"Only think of it, now! Squire selling eggs like a common dairyman!"
"Squire don't sell 'em; 'tis me, and I take Mistress the money. Sometimes it come to two or three shilling a week, but the hens don't lay in winter, and then I sell sides o' pork and chitterlings."
"Well, run away now, boy—Sam Pollex, did you say? What a funny name! And mind you don't lose the money."
Sam went away all aglow with admiration of the sweet looks of the maid-servant, and told Mrs. Trevanion how kindly she had spoken to him. He was seized with a terrible depression of spirits when he left his mistress's presence.
"Never go there again to sell eggs, or anything else, Sam," she said firmly. "Your master will be very angry with you if he hears of it. Here is the money. Take it to your father, and mind you never do such a thing again."
Sam, with a rueful face, told Dick what had happened.
"I should think not, indeed," said Dick indignantly. "If I catch you going inside the gates of the Dower House grounds again I'll break your head, young Sam; you remember it."
For several days the Squire scarcely left the house. Then he happened to meet John Trevanion riding along the road. The supplanter swept off his hat with a mocking salutation, but the Squire passed him without a sign of recognition.
A day or two later Sir Bevil Portharvan, owner of an estate some miles distant, rode over to the Towers.
"Ah, Trevanion," he said to the Squire, "how d'ye do? 'Tis only yesterday I heard that your cousin was the purchaser of the bonds I held. It must be a great comfort to you that the property has not gone out of the family."