We all probably know how some trouble will come upon us and for a period seem to quell all that is joyous in our life, and that then by quick degrees the weight of the trouble will grow less, till the natural spring and vivacity of the mind will recover itself, and make little or nothing of that which a few hours ago was felt to be so grievous a burden.

So it had been with John Caldigate.

He had been man enough to hold up his head when telling his story to Robert Bolton, and to declare that the annoyance would be one that he could bear easily;--but still for some hours after that he had been unhappy.

If by sacrificing some considerable sum of money,--even a large sum of money, say ten thousand pounds,--he could at that moment have insured the silence of Crinkett and the woman, he would have paid his money.

He knew the world well enough to be aware that he could insure nothing by any such sacrifice.