much in the way. Make your bow to Miss Rochdale, and be off!”

He was obeyed, but reluctantly. As the door closed behind him Carlyon turned to Elinor and said without preamble, “It is a fortunate circumstance that you were here. I fancy I have no need to explain to you that the man now lying at Wisborough Green is my cousin?”

“Indeed, no! I had collected that he must be the man I was supposed to be going to marry.”

“He is the man you are going to marry,” he replied, with decision.