'I've a great objection to speak of business to-day,' said Mr. Larkin, holily; 'but I may mention that Burlington and Smith have written very sternly; and the fact is, my dear Sir, we must look the thing straight in the face; they are determined to go through with it; and you know my opinion all along about the fallacy—you must excuse me, seeing all the trouble it has involved you in—the infatuation of hesitating about the sale of that miserable reversion, which they could have disposed of on fair terms. In fact, Sir, they look upon it that you don't want to pay them and of course, they are very angry.'
'I'm sure I was wrong. I'm such a fool!'
'I must only go to the Sheriff the first thing the morning and beg of him to hold over that thing, you know, until I have heard from Burlington and Smith; and I suppose I may say to them that you see the necessity of disposing of the reversion, and agree to sell it if it be not too late.'
The vicar assented; indeed, he had grown, under this urgent pressure, as nervously anxious to sell as he had been to retain it.
'And they can't come to-day?'
'Certainly not.'
And poor William Wylder breathed again in the delightful sense of even momentary escape, and felt he could have embraced his preserver.
'I'll be very happy to see you to-morrow, if you can conveniently look in—say at twelve, or half-past, to report progress.'
So that was arranged; and again in the illusive sense of deliverance, the poor vicar's hopes brightened and expanded. Hitherto his escapes had not led to safety, and he was only raised from the pit to be sold to the Ishmaelites.