"Did live!" echoed the Vicar, in surprise. "Why of course he did. People saw him and spoke with him. Don't you know that the other Mr. Denison's lawyer and his clerk came to the Hall two or three days subsequently to the Squire's birthday, and had an interview with him?--saw him; conversed with him. How could they have done that had he not been living? The Squire went into one of his passions, it was said, dashed his beef-tea, cup and all, into the fire, and abused the lawyer to his face."
Ella could not help a smile.
"Yes," she said, "I was told of that."
"Then, what else is there to fear? For anyone to come to you and say that if certain facts were known to the world you would not be mistress of Heron Dyke, seems to me sheer nonsense--if not malice. Were I in your place, my dear Miss Winter, I should certainly trouble myself no further in the matter."
Ella shook her head.
"All these arguments seem so cogent, so true--and yet I cannot feel satisfied. I am at a loss to know what more to do."
"Do nothing," said the Vicar, decisively. "I think you attach an exaggerated importance to the words. Some designing rascal it must have been who spoke them--wanting to swindle money out of you. Give him into custody should he apply again."
Remembering how impossible it was that he could apply again, a sad shade passed over Ella's countenance. The Vicar saw it: and of course mistook it. He knitted his brow.
"Take my advice, my dear Miss Winter, and rest satisfied," he said. "Do not try to create a mystery where none exists, save in your own imagination."
There was no more to be said. The Vicar's reasoning and advice had been much like Mr. Daventry's. Ella wished she could feel as secure as they felt.