By noon Hogarth knew the news: his hundred and fifty at Reid's were gone; and he owed for the Michaelmas quarter—twenty-one pounds five, his only chattels of value being the thresher, not yet paid for, half a rick, seed, manure, and "the furniture". If he could realize enough for rent, he would lack capital for wages and cultivation, for Reid's had been his credit-bank.

After dinner he stood long at a window, then twisted away, and walked to Thring, where he captained in a football match, Loveday watching his rage, his twisting waist, and then accompanying him home: but in the dining-room they found the lord-of-the-manor's bailiff; and Loveday, divining something embarrassing, took himself away.

The same evening there were two appraisers in the house, and the bailiff, on their judgment, took possession of the chattels on the holding except some furniture, and some agricultural "fixtures". The sale was arranged for the sixth day.

From the old Hogarth the truth could no longer be hidden…

Two days he continued quiet in the old nook by the hearth, apparently in a kind of dotage doze; but on the third, he began to poke about, hobbled into the dairy, peered into the churn, touched the skimmer.

"You'll have to wear the cap", Margaret heard him mutter—"or be turned out".

As if taking farewell, he would get up, as at a sudden thought, to go to visit something. He kept murmuring: "I always said, Get a bit of land as your own, but I never did; the days went by and by…."

Margaret, meantime, was busy, binding beds with sheets, making bundles, preparing for the flitting, with a heaving breast; till, on the fifth day, a van stood loaded with their things at the hall- door, and she, with untidy hair, was helping heave the last trunk upon the backboard, when the carman said: "Mrs. Mackenzie says, mum, the things mustn't be took to the cottage, except you pay in advance".

Now Margaret stood at a loss; but in a minute went bustling, deciding to go to Loveday, not without twinges of reluctance: for Loveday, with instinctive delicacy, had lately kept from the farm; and to Margaret, whose point of view was different, the words "false friends" had occurred.

Passing through an alley of the forest, she was met by a man—a park-keeper of Frankl's—a German Jew, who had once handed her a note from Frankl. And he, on seeing her, said: "Here have I a letter for your brother".

"Who from?" she asked.

"That may I not say".

When he handed her an envelope rather stuffed with papers, she went on her flurried way; and soon Loveday was bowing before her in his sitting-room at Priddlestone.

"You will be surprised to see me, Mr. Loveday," said she, panting.

"A little surprised, but most awfully glad, too. Is all well?"

"Oh, far from that, I'm afraid. But I haven't got any time—and, oh my, I don't know how to say it,—but to be frank with you—could you lend Richard two pounds—?"

Loveday coloured to the roots of his hair.

He could not tell her: "Open that envelope in your hand", for that would have meant that it was he who had sent the £50 it contained; and he had now only one sixpence in Priddlestone.

"That is", she said—"if it is not an inconvenience to you—"

He could find no words. Some fifteen minutes before, having enclosed the notes, he had descended to the bar to get mine host to find him a messenger, and direct the envelope—for Hogarth knew his handwriting. Mine host was not there—his wife could not write: but she had pointed out the Jewish park-keeper sipping beer; so Loveday had had the man upstairs, had made him write the address, and had bribed him to deliver the envelope with a mum tongue.

"I'm afraid I've taken a great liberty—" she said, shrinking at his silence.

Then he spoke: "Oh, liberty!—but—really—I'm quite broke myself—!"

"Then, good-afternoon to you", said she: "I am very sorry—but you will excuse the liberty, won't you—?"

In the forest she began to cry, covering her eyes, moaning: "Why, how could he be so mean ? And I who loved that young man with all my heart, God knows—!"

Her eyes searched the ground for two sovereigns. Then she happened to look at the envelope: and instantly was interested. "Why, it is the Jew's hand!" she thought, for the letters were angular in the German manner, making a general similarity with Frankl's writing.

Curiosity overcame her: she opened, and saw…

"Oh, well, this is generous though, after all!" she exclaimed.

And now she ran, coming out from mossy path upon wide forest-road: and there, taking promenade, was Frankl, quite near, with phylacteried left arm.

"Why, sweetheart…" said he.

She stopped before him. "Well, you can call me what you like for the time being", said she, laughing rather hysterically; "for I am most grateful to you for your generous present to my brother, Mr. Frankl!"

She had still no suspicion of Richard's visit of chastisement to the
Hall!

"Now, what do you mean?" said Frankl.

"Why, you might guess that I know your handwriting by this time!" she said coquettishly, and held out the notes and the envelope.

His eyes twinkled; he meditated; he had, more than ever, need of her; and he said: "Well, you are as 'cute as they make them!"

"But instead of sending us this, which I am not at all sure that Richard will touch, why couldn't you pay it to yourself, and not turn us out—"

"I let business take its course: and afterwards I do my charity. But it wasn't for your brother, you know, that I sent it—but for you ".

"I must be running—"

When she reached the farm, she gave the carman a secret glimpse of the notes, while Hogarth, who was now there, went to seek the old Hogarth, for whom a nest had been made among the furniture in the cart.

He was found above-stairs in an empty room, searching the floor for something.

"Come, sir", said Hogarth, and led him step by step.

But as the old man passed the threshold, he fell flat on the slabs of the porch, striking his forehead, printing a stain there.

And the next day, the day of the sale, he still lay in the old chamber, on the ancient bed, dead. Bpj+QZrexrFbf0uFpOloSU4RLdsldY2yMmcb7UEbPHiCT1mFIVc/hB62J1hZVjpx