'You have told--'

'Of the cheque,' broke in Mr. Edmonstone, 'and of all the rest, and of your providing for the little girl. How could you do it with that pittance of an allowance of yours? And Master Philip saying you never had any money! No wonder, indeed!'

'If I had known you were pinching yourself,' said Dixon, 'my mind would have revolted--'

'Let me understand it,' said Guy, grasping the back of a chair. 'Tell me, Markham. Is it really so? Am I cleared? Has Mr. Edmonstone a right to be satisfied?'

'Yes, Sir Guy,' was Markham's direct answer. 'Mr. Dixon has accounted for your disposal of the thirty pound cheque, and there is an end of the matter.'

Guy drew a long breath, and the convulsive grasp of his fingers relaxed.

'I cannot thank you enough!' said he to his uncle; then to Mr. Edmonstone, 'how is Charles?'

'Better--much better, you shall see him to-morrow--eh, Guy?'

'But I cannot explain about the one thousand pounds.'

'Never mind--you never had it, so you can't have misspent it. That's neither here nor there.'

'And you forgive my language respecting you?'

'Nonsense about that! If you never said anything worse than that Philip was a meddling coxcomb, you haven't much to repent of; and I am sure I was ten old fools when I let him bore me into writing that letter.'