On the 10th of September the Squire was informed that Ralph Newton demanded another ten days for his decision, and that he had undertaken to communicate it by letter on the 20th. The Squire had growled, thinking that his nephew was unconscionable, and had threatened to withdraw his offer. The lawyer, with a smile, assured him that the matter really was progressing very quickly, that things of that kind could rarely be carried on so expeditiously; and that, in short, Mr. Newton had no fair ground of complaint. "When a man pays through the nose for his whistle, he ought to get it!" said the Squire, plainly showing that his idea as to the price fixed was very different from that entertained by his nephew. But he did not retract his offer. He was too anxious to accomplish the purchase to do that. He would go home, he said, and wait till the 20th. Then he would return to London. And he did go home.
On the first evening he said very little to his son. He felt that his son did not quite sympathise with him, and he was sore that it should be so. He could not be angry with his son. He knew well that this want of sympathy arose from a conviction on this son\'s part that, let what might be done in regard to the property, nothing could make him, who was illegitimate, capable of holding the position in the country which of right belonged to Newton of Newton. But the presence of this feeling in the mind of the son was an accusation against himself which was very grievous to him. Almost every act of his latter life had been done with the object of removing the cause for such accusation. To make his boy such as he would have been in every respect had not his father sinned in his youth, had been the one object of the father\'s life. And nobody gainsayed him in this but that son himself. Nobody told him that all his bother about the estate was of no avail. Nobody dared to tell him so. Parson Gregory, in his letters to his brother, could express such an opinion. Sir Thomas, sitting alone in his chamber, could feel it. Ralph, the legitimate heir, with an assumed scorn, could declare to himself that, let what might be sold, he would still be Newton of Newton. The country people might know it, and the farmers might whisper it one to another. But nobody said a word of this to the Squire. His own lawyer never alluded to such a matter, though it was of course in his thoughts. Nevertheless, the son, whom he loved so well, would tell him from day to day,—indirectly, indeed, but with words that were plain enough,—that the thing was not to be done. Men and women called him Newton, because his father had chosen so to call him;—as they would have called him Tomkins or Montmorenci, had he first appeared before them with either of those names; but he was not a Newton, and nothing could make him Newton of Newton Priory,—not even the possession of the whole parish, and an habitation in the Priory itself. "I wish you wouldn\'t think about it," the son would say to the father;—and the expression of such a wish would contain the whole accusation. What other son would express a desire that the father would abstain from troubling himself to leave his estate entire to his child?
On the morning after his return the necessary communication was made. But it was not commenced in any set form. The two were out together, as was usual with them, and were on the road which divided the two parishes, Bostock from Newton. On the left of them was Walker\'s farm, called the Brownriggs; and on the right, Darvell\'s farm, which was in their own peculiar parish of Newton. "I was talking to Darvell while you were away," said Ralph.
"What does he say for himself?"
"Nothing. It\'s the old story. He wants to stay, though he knows he\'d be better away."
"Then let him stay. Only I must have the place made fit to look at. A man should have a chance of pulling through."
"Certainly, sir. I don\'t want him to go. I was only thinking it would be better for his children that there should be a change. As for making the place fit to look at, he hasn\'t the means. It\'s Walker\'s work, at the other side, that shames him."
"One can\'t have Walkers on every farm," said the Squire. "No;—if things go, as I think they will go, we\'ll pull down every stick and stone at Brumby\'s,"—Brumby\'s was the name of Darvell\'s farm,—"and put it up all ship-shape. The house hasn\'t been touched these twenty years." Ralph said nothing. He knew well that his father would not talk of building unless he intended to buy before he built. Nothing could be more opposed to the Squire\'s purposes in life than the idea of building a house which, at his death, would become the property of his nephew. And, in this way, the estate was being starved. All this Ralph understood thoroughly; and, understanding it, had frequently expressed a desire that his father and the heir could act in accord together. But now the Squire talked of pulling down and building up as though the property were his own, to do as he liked with it. "And I think I can do it without selling Brownriggs," continued the Squire. "When it came to black and white, the value that he has in it doesn\'t come to so much as I thought." Still Ralph said nothing,—nothing, at least, as to the work that had been done up in London. He merely made some observation as to Darvell\'s farm;—suggesting that a clear half year\'s rent should be given to the man. "I have pretty well arranged it all in my mind," continued the Squire. "We could part with Twining. It don\'t lie so near as Brownriggs."
Ralph felt that it would be necessary that he should say something. "Lord Fitzadam would be only too glad to buy it. He owns every acre in the parish except Ingram\'s farm."
"There\'ll be no difficulty about selling it,—when we have the power to sell. It\'ll fetch thirty years\' purchase. I\'d give thirty years\' purchase for it, at the present rent myself, if I had the money. Lord Fitzadam shall have it, if he pleases, of course. There\'s four hundred acres of it."
"Four hundred and nine," said Ralph.
"And it\'s worth over twelve thousand pounds. It would have gone against the grain with me to part with any of the land in Bostock; but I think we can squeeze through without that."
"Is it arranged, sir?" asked the son at last.
"Well;—no; I can\'t say it is. He is to give me his answer on the 20th. But I cannot see that he has any alternative. He must pay his debts, and he has no other way of paying them. He must live, and he has nothing else to live on. A fellow like that will have money, if he can lay his h............