He paused a moment, and then, as though with some sudden determination to shake off certain unwelcome and misplaced reflections, observed—“But, come,—drink your wine. I was not thinking much what I was talking about. Let us to business. I told you some time ago I should do something for you. What I have heard to-night has not lessened that determination. In the first place, have you left that vagabond place you were living in?”
Colin replied, that he had informed Peter Veriquear of his intention to leave, and was at liberty to take his departure at any hour.
“Then leave to-morrow,” observed Mr. Lupton. “I will find you fitting apartments elsewhere. Do you like reading?”
“Much more,” replied the young man, “than my opportunities have enabled me to gratify.”
“I am glad to hear it. You shall have books, and fit yourself for better things than you seemed to be born to. But never mind that,—never mind that. And money? I suppose the bottle-merchant has not filled your pockets to the neck.”
Colin observed in answer, that he had ten pounds in his pocket, though not through the hands of Peter Veriquear. At the same time he related to the Squire in what manner he had come by it, and how Miss Wintlebury's conduct on this occasion had convinced him she was a most worthy and estimable young woman.
“Have nothing to do with a girl like that,” said Mr. Lupton. “I have seen similar things before now, and known many a man pay d—d expensively for a poor and frail commodity. No, my boy; take my advice, and think nothing more about her. She may be all very well, perhaps; but many others are better. I like charity; but the world renders it needful for people to hold their heads on their own level. As I shall make something of you, you must look higher. There is more in store for you than you can anticipate. I have no other than—Well, never mind. But the law knows me, my boy, as the last of my family; for, unluckily, my marriage has been like no marriage. Did you ever see Mrs. Lupton at Kiddal?”
“Never, that I am aware of,” answered Colin.
The Squire fell into a fit of musing, during which he beat his foot upon the ground abstractedly, as though all things present were momentarily forgotten.
“Well!” he again exclaimed, as if starting afresh to life, “there is that Doctor. We must catch him somehow. He is a scoundrel after all, I am afraid; though it seems a pity to hang the poor devil, too. I should like to lay hold of him without any trouble, and I 'll tell you how we will do it. I will write down to him in the course of a day or two, inviting him here on especial business. He will suspect nothing, and come up of course. You shall have an opportunity of meeting him face to face. We will hear what he has to say for himself, in contradiction of your statement; and if I find him guilty, means shall be provided beforehand, and kept in readiness to seize him.”