son in amazement, not being sufficiently quick of brain to form a
probable guess as to what could have caused so strange an inversion
of the paternal and filial relations as this proposition of his son
to pay him a hundred pounds.

"The truth is, sir--I'm very sorry--I was quite to blame,"
said Godfrey. "Fowler did pay that hundred pounds. He paid it to
me, when I was over there one day last month. And Dunsey bothered
me for the money, and I let him have it, because I hoped I should be
able to pay it you before this."

The Squire was purple with anger before his son had done speaking,
and found utterance difficult. "You let Dunsey have it, sir? And
how long have you been so thick with Dunsey that you must _collogue_
with him to embezzle my money? Are you turning out a scamp? I tell
you I won't have it. I'll turn the whole pack of you out of the
house together, and marry again. I'd have you to remember, sir, my
property's got no entail on it;--since my grandfather's time the
Casses can do as they like with their land. Remember that, sir.
Let Dunsey have the money! Why should you let Dunsey have the
money? There's some lie at the bottom of it."

"There's no lie, sir," said Godfrey. "I wouldn't have spent the
money myself, but Dunsey bothered me, and I was a fool, and let him
have it. But I meant to pay it, whether he did or not. That's the
whole story. I never meant to embezzle money, and I'm not the man
to do it. You never knew me do a dishonest trick, sir."

"Where's Dunsey, then? What do you stand talking there for? Go
and fetch Dunsey, as I tell you, and let him give account of what he