About this time Tom Bristow found himself very often at Pincote. The Squire would have him there. It seemed as if he could not do without Tom\'s society. Since the loss of his money he had been getting more and more disinclined either for going out himself or having company at home. Still he could not altogether do without somebody to talk to now and then; and Tom being either a good listener or a lively talker, as occasion might require, and having already rendered the Squire an important service, it seemed somehow to fall into the natural order of things that he should be invited three or four times a week to dine at Pincote. Nor after Mrs. McDermott\'s arrival was he there less frequently. Not that the Squire did not find his sister very lively company. In fact, he often found her too lively. She had too much to say: her tongue was never quiet. In season and out of season, she overwhelmed her brother with an unending flow of small-talk and petty gossip about things that had little or no interest for him; but about which he was obliged to feign an interest, unless, as he himself expressed it, "he wanted to know the length of his sister\'s tongue."

But when Tom was there the case was different. He acted as a sort of buffer between Mrs. McDermott and the Squire. By means of a few adroit questions, and a clever assumption of ignorance with regard to whatever topic Mrs. McDermott might be dilating on, he generally succeeded in drawing the full torrent of her conversation on his own devoted head, thereby affording the Squire a breathing space for which he was truly grateful. Sometimes, but not very often, Tom let the demon of mischief get the mastery of him. On such occasions he would lead Mrs. McDermott on by one artful question after another till she began to contradict herself and eat her own words, and ended by floundering helplessly in a sort of mental quagmire, and so relapsing into sulky silence, with a dim sense upon her that she had somehow been coaxed into making an exhibition of herself by that demure-looking young scamp of a Bristow, who seemed hand and glove with both her brother and her niece after a fashion that she neither liked nor understood.

Yet was the love of hearing herself talk so ingrained in Mrs. McDermott\'s nature, that by the time of Tom\'s next visit to Pincote she was ready to fall into the same trap again, had he been inclined to lead her on.

"Who is that young Bristow that you and Jane make such a pet of?" she asked her brother one day. "I don\'t seem to recollect any family of that name hereabouts."

"Pet, indeed! Nobody makes a pet of him, as you call it," growled the Squire. "He\'s the son of the doctor who attended poor Charlotte in her last illness. He\'s a sharp young fellow who has got his head screwed on the right way, and he\'s been useful to me in one or two business matters, and may be so again; so there\'s no harm in asking him to dinner now and then."

"Now and then with you seems to mean three or four times a week," sneered Mrs. McDermott.

"And what if it does?" retorted the Squire. "As long as I can call the house my own, I\'ll ask anybody I like to dinner, and as often as I like."

"Only if I were you, I wouldn\'t forget that I\'d a daughter who was just at a marriageable age."

"Nor a sister who wouldn\'t object to a husband number two," chuckled the Squire.

"Why not set your cap at young Bristow, eh, Fanny? You might do worse. He\'s young and not bad looking, and if he has no money of his own, he\'s just the right sort to look well after yours."

Mrs. McDermott fanned herself indignantly. "You never were very refined, Titus," she said; "but you certainly get coarser every time I see you."

Mr. Culpepper only chuckled to himself, and poked the fire vigorously.

"I\'ll have that young Bristow out of this house before I\'m three weeks older!" vowed the \'widow to herself. "The way he and Jane carry on together is simply disgusting, and yet that poor weak brother of mine can\'t see it."

From that day forth she took to watching Tom and Jane more particularly than she had done before. Not satisfied with watching them herself, she induced her maid Emma to act as a spy on their actions. With her assistance, Mrs. McDermott was not long in gathering sufficient evidence to warrant her, as she thought, in seeking a private interview with her brother on the subject. "And high time too," she said grimly to herself. "That minx of a Jane is carrying on a fine game under the rose. The arrant little flirt! And as for that young Bristow--of course it\'s Jane\'s money that he\'s after. Titus must be as blind as a bat, or he would have seen it all long ago. I\'ve no patience with him--none!"

Having worked herself up to the requisite pitch, downstairs she bounced and burst into the Squire\'s private room--commonly called his study. She burst into the room, but halted suddenly the moment she had crossed the threshold. The Squire was there, but not alone. Tom Bristow was with him. The two were in deep consultation--so much she could see at a glance--bending towards each other over the little table, and speaking, as it seemed to her, almost in a whisper. The Squire turned with a gesture of impatience at the opening of the door. "Oh, is that you, Fanny?" he said. "I\'ll see you presently; I\'m busy with Mr. Bristow, just now."

