"Well, you see, dear, she is only a schoolmistress, but they have been very kind and considerate to her. They found her to be a young person of prepossessing manners, and, like all country people, they took it for granted that she would be worthy of trust; and, therefore this discovery must have been a great shock to them."

It needed all George Canninge's self-command to keep him calmly seated there while his mother, from what she considered to be a sense of duty, went on poisoning his wound. But he mastered himself, and bore it all like a stoic, denying himself the luxury of asking questions, though the suspense was maddening, and he burned to hear what his mother had to say.

"I declare, George," she said at last; "it is quite disheartening. You seem to have given up taking an interest in anything. I thought you would have liked to hear the Vicarage troubles."

"My dear mother, why should I worry myself about the 'Vicarage troubles'?" said the young squire calmly. "I have enough of my own."

"But you are the princ.i.p.al landholder here, my dear, and you must learn to take an interest in parish matters for many reasons. Now, this Miss Thorne has been trusted to a great extent by Mr Lambent and it seems shocking to find one so young behaving in an unprincipled manner."

George Canninge rose.

There is an end to most things; certainly there is to the forbearance of a man, and Mrs Canninge's son could bear no more.

"Unprincipled is a very hard term to apply to a young lady, mother," he said, with the blood flushing into his cheeks.

"It is, my dear boy, I grant it; and very sad it is to find one who seemed to be well educated and to possess so much superficial refinement, ready to yield to temptation."

The ruddy tint faded out of George Canninge's cheeks, leaving him very pale; but he remained perfectly silent, while his mother went on--

"It is the old story, I suppose: that terrible love of finery that we find in most young girls. I must say I have noticed myself that Miss Thorne dressed decidedly above her station."

George Canninge did not speak. His eyelids drooped over his eyes, and he stood listening, with every nerve upon the stretch; and very slowly and deliberately Mrs Canninge went on--

"I am sure I am very sorry, my dear, for it seems so sad; though, really, I do not see that I need trouble myself about it. The foolish girl, I suppose, wanted money for dress, and having these school funds in her hand--children's pence and some club money--she made use of them.

So foolish, too, my dear, because she must have known that sooner or later, she would be found out."

"Who has told you this, mother!" said George Canninge sternly.

"I heard it from Beatrice Lambent, my dear, just now. She is in terrible trouble about it."

"Miss Lambent has been misinformed," said George Canninge calmly; but it cost him a tremendous effort to speak as he did.

"Oh, dear me, no, my dear George!" exclaimed Mrs Canninge eagerly.

"She was present when Mr Piper went to the school to receive the money, and she confessed to having spent it; and it seems that these people are terribly in debt as well."

"There is some mistake, mother," said George Canninge again, in the same calm, judicial voice; "it cannot be true."

"But it is true, my dear boy," persisted Mrs Canninge, who, woman of the world as she was, had not the prudence upon this occasion to leave her words to rankle in her son's breast, but tried to drive them home with others in her eagerness to excite disgust with an object upon which George Canninge seemed to have set his mind.

"I say, mother, that it cannot be true," he said, speaking very sternly now; and he crossed the room.

"You are not going out dear?" said Mrs Canninge. "I want to talk to you a little more."

"You have talked to me enough for one day, mother," said the young man firmly; "and I must go."

"But where, dear? You are not going to the Vicarage to ask if what I have told you is true? I had it from dear Beatrice's own lips, and she is terribly cut up about it."

"I am not going to the Vicarage, mother," said the young man firmly. "I am going down to the school to ask Miss Thorne."

"George, my dear son!"

Her answer was the loudly closing door, and directly after she heard steps upon the gravel-drive.

She ran to the window, and could see that her son was walking rapidly across the park; for George Canninge was so deeply considering the words he had heard that he would not wait for his horse.

"It is monstrous!" cried Mrs Canninge, stamping angrily. "It shall never be! It would be a disgrace!"

The next minute she had thrown herself angrily into her son's chair, and sat there with clenched hands and lowering brow. A minute later, and she was acting as most women do when they cannot make matters go as they wish. Mrs Canninge took out her pocket-handkerchief, and shed some bitter, mortified tears.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

SISTER AND BROTHER--VULGAR.

"Oh, Bill!"

Then an interval of panting and wiping her perspiring face and then again--

"Oh, Bill!"

Then a burst of piteous sobbing, for poor little Miss Burge was crying as if her heart would break.

"Let it go, Betsey. Don't try to stop it, dear. Let it go," said Mr William Forth Burge in the most sympathising of tones; and his sister did let it go, crying vehemently for a time, while he waited patiently to know what was the matter.

"That's better, my dear," he said, kissing her. "Now then, tell us what's the matter."

"Oh, Bill! I've been down the town, and I almost ran back to tell you the news."

"And you haven't told it to me yet," he said, smiling affectionately at the troubled little woman, under the impression that he was doing the right thing to comfort her.

"Don't laugh, Bill dear; for you'll be so upset when you know."

"Shall I, Betsey?" he said seriously. "Then I won't laugh."

"You see, I went down to Piper's to order some fresh things for the storeroom, as I'd been through this morning, when Mr Piper himself came to wait upon me, and he told me he'd been down to the schools for the children's pence for the year, and that Mr Chute had paid, and that Miss Thorne didn't, but owned that she had spent all the money."

"What! the school pence?"

"Yes, dear; and after a time he said that the Thornes were a good deal in debt with him besides."

"More shame for him. I never went shouting it out to other folks if any one was in my debt. But, Betsey, did he say Miss Thorne had--had spent the money!"

"Yes, dear; and it was so shocking."

Mr William Forth Burge stood rubbing and smoothing his fat round face over with his hand for a few moments, his sister watching him eagerly the while, like one who looks for help from the superior wisdom of another.

"I don't believe it," said the great man at last.