Tom Lendrick had just parted with his sister as Fossbrooke came up, and, taking his arm in silence, moved slowly down the road.

Seeing his deep preoccupation, Tom did not speak for some time, but walked along without a word. “I hope you found my grandfather in better temper, sir?” asked Tom, at last.

“He refused to receive me; he pleaded illness, or rather he called it by its true name, indisposition. He deputed another gentleman to meet me,—a Colonel Sewell, his stepson.”

“That 's the man my father saw at the Cape; a clever sort of person he called him, but, I suspect, not one to his liking; too much man of the world,—too much man of fashion for poor Dad.”

“I hope so,” muttered Fossbrooke, unconsciously.

“Indeed, sir; and why?” asked Tom, eagerly.

“What of Lucy?” said Sir Brook, abruptly; “how did you think she was looking?”

“Well, sir, on the whole, well. I've seen her jollier; but, to be sure, it was a leave-taking to-day, and that's not the occasion to put one in high spirits. Poor girl, she said, 'Is it not hard, Tom? There are only three of us, and we must all live apart.'”

“So it is,—hard, very hard. I 'd have tried once more to influence the old Judge if he 'd have given me a meeting. He may do worse with that office than bestow it on you, Tom. I believe I'd have told him as much.”

“It's perhaps as well, sir, that you did not see him,” said Tom, with a faint smile.

“Yes,” said Fossbrooke, following along the train of his own thoughts, and not noticing the other's remark. “He may do worse; he may give it to him, and thus draw closer the ties between them; and if that man once gets admission there, he'll get influence.”

“Of whom are you talking, sir?”

“I was not speaking, Tom. I was turning over some things in my mind. By the way, we have much to do before evening. Go over to Hodgen's about those tools; he has not sent them yet: and the blasting-powder, too, has not come down. I ought, if I could manage the time, to test it; but it 's too late. I must go to the Castle for five minutes,—five minutes will do it; and I 'll pass by Grainger's on my way back, and buy the flannel—miners' flannel they call it in the advertisement. We must look our mÉtier, Tom, eh? You told Lucy where to write, and how to address us, I hope?”

“Yes, sir, she wrote it down. By the way, that reminds me of a letter she gave me for you. It was addressed to her care, and came yesterday.”

The old man thrust it in his pocket without so much as a look at it.

“I think the post-mark was Madeira,” said Tom, to try and excite some curiosity.

“Possibly. I have correspondents everywhere.”

“It looked like Trafford's writing, I thought.”

“Indeed! let us see;” and he drew forth the letter, and broke the envelope. “Right enough, Tom,—it is Trafford.”

He ran his eyes rapidly over the first lines, turned to the next side, and then to the end of the letter, and then once more began at the beginning.

“This is his third attempt, he says, to reach me, having written twice without any acknowledgment; hence he has taken the liberty—and a very great liberty too—to address the present to the care of your sister. His brother died in March last, and the younger brother has now shown symptoms of the same malady, and has been sent out to Madeira. 'I could not,' he writes,—'I could not refuse to come out here with him, however eager I was to go to Ireland. You can well believe,'”—here the old man slurred over the words, and murmured inaudibly for some seconds. “I see,” added he at last, “he has gone back to his old regiment, with good hopes of the majority. 'Hinks is sick of the service, and quite willing to leave. Harvey, however, stands above me, and deems it a cruel thing to be passed over. I must have your advice about this, as well as about—'” Here again he dropped his voice and mumbled unintelligibly. At length he read on: “'What is Tom doing? What a shame it would be if a fellow with such abilities should not make his way!'”

“A crying shame,” burst in Tom, “but I neither see the abilities nor the way; would he kindly indicate how to find either or both?”

“'My mother suggested,'” read on Sir Brook, “'two or three things which my father could readily obtain, but you know the price of the promotion; you know what I would have to—'” Here, once more, the old man stopped abruptly.

“Pray go on, sir,” cried Tom, eagerly; “this interests me much, and as it touches myself I have half a claim to hear it.”

Sir Brook gave no heed to the request, but read on in silence and to himself. Turning to the last page, he said: “'I may then hope to be in England by the end of the month. I shall not go down to Holt, but straight to Dublin. My leave will expire on the 28th, and this will give me a good excuse for not going home. I am sure you will agree with me that I am doing the right thing.

“'If I am fortunate enough to meet you in Dublin, I can ask your advice on many things which press for solution; but if you should have left Ireland and gone heaven knows where, what is to become of me?'”

