It was of that very Rupert they were talking. Squire Trevlyn hastened home from the lodge, and found Chattaway in the rick-yard: he urged upon him the claims of Rupert for forgiveness, for immunity from the consequences of his crime; urged upon him its necessity; for a Trevlyn, he said, must not be disgraced. And Mr. Chattaway appeared to be turning obstinate; to say that he never would forgive him or release him from its consequences. He pointed to the blackened spots, scarcely yet cleared of their débris. "Is a crime like that to be pardoned?" he asked.
"What caused the crime? Who drove him to it?" And Mr. Chattaway had no plausible answer at hand.
"When you married into the Trevlyn family, you married into its faults," resumed the Squire. "At any rate, you became fully acquainted with them. You knew as much of the Trevlyn temper as we ourselves know. I ask you, then, how could you be so unwise—to put the question moderately—as to provoke it in Rupert?"
"Evil tempers can be subdued," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And ought to be."
"Just so. They can be, and they ought to be. But unfortunately we don't all of us do as we can and ought to do. Do you? I have heard it said in the old days that James Chattaway's spirit was a sullen one: have you subdued its sullenness?"
"I wish you wouldn't wander from the point, Mr. Trevlyn."
"I am keeping pretty near to the point. But I can go nearer to it, if you please. How could you, James Chattaway, dare to horsewhip a Trevlyn? Your wife's nephew, and her brother's son! Whatever might be the provocation—but, so far as I can learn, there was no just provocation—how came you so far to forget yourself and your temper as to strike him? One, possessing the tamest spirit ever put into man, might be expected to turn at the cruel insult you inflicted on Rupert. Did you do it with the intention of calling up the Trevlyn temper?"
"Nonsense," said Mr. Chattaway.
"It will not do to say nonsense to me, sir. Setting fire to the rick was your fault, not his; the crime was occasioned by you; and I, the actual owner of those ricks, shall hold you responsible for it. Yes, James Chattaway, those ricks were mine; you need not dispute what I say; the ricks were mine then, as they are now. They have been mine, in point of fact, ever since my father's death. You may rely upon one thing—that had I known the injustice that was being enacted, I should have returned long ago."
"Injustice!" cried Mr. Chattaway. "What injustice?"