There were two letters, and one was addressed to himself. Miss Yard's was merely a note, acknowledging the receipt of her communication and mentioning that Mr. Taverner would shortly be writing with a view to clearing away the misunderstanding which had arisen since the death of Mrs. Drake. George opened a phial of malice and poured out its contents upon the name of Percy. Then he examined his own letter, which was bulky and of a strongly acid tendency.
Mr. Hunter was astonished and pained to think that Mr. Drake should have taken advantage of the age and infirmities of Miss Yard to such an extent as to have made her the instrument of his plans; as it was perfectly evident Mr. Drake had dictated, or at least had inspired, the letter which had been addressed to his firm by Miss Yard. Mr. Hunter earnestly desired to avoid anything of an unpleasant nature, and he hoped therefore Mr. Drake would not venture to repeat an experiment which suggested a state of ethics with which he had not previously been acquainted; and would adhere to his undertaking, given as a condition to Mr. Taverner's purchase of the furniture, namely, to leave Miss Yard in undisturbed possession of the premises bequeathed to Mr. Drake by his late aunt, and better known and described as Windward House. Mr. Hunter had also just been informed, to his soul's amusement, that Mr. Drake had not yet subscribed to this form of agreement, nor had he acknowledged the receipt of a cheque for two hundred pounds forwarded him some days previously. Mr. Hunter continued to be sorry to the end of his letter, which was a memorable piece of philosophic morality, suggesting that the lawyer's office had been quite recently taken over by some institution for reforming wicked people.
George expressed a hope that Mr. Hunter some day might be sorry for himself. He had under-rated the powers of the lawyer, who had now proved himself to possess the ordinary malevolent, orphan-baiting, legal soul. However, George had no intention of surrendering without a struggle. He took his pen and obliterated the highly offensive clause which referred to his expulsion from Windward House. He then added his signature and composed an epistle complaining bitterly of the oriental methods of oppression which were being brought to bear upon him. He mentioned that he was an invalid Englishman residing in Devonshire; and laid particular stress upon the fact he never had been an Armenian living somewhere in the Turkish Empire. He especially desired to draw Mr. Hunter's attention to the phenomenon that the present age was democratic, and British workmen—with whom he did not disdain to be associated—were becoming impatient of high-handed methods. He enclosed the receipt and regretted the delay, which had been unavoidable owing to the insertion of the clause—now deleted, as Mr. Hunter would observe—which seemed to strike far too harshly against his personal liberty. He had given this clause his serious attention for some days, but had arrived at the conclusion, regretfully, that it involved a principle he was quite unable to accept. Messrs. Hunter and Taverner, in their joint capacity as trustees of the Yard estate, had apparently conspired—he did not use the word in an objectionable sense, although in his opinion it had but one meaning—to secure his eviction from premises to which he was legally entitled. They had offered him a wholly inadequate sum of money for the furniture, and this offer he had accepted with the sole idea of rendering Miss Yard a kindness; but now, it appeared, the money had been intended as a bribe to induce him to quit his home. Was this altogether legal? Was it honest? Could it be respectable? He felt compelled to remind Mr. Hunter, again regretfully, that a bribe was something given to corrupt the conduct of poor but decent men.
Then he went to Miss Yard and told her the lawyer was still tormenting him, and he was very much afraid it might soon be necessary to go away and find some hiding place.
"Has the man written to me?" asked Miss Yard, when the whole matter had been recalled to her memory.
"Don't you remember? He said you were a silly old woman, and you had no business to interfere."
"Where is the letter? Find it for me, George, and I'll do something," she cried indignantly.
"You were so angry that you threw it on the fire. Don't worry, Aunt; I shall know how to defend myself. The man tried to bribe me to leave you, and now he's threatening to send me to prison by means of false evidence."
"I wish you would let me write to my own man, what's his name?"
"That would lead to expense, and you must not spend money on me. If I don't go away I'm afraid the man may come to Highfield with a gang of ruffians, and break into the house—and I won't have you worried."