“Got into debt again, evidently,” said Tom, as he puffed his cigar.

“Nothing of the kind. I know thoroughly what he alludes to, though I am not at liberty to speak of it. He wishes me to leave our address with Colonel Cave at the barracks, and that if we should have left Ireland already, he 'll try and manage a month's leave, and pay us a visit.”

“I declare I guessed that!” burst out Tom. “I had a dread of it, from the very day we first planned our project. I said to myself, So sure as we settle down to work,—to work like men who have no thought but how to earn their bread,—some lavender-gloved fellow, with a dressing-case and three hat-boxes, will drop down to disgust us alike with our own hardships and his foppery.”

“He'll not come,” said Sir Brook, calmly; “and if he should, he will be welcome.”

“Oh! as to that,” stammered out Tom, somewhat ashamed of his late warmth, “Trafford is perhaps the one exception to the sort of thing I am afraid of. He is a fine, manly, candid fellow, with no affectations nor any pretensions.”

“A gentleman, sir,—just a gentleman, and of a very good type.”

The last few lines of the letter were small and finely written, and cost the old man some time to decipher. At last he read them aloud. “'Am I asking what you would see any objection to accord me, if I entreat you to give me some letter of introduction or presentation to the Chief t Baron? I presume that you know him; and I presume that he might not refuse to know me. It is possible I may be wrong in either or both of these assumptions. I am sure you will be frank in your reply to this request of mine, and say No, if you dislike to say Yes. I made the acquaintance of Colonel Sewell, the Judge's step-son, at the Cape; but I suspect—I may be wrong—but I suspect that to be presented by the Colonel might not be the smoothest road to his Lordship's acquaintance,—I was going to write “favor,” but I have no pretension, as yet at least, to aspire that far.'

“'The Colonel himself told me that his mother and Sir William never met without a quarrel. His affectionate remark was that the Chief Baron was the only creature in Europe whose temper was worse than Lady Lendrick's, and it would be a blessing to humanity if they could be induced to live together.

“'I saw a good deal of the Se wells at the Cape. She is charming! She was a Dillon, and her mother a Lascelles, some forty-fifth cousin of my mother's,—quite enough of relationship, however, to excuse a very rapid intimacy, so that I dined there when I liked, and uninvited. I did not like him so well; but then he beat me at billiards, and always won my money at ÉcartÉ, and of course these are detracting ingredients which ought not to be thrown into the scale.

“'How she sings! I don't know how you, with your rapturous love of music, would escape falling in love with her: all the more that she seems to me one who expects that sort of homage, and thinks herself defrauded if denied it. If the Lord Chief Baron is fond of ballads, he has been her captive this many a day.

“'My love to Tom, if with you or within reach of you; and believe me, ever yours affectionately,—Lionel Trafford.'”

“It was the eldest son who died,” said Tom, carelessly.

“Yes, the heir. Lionel now succeeds to a splendid fortune and the baronetcy.”

“He told me once that his father had made some sort of compact with his eldest son about cutting off the entail, in case he should desire to do it. In fact, he gave me to understand that he was n't a favorite with his father, and that, if by any course of events he were likely to succeed to the estate, it was more than probable his father would use this power, and merely leave him what he could not alienate,—a very small property that pertained to the baronetage.”

“With reference to what did he make this revelation to you? What had you been talking of?”

“I scarcely remember. I think it was about younger sons,—how hardly they were treated, and how unfairly.”

“Great hardship truly that a man must labor! not to say that there is not a single career in life he can approach without bringing to it greater advantages than befall humbler men,—a better and more liberal education, superior habits as regards society, powerful friends, and what in a country like ours is inconceivably effective,—the prestige of family. I cannot endure this compassionate tone about younger sons. To my thinking they have the very best opening that life can offer, if they be men to profit by it; and if they are not, I care very little what becomes of them.”

“I do think it hard that my elder brother should have fortune and wealth to over-abundance, while my pittance will scarcely keep me in cigars.”

“You have no right, sir, to think of his affluence. It is not in the record; the necessities of your position have no-relation to his superfluities. Bethink you of yourself, and if cigars are too expensive for you, smoke cavendish. Trafford was full of this cant about the cruelty of primogeniture, but I would have none of it. Whenever a man tells me that he deems it a hardship that he should do anything for his livelihood, I leave him, and hope never to see more of him.”

