 what I should expect, when a fellow like Trapping Bass is let off so
easily.«
    »Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the house, you know,«
said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the Cadwalladers, to show that he included them in
his confidence. »As to poachers like Trapping Bass, you know, Chettam,« he
continued, as they were entering, »when you are a magistrate, you'll not find it
so easy to commit. Severity is all very well, but it's a great deal easier when
you've got somebody to do it for you. You have a soft place in your heart
yourself, you know - you're not a Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing.«
    Mr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous perturbation. When he had
something painful to tell, it was usually his way to introduce it among a number
of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that would get a milder
flavour by mixing. He continued his chat with Sir James about the poachers until
they were all seated, and Mrs. Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said -
    »I'm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that is
settled. What is it, then?«
    »Well, it's a very trying thing, you know,« said Mr. Brooke. »I'm glad you
and the Rector are here; it's a family matter - but you will help us all to bear
it, Cadwallader. I've got to break it to you, my dear.« Here Mr. Brooke looked
at Celia - »You've no notion what it is, you know. And, Chettam, it will annoy
you uncommonly - but, you see, you have not been able to hinder it, any more
than I have. There's something singular in things: they come round, you know.«
    »It must be about Dodo,« said Celia, who had been used to think of her
sister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seated herself on
a low stool against her husband's knee.
    »For God's sake let us hear what it is!« said Sir James.
    »Well, you know, Chettam, I couldn't help Casaubon's will: it was a sort of
will to make things worse.«
    »Exactly,« said Sir James, hastily. »But what is
