“Yes, you know I did,” cried Sam.
“No, uncle.”
“I did. You’ve forgotten it, or else you’re saying that out of spite,” cried Sam desperately.
“I haven’t forgotten it, and I’m not saying what I did out of spite,” said Tom firmly. “Indeed I spoke the truth, uncle.”
“Yes; I believe you,” said Mr Brandon.
“Shall I go and post the letter now, sir?”
“No; it is too late. Here, Samuel, come into my room.”
Mr Brandon walked into his room, while Sam got down slowly from his stool, leaning over toward his cousin the while.
“I’ll serve you out for this,” he whispered, and then crossed to his father’s room.
There was a low murmur of voices from within as soon as the door was closed; but that door fitted too closely for any of the conversation to be heard. Not that Tom was listening, for he was feeling a kind of pity for his cousin’s position, and more warmly towards his uncle for his simple act of justice than he had felt for months.