"My God! what must he be suffering! Drove the boy from home too! But—but, don't I wish he were my boy! Anyhow, there is going to be a change in that house."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The atmosphere is different. Did you notice Mrs. Lethbridge's face? Did you hear what she said?"
When we reached St. Issey, I asked the Squire to tell the driver to drop me, as I could easily walk to my house; but the old man would not have it.
"No, no, Erskine," he said, "you must come up and spend the day with me; I have nothing to do. Do you know, I have often felt condemned at leaving you so much alone; but you seemed as though you did not wish for society. Still, I have got you now! Yes, yes, I will send word to that man of yours, telling him what has happened to you."
A few minutes later I was snugly ensconced in the Squire's library, while Mrs. Treherne and her daughter fussed about me as though I were an invalid. I must confess that it was pleasant to be ministered to by a woman's hands. Simpson was all very well, but I do not think that any man knows what to do in the time of illness as a woman does.
"What are you thinking about, Erskine?" asked the Squire presently, after he had placed a box of cigars before me.
"I was thinking about Mr. Lethbridge's face," I said. "I was wondering what he must be feeling."
"A hard man, Erskine, a hard man. A man who has lived to make money; a man who has always had his own way. Whatever he has touched has turned to gold, whatever he has willed has come to pass." The Squire sighed as he spoke. "He has pulled all sorts of people into his net," he went on, "and got all sorts of people into his power. He does not say much, but he could ruin lots of us if he willed so to do."
I called to mind what Hugh Lethbridge had told me, and I fancy I knew what the old man was thinking.