followed him, accompanied by Meadows.

"None but you, George," said William, with a voice half stern, half
quivering.

George looked at his brother.

"Out with it," cried he, "it is some deadly ill-luck; I have felt it
coming all day, but out with it; what can't I bear after the words I
have borne this morning?"

William hung his head.

"George, there is a distress upon the farm for the rent."

George did not speak at first, he literally staggered under these
words; his proud spirit writhed in his countenance, and with a groan,
he turned his back abruptly upon them all and hid his face against the
corner of his own house, the cold hard bricks.

Meadows, by strong self-command, contrived not to move a muscle of his
face.

Up to this day and hour, Susan Merton had always seemed cool, compared
with her lover; she used to treat him a little _de haut en bas_.

But when she saw his shame and despair, she was much distressed.

"George, George!" she cried, "don't do so. Can nothing be done? Where
is my father?--they told me he was here. He is rich, he shall help