She went out without a word, but her face flushed deeply, and an evil look came into her eyes. "That\'s the way you treat your only sister, Mr. Titus Culpepper, is it?" she muttered under her breath. "Not a penny of my money shall ever come to you or yours."

Tom had walked over to Pincote that morning to see the Squire respecting the building going on at Prior\'s Croft. When their conference had come to an end, said the Squire to Tom: "You know that scrubby bit of ground of mine--Knockley Holt?"

Tom started. "Yes, I know it very well," he said. "It is rather singular that you should be the first to speak about it; because it was partly about that very piece of ground that I am here this morning to see you."

"Ay--ay--how\'s that?" said the Squire, suddenly brightening up from the apathy that had begun to creep over him so often of late.

"Why, it doesn\'t seem to be of much use to you, and I thought that perhaps you wouldn\'t mind letting me have a lease of it."

The Squire laughed heartily: a thing he had not done for several weeks. "And I had just made up my mind to sell it, and was going to ask your advice about it!"

Tom\'s face flushed suddenly. "And do you really think of selling Knockley Holt?" he asked, with his keen bright eyes bent on the Squire\'s face more keenly than usual.

"Of course I think of selling it, or I shouldn\'t have said what I have said. As things have gone with me, the money would be more useful to me than the land is ever likely to be. It won\'t fetch much I know, but then I didn\'t give much for it, and whoever may get it won\'t have much of a bargain."

"Perhaps you wouldn\'t object to have me for a purchaser?"

"You! You buy Knockley Holt? Why, man alive, you must know that I should want money down, and---- But I needn\'t say more about it."

"If you choose to sell Knockley Holt to me, I will give you twelve hundred pounds for it, cash down."

The Squire was getting into the way of not being astonished at anything that Tom might say, but he did look across at him for a moment or two in blank amazement.

"Well, you are a queer fish, and no mistake!" were his first words. "And pray, my young shaver, how come you to be possessed of twelve hundred pounds?"

"Oh, I\'m worth a little more than twelve hundred pounds," said Tom, with a smile. "Why, only the other week I cleared a thousand by one little stroke in cotton."

"Well done, young one," said the Squire, heartily. "You are not such a fool as you look. And now take an old man\'s advice. Don\'t speculate any more. Fortune has given you one little slice of her cake. Don\'t tempt her again. Be content with what you\'ve got, and speculate no more."

"At any rate, I won\'t forget your advice, sir," said Tom. "I wonder," he added to himself, "what he would think and say if he knew that it was by speculation, pure and simple, that I earn my bread and cheese."

"And so you would really like to buy Knockley Holt, eh?"

"I should indeed, if you are determined to sell it."

"Oh, I shall sell it, sure enough. But may I ask what you intend to do with it when you have got it?"

"Ah, sir, that is just one of those questions which you must not ask me," said Tom, laughingly. "If I buy it, it will be entirely on speculation. It may turn out a dismal failure: it may prove to be a big success."

"Well, well, that will be your look out," said the Squire, good-naturedly. "But, Bristow, it\'s not worth twelve hundred pounds, nor anything like that sum."

"I think it is, sir--at least to me, and I am quite prepared to pay that amount for it."

"I only gave nine fifty for it; and I thought that if I could get a clear thousand I should have every reason to be perfectly satisfied."

"I have made you an offer, sir. It is for you to say whether you are willing to accept it."

"Seeing that you offer me two hundred pounds more than I ever hoped to get, I\'m not such an ass as to say, No. Only I think you are robbing yourself. I do indeed, Bristow; and that\'s what I don\'t like to see."

"I think, sir, that I\'m pretty well able to look after my own interests," said Tom, with a meaning smile. "Am I to consider that Knockley Holt is to become my property?"

"Of course you are, boy--of course you are. But I must say that you are a little bit of a simpleton to give me twelve hundred when you might have it for a thousand."

"An offer\'s an offer, and I\'ll abide by mine."

"Then there\'s nothing more to be said: I\'ll see my lawyer about the deeds to-morrow."

Tom shook hands with the Squire and went in search of Jane.

"Perhaps I may come in now," said Mrs. McDermott five minutes later, as she opened the door of her brother\'s room.

"Of course you may," said the Squire. "Young Bristow and I wer............