“I don’t know that I want anything for it. Or if I do want anything for it, I don’t know what it is.” Bradley gave this answer in a stolid, vacant, and self-communing manner, which Mr. Riderhood found very extraordinary.

“You have no goodwill towards this Wrayburn,” said Bradley, coming to the name in a reluctant and forced way, as if he were dragged to it.

“No.”

“Neither have I.”

Riderhood nodded, and asked: “Is it for that?”

“It’s as much for that as anything else. It’s something to be agreed with, on a subject that occupies so much of one’s thoughts.”

“It don’t agree with you,” returned Mr. Riderhood, bluntly. “No! It don’t, T’otherest Governor, and it’s no use a lookin’ as if you wanted to make out that it did. I tell you it rankles in you. It rankles in you, rusts in you, and pisons you.”

“Say that it does so,” returned Bradley with quivering lips; “is there no cause for it?”

“Cause enough, I’ll bet a pound!” cried Mr. Riderhood.

“Haven’t you yourself declared that the fellow has heaped provocations, insults, and affronts on you, or something to that effect? He has done the same by me. He is made of venomous insults and affronts, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. Are you so hopeful or so stupid, as not to know that he and the other will treat your application with contempt, and light their cigars with it?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if they did, by George!” said Riderhood, turning angry.

“If they did! They will. Let me ask you a question. I know something more than your name about you; I knew something about Gaffer Hexam. When did you last set eyes upon his daughter?”

“When did I last set eyes upon his daughter, T’otherest Governor?” repeated Mr. Riderhood, growing intentionally slower of comprehension as the other quickened in his speech.

“Yes. Not to speak to her. To see her — anywhere?”

The Rogue had got the clue he wanted, though he held it with a clumsy hand. Looking perplexedly at the passionate face, as if he were trying to work out a sum in his mind, he slowly answered: “I ain’t set eyes upon her — never once — not since the day of Gaffer’s death.”

“You know her well, by sight?”

“I should think I did! No one better.”

“And you know him as well?”

“Who’s him?” asked Riderhood, taking off his hat and rubbing his forehead, as he directed a dull look at his questioner.

“Curse the name! Is it so agreeable to you that you want to hear it again?”

“Oh! him!” said Riderhood, who had craftily worked the schoolmaster into this corner, that he might again take note of his face under its evil possession. “I’d know him among a thousand.”