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Updated: June 18, 2025
There had been little doubt about it all along; his confession to Iver removed the last real obstacle. The story in Josiah Cholderton's Journal had him in its grip; on the first occasion of trial his resolution not to be mixed up with the Tristrams melted away. Perhaps he consoled himself by saying that he would be, like his deceased and respected friend, mainly an observer.
The news that Josiah Cholderton's Journal was going off very fairly well with the trade had been unable to give its editor any consolation; he did not care about the Journal now. Iver came out and sat down beside him without speaking.
"You're sure he says nothing about us?" she urged. "You'll not find a word," he replied, sticking to the form of assertion that salved his conscience. He looked across the lawn again, but Janie and Harry had disappeared amongst the bushes. "You're sort of old acquaintances at second-hand, then," said Iver, smiling. "Cholderton's the connecting link." "He didn't like me," remarked Mina.
He would have agreed absolutely with Mr Cholderton's estimate of the evil in her, and of its proper remedy. Wherein Duplay was derided his niece made very plain to him; wherein his words had any effect was studiously concealed. Yet she repeated the words when he had, with a marked failure of temper, gone his way and slammed the door behind him. "In love with Harry Tristram!"
Memory carried her back in an instant to the moment when she, Mr Cholderton's Imp, heard that beautiful woman cry, "Think of the difference it makes, the enormous difference!" She drew in her breath in a sudden gasp. An idea had flashed into her mind, showing her for the first time the chance of a situation which had never yet crossed her thoughts.
Neeld, always annoyed at the "Joe," admitted that the main facts had been recorded in Mr Cholderton's Journal, and that he himself had known them when nobody else in England did save, of course, the conspirators themselves. "And you kept it dark? I didn't know you were as deep as that, Neeld." He looked at the old gentleman with great amazement.
That turned out all right, but she ran it fine. Eh, Neeld?" Mr Neeld was sadly flustered by these recurring references to him. He had no desire to pose as an authority on the subject. Josiah Cholderton's diary put him in a difficulty. He wished to goodness he had been left to the peaceful delights of literary journalism.
Yet not quite the same. He did not know what he ought to do; she did not feel sure of what she wanted. Both stood undecided. Mr Cholderton's Journal was still at its work of disturbing people's minds. But Major Duplay was well content with the day's work. If his niece had a divided mind she would be easier to bend to his will. He did not care who had Blent, if only it passed from Harry.
"Thank you, Lord Tristram, thank you," and the Colonel gave Harry his hand. "Excellent, excellent!" muttered Mr Neeld as he folded up the leaves of Josiah Cholderton's diary. "You can call on me for proofs whenever you wish to proceed. After what has occurred, I presume they will be necessary." "Yes, yes for his seat," assented Neeld. "And to satisfy public opinion," added Edge.
And wildest paradox it all came out of editing Josiah Cholderton's Journal. Before he had made any progress in unravelling his skein of perplexities he saw Janie coming across the lawn. She took the chair her father had left and seemed to take her father's mood with it; the same oppressive silence settled on her. Neeld broke it this time.
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