"That is all," said the Squire, who too saw and comprehended what he saw, "go to bed, you breaker of the law—"
"And I," said Ann, "a wicked partner. Come, John."
They left the master of the house with the rector. Rivers looked at the clock, "I think I must go. I do not stand late hours. If I let the day capture the night, the day after is apt to find me dull."
"Well, stand it this once, Mark. I hate councils of war or peace without the pipe, and now, imagine it, my dear wife wanted me to smoke, and that was all along of that terrible spittoon and the long-expected cousin of whom I have heard from time to time. Les absens n'out pas toujours tort. Now smoke and don't watch the clock. I said this abominable business was to be closed out—"
"And is it not?" asked Rivers.
"No. I do not talk about Peter Lamb to my wife, because she thinks my helping him so often has done the man more harm than good. It was not Grey alone who was responsible. He told Mrs. Penhallow that Peter had sent him to Josiah's shop. He told Grey too that Josiah must be a runaway slave and that any one would know him by his having lost two fingers. That at once set Grey on this mischievous track."
"I am only too sure that you are right," returned Rivers. "Peter tried a very futile blackmailing trick on Josiah. He wanted to get whisky, and told the poor negro that he must get it for him or he would let his master know where he was. Of course, the scamp knew what we all knew and no more, but it alarmed Josiah, who came to me at once. He was like a scared child. I told him to go home and that Peter had lied. He went away looking as if the old savagery in his blood might become practically active."
"I don't wonder," said Penhallow. "Did it end there?"
"No, I saw Peter next day, and he of course lied to me very cleverly, said it was only a joke on Josiah, and so on. I think, sir, and you will I hope excuse me—I do think that the man were better let alone. Every time you help him, he gets worse. When he was arrested and suspected of burning Robert's hayrick, you pleaded with the old farmer and got the man off. He boasted of it the next time he got drunk."
"I know—I know." The Squire had paid Robert's loss, and aware of his own folly was of no mind to confess to any one. "I have no wish or will to help him. I mean now to drop him altogether, and I must tell him so. But what a pity it is! He is intelligent, and was a good carpenter until he began to drink. I must talk to him."