The Squire raised himself painfully on his elbow and hid the bag between pillow and tester, where he could assure himself of its presence by a touch. Then he sank back with a grunt of relief and his hand went to the keys, which also had their home under his pillow. He clung to them--they were his badge of authority, of power. While he had them, sightless as he was, he was still master; about his room, the oak-panelled chamber, spacious but shabby, with the uneven floor and the low wide casement, the life of the house still circled.

"Good lad!" he muttered. "Good lad! Jos?"

"Yes, father." She rose and came towards him.

"Where's Arthur?"

"He went out with your message."

"To be sure! To be sure! I'm forgetting."

But, once started on the road to recovery, he did not forget much. From his high, four-post bed with the drab hangings in which his father and grandfather had died, he gripped house and lands in a firm grip. Morning by morning he would have his report of the lambs, of the wheat, of the hay-corps, of the ploughing on the eight acres where the Swedish turnips were to go. He would know what corn went to the mill, what mutton to the house. The bounds-fence that Farmer Bache had neglected was not forgotten, nor the young colt that he had decided to take against Farmer Price's arrears, nor the lease for lives that involved a knotty point of which he proved himself to be in complete possession.

Indeed, he showed himself indomitable, the old heart in him still strong; so that neither the shock that he had borne, nor the pain that he had suffered, nor the possibility of permanent blindness which they could not wholly hide from him, sufficed to subdue or unman him.

Only in one or two things was a change apparent. He reverted more often to an older and ruder form of speech familiar to him when George the Third was young, but which of late he had only used when talking with his tenants. He said "Dunno you do this!" and "I wunt ha' that!" used "ship" for sheep, and "goold" for gold, called Thomas a "gallus bad rascal," and the like.

And in another and more important point he was changed. For eyes he must now depend on someone, and though he showed that he liked to have Jos about him and bore with her when the Pea-hen's fussiness drove him to bad words, it was soon clear that the person he chose was Arthur. Arthur was restored, and more than restored to favor. It was "Where's Arthur?" a score of times a day. Arthur must come, must go, must be ever at his elbow. He must check such and such an account, see the overseers about such an one, speak to the constable about another, go into Aldersbury about the lease. Even when Arthur was absent the Squire's thoughts ran on him, and often he would mutter "Good lad! Good lad!" when he thought himself alone.

It was a real bouleversement, but Josina, supposing that Arthur had saved her father's life at the risk of his own, and had then added to his merit by recovering the lost money, found it natural enough. For the full details of the robbery had never been told to her. "Better leave it alone, Jos," Arthur had said when she had again shown a desire to know more. "It was a horrid business and you won't want to dream of it. Another minute and that d--d villain would have--but there, I'd advise you to leave it alone."

Jos, suspecting nothing, had not demurred, but on the contrary had thought Arthur as modest as he was brave. And the doctor, with an eye to his patient's well-being, had taken the same view. "Put no questions to him," he said, "and don't talk to him about it. Time enough to go into it by and by, when the shock's worn off. The odds are that he will remember nothing that happened just before the scoundrel struck his--that's the common thing--and so much the better, my dear. Let sleeping dogs lie, or, as we doctors say, don't think about your stomach till your victuals trouble you."

So Josina knew no particulars except that Arthur had saved his uncle's life, and Clement--she shuddered as she thought of it--had come up in time to be of service. And no one at Garth knew more. But, knowing so much, it was not surprising to her that Arthur should be restored to favor, and, lately forbidden the house, should now rule it as a master. And clearly Arthur, also, found the position natural, so easily did he fall into it. He was up and down the old shallow stairs--which the Squire, true to the fashions of his youth, had never carpeted--a dozen times a day. He was as often in and out of his uncle's bedroom, or sitting on the deep window-seat on which generations of mothers had sunned their babes; and all this with a laugh and a cheery word that wondrously brightened the sick room. Alert, quick, serviceable, and willing to take any responsibility, he made himself a favorite with all. Even Calamy, who shook his head over every improvement in the Squire, and murmured much of the "old lamp flickering before it went out," grew hopeful in his presence. Miss Peacock adored him. He put Josina's nose out of joint.

Of the young fellow, whose moodiness had of late perplexed his companions in the bank, not a trace remained. Had they seen him as he was now they might have been tempted to think that a weight had been lifted from him. But he seemed, for the time, to have forgotten the bank. He rarely mentioned the Ovingtons.

There was one at Garth, however, who had not forgotten either the bank or the Ovingtons; and proved it presently to Arthur's surprise. "Jos," said the Squire one afternoon. And when she had replied that she was there, "Where is Arthur?"

"I think he has just come in, sir."

"Prop me up. And send him to me. Do you leave us."

She went, wondering a little for she had not been dismissed before. She sent Arthur, who, after his usual fashion, scaled the stairs at three bounds. He found the old man sitting up in the shadow of the curtains, a grotesque figure with his bandaged head. The air of the room was not so much musty as ancient, savoring of worm-eaten wood and long decayed lavender, and linen laid by in presses. On each side of the drab tester hung a dim flat portrait, faded and melancholy, in a carved wooden frame, unglazed; below each hung a sampler. "You sent for me, sir?"

"Ay. When's that money due?"

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Arthur did not take it in. Then the blood rushed to his face. "My mother's money, sir?"

"What else? What other money is there, that's due? I forget things but I dunno forget that."

"You don't forget much, sir," Arthur replied cheerfully. "But there's no hurry about that."

"When?"

"Well, in two months from the twenty-first, sir. But there is not the least hurry."

"This is the seventeenth?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll pay and ha' done with it. But I'll ha' to sell stock. East India Stock it is. What are they at, lad?"

"Somewhere about two hundred and seventy odd, I think, sir."

"And how do you sell 'em?" The Squire knew a good deal about buying stock but little about selling it, and he winced as he put the question. But he bore the pang gallantly, for had not the boy earned his right to the money and to his own way? Ay, and earned it by a service as great as one man could perform for another? For the Squire had no more reason than those about him to doubt that he owed his life to his nephew. He had found him beside his bed when he had recovered his senses, and putting together this and certain words which had fallen from others, and adding his own hazy impressions of the happenings of the night, and of the young man on whose shoulder he had leant, he had never questioned the fact. "How do you go about to sell 'em?" he repeated. "I suppose you know?"

"Oh, yes, sir, it's my business," Arthur replied. "You have to get a transfer--they are issued at the India House. You've only to sign it before two witnesses. It is quite simple, sir."

"Well, I can do that. Do you see to it, lad."

"You wouldn't wish to do it through Ovington's?"

"No!" the Squire rapped out. "Do it yourself. And lose no time. Write at once."

"Very well, sir. I suppose you have the certificates?"

"'Course I have," annoyed. "Isn't the stock mine?"

"Very good, sir. I'll see to it."

"Well, see to it. And, mark ye, when you're in Aldersbury see Welshes, and tell them I'm waiting for that lease of lives. I signed the agreement for the new lease six weeks ago and I should ha' had the lease by now. Stir 'em up, and say I must have it. The longer I'm waiting the longer the bill w............