young Gaunt wrote a formal letter inviting them to pay respect to their deceased friend, and to honor himself by coming to Bolton Hall at nigh noon on Saturday next. These letters, in compliance with another custom of the time and place, were all sent by mounted messengers, and the answers came on horseback too: so there was much clattering of hoofs coming and going, and much roasting, baking, drinking of ale, and bustling; all along of him who lay so still in an upper chamber.
And every man and woman came to Mr. Gaunt to ask his will and advice, however simple the matter: and the servants turned very obsequious, and laid themselves out to please the new master, and retain their old places.
And what with the sense of authority, and the occupation, and growing ambition, love-sick Griffith grew another man, and began to forget that two days ago he was leaving the country and going to give up the whole game.
He found time to send Kate a loving letter, but no talk of marriage in it. He remembered she had asked him to give her time. Well, he would take her advice.
It wanted just three days to the funeral, when Mr. Charlton's own carriage, long unused, was found to be out of repair. Griffith had it sent to the nearest town, and followed it on that and other business. Now it happened to be what the country folk called "justicing day;" and who should ride into the yard of the "Roebuck" but the new magistrate, Mr. Neville; he alighted off a great bony grey horse before Griffith's very nose, and sauntered into a private room.
Griffith looked, and looked, and, scarcely able to believe his senses, followed Neville's horse to the stable, and examined him all round.
Griffith was sore perplexed; and stood at the stable door glaring at the horse; and sick misgivings troubled him. He forgot the business he came about, and went and hung about the bar, and tried to pick up a clue to this mystery. The poor wretch put on a miserable assumption of indifference, and asked one or two of the magistrates, if that was not Mr. Peyton's grey horse young Neville had ridden in upon.
Now amongst these gentlemen was a young squire Miss Peyton had refused, and galled him. He had long owed Gaunt a grudge for seeming to succeed where he had notably failed, and, now, hearing him talk so much about the grey, he smelt a rat. He stepped into the parlor and told Neville Gaunt was fuming about the grey horse, and questioning everybody. Neville, though he put so bold a face on his recent adventure at Peyton Hall, was secretly smarting, and quite disposed to sting Gaunt in return. He saw a tool in this treacherous young squire—his name was Galton—and used him accordingly.
Galton, thoroughly primed by Neville, slipped back and, choosing his opportunity, poisoned Griffith Gaunt.
And this is how he poisoned him. "Oh," said he, "Neville has bought the grey nag; and cost him dear, it did." Griffith gave a sigh of relief; for he at once concluded old Peyton had sold his daughter's very horse. He resolved to buy her a better next week with Mr. Charlton's money.
But Galton, who was only playing with him, went on to explain that Neville had paid a double price for the nag; he had given Miss Peyton his piebald horse in exchange, and his troth into the bargain. In short, he lent the matter so adroit a turn, that the exchange of horses seemed to be Kate's act as much as Neville's, and the inference inevitable.
"It is a falsehood," gasped Griffith.
"Nay," said Galton, "I had it on the best authority: but you shall not quarrel with me about it; the lady is nought to me, and I but tell the tale as 'twas told to me."
"Then who told it you?" said Gaunt, sternly.
"Why it is all over the county, for that matter."
"No subterfuges, sir. I am the lady's servant, and you know it: this report, it slanders her, and insults me: give me the author, or I'll lay my hunting whip on your bones."
"Two can play at that game," said Galton; but he turned pale at the prospect of the pastime.
Griffith strode towards him, black with ire.
Then Galton stammered out: "It was Neville himself told me."
"Ah!" said Griffith; "I thought so. He is a liar, and a coward."
"I would not advise you to tell him so," said the other, maliciously: "he has killed his man in France. Spitted him like a lark."
Griffith replied by a smile of contempt.
"Where is the man?" said he, after a pause.
"How should I know?" asked Galton, innocently.
"Where did you leave him five minutes ago?"
Galton was dumbfoundered at this stroke; and could find nothing to say.
And now, as often happens, the matter took a turn not in the least anticipated by the conspirators. "You must come with me, sir, if you please," said Griffith, quietly: and he took Galton's arm.
"Oh, with all my heart," said the other; "but, Mr. Gaunt, do not you take these idle reports to heart. I never do. What the devil—where are you carrying me to? For Heaven's sake, let this foolish business go no farther."
For he found Griffith was taking him to the very room where Neville was.
Griffith deigned no reply: he just opened the door of the room in question, and walked the tale-bearer into the presence of the tale-maker. George Neville rose and confronted the pair with a vast appearance of civility; but under it a sneer was just discernible.
The rivals measured each other from head to foot, and then Neville inquired to what he owed the honor of this visit.
Griffith replied: "He tells me you told him Miss Peyton has exchanged horses with you."—"Oh! you indiscreet person," said George, shaking his finger playfully at Galton.—"And, by the same token, has plighted her troth to you."
"Worse and worse," said George. "Galton, I'll never trust you with any secrets again. Besides, you exaggerate."
"Come, sir," said Griffith, sternly: "this Ned Galton was but your tool, and your mouth-piece; and therefore I bring him here to witness my reply to you: Mr. George Neville, you are a liar and a scoundrel."
George Neville bounded to his feet like a tiger. "I'll have your life for those two words," he cried.
Then he suddenly governed himself by a great effort: "It is not for me to bandy foul terms with a Cumberland savage," said he. "Name your time and place."
"I will. Ned Galton, you may go, I wish to say a few words in private to Mr. Neville."
Galton hesitated. "No violence, gentlemen: consider."
"Nonsense," said Neville. "Mr. Gaunt and I are going to fight: we are not going to brawl. Be so good as to leave us."
"Ay," said Griffith: "and, if you repeat a word of all this, woe be to your skin."
As soon as he was gone, Griffith Gaunt turned very grave and calm, and said to George Neville, "The Cumberland savage has been better taught than to expose the lady he loves to gossiping tongues."
Neville colored up to the eyes at this thrust.
Griffith continued, "The least you can do is to avoid fresh scandal."
"I shall be happy to co-operate with you
