CHAPTER VIII.

So indeed it had. Doctor Unonius could not overlook a falsehood, and from that hour his thoughts never rested upon the widow Tresize as a desirable woman to wed.

But he had grave searchings of conscience on the part he had been made to play. Undoubtedly he had misled Mr Rattenbury, and—all question of public honesty apart—had perhaps injured that young officer's chances of promotion.

The thought of it disturbed his sleep for weeks. In the end he decided to make a clean breast to Mr Rattenbury, as between man and man; and encountering him one afternoon on the Lealand road, drew up old Dapple and made sign that he wished to speak.

It's about Mrs Tresize—' he began.

'You've heard, then?' said Mr Rattenbury.

'Heard what?'

'Why, that I'm going to marry her.'

'Oh!' said the doctor; and added after a pause, 'My dear sir, I wish you joy.'

'I don't feel that I deserve her,' said Mr Rattenbury, somewhat fatuously.

'Oh!' said the doctor again. 'As for that—'

He did not conclude the sentence, but drove on in meditation.

It is to be supposed that with marriage the widow mended her ways. Certainly she can have dabbled no more in smuggling, and as certainly she had told the truth about her age. Thrice in the years that followed Doctor Unonius spent some hours of the night, waiting, in the best kitchen at Landeweddy; and Mrs Rattenbury on neither of these occasions—so critical for herself—forgot to have him provided with a decanter of excellent brandy.

The doctor sipping at it and gazing over the rim of the glass at Mr Rattenbury—nervous and distraught, as a good husband should be—on each occasion wondered how much he knew.