“Trafford surely did not say so.”

“No,—certainly not; there would have been no correspondence between us if he had. But I want to see these young fellows showing the world that they shrink from no competitorship with any. They have long proved that to confront danger and meet death they are second to none. Let me show that in other qualities they admit of no inferiority,—that they are as ready for enterprise, as well able to stand cold and hunger and thirst, to battle with climate and disease. I know well they can do it, but I want the world to know it.”

“As to intellectual distinctions,” said Tom, “I think they are the equals of any. The best man in Trinity in my day was a fellow-commoner.”

This speech seemed to restore the old man to his best humor. He slapped young Lendrick familiarly on the shoulder and said: “It would be a grand thing, Tom, if we could extend the application of that old French adage, 'noblesse oblige,' and make it apply to every career in life and every success. Come along down this street; I want to buy some nails,—we can take them home with us.”

They soon made their purchases; and each, armed with a considerably sized brown-paper parcel, issued from the shop,—the old man eagerly following up the late theme, and insisting on all the advantages good birth and blood conferred, and what a grand resource was the gentleman element in moments of pressure and temptation.

“His Excellency wishes to speak to you, sir,” said a footman, respectfully standing hat in hand before him “The carriage is over the way.”

Sir Brook nodded an assent, and then, turning to Torn, said, “Have the kindness to hold this for me for a moment; I will not detain you longer;” and placing in young Lendrick's hands a good-sized parcel, he stepped across the street, totally forgetting that over his left arm, the hand of which was in his pocket, a considerable coil of strong rope depended, being one of his late purchases. As he drew nigh the carriage, he made a sign that implied defeat; and mortified as the Viceroy was at the announcement, he could not help smiling at the strange guise in which the old man presented himself.

“And how so, Fossbrooke?” asked he, in answer to the other's signal.

“Simply, he would not see me, my Lord. Our first meeting had apparently left no very agreeable memories of me, and he scarcely cared to cultivate an acquaintance that opened so inauspiciously.”

“But you sent him your card with my name?”

“Yes; and his reply was to depute another gentleman to receive me and take my communication.”

“Which you refused, of course, to make?”

“Which I refused.”

“Do you incline to suppose that the Chief Baron guessed the object of your visit?”

“I have no means of arriving at that surmise, my Lord. His refusal of me was so peremptory that it left me no clew to any guess.”

“Was the person deputed to receive you one with whom it was at all possible to indicate such an intimation of your business as might convey to the Chief Baron the necessity of seeing you?”

“Quite the reverse, my Lord; he was one with whom, from previous knowledge, I could hold little converse.”

“Then there is, I fear, nothing to be done.”

“Nothing.”

“Except to thank you heartily, my dear Fossbrooke, and ask you once more, why are you going away?”

“I told you last night I was going to make a fortune. I have—to my own astonishment I own it—begun to feel that narrow means are occasionally most inconvenient; that they limit a man's action in so many ways that he comes at last to experience a sort of slavery; and instead of chafing against this, I am resolved to overcome it, and become rich.”

“I hope, with all my heart, you may. There is no man whom wealth will more become, or who will know how to dispense it more reputably.”

“Why, we have gathered a crowd around us, my Lord,” said Fossbrooke, looking to right and left, where now a number of people had gathered, attracted by the Viceroy's presence, but still more amused by the strange-looking figure with the hank of rope over his arm, who discoursed so freely with his Excellency. “This is one of the penalties of greatness, I take it,” continued he. “It's your Excellency's Collar of St. Patrick costs you these attentions—”

“I rather suspect it's your 'grand cordon,' Fossbrooke,” said the Viceroy, laughing, while he pointed to the rope.

“Bless my stars!” exclaimed Sir Brook, blushing deeply, “how forgetful I am growing! I hope you forgive me. I am sure you could not suppose—”

“I could never think anything but good of you, Fossbrooke. Get in, and come out to 'the Lodge' to dinner.”

“No, no; impossible. I am heartily ashamed of myself. I grow worse and worse every day; people will lose patience at last, and cut me; good-bye.”

“Wait one moment. I want to ask you something about young Lendrick. Would he take an appointment in a colonial regiment? Would he—” But Fossbrooke had elbowed his way through the dense crowd by this time, and was far out of hearing,—shocked with himself, and overwhelmed with the thought that in his absurd forgetfulness he might have involved another in ridicule.

“Think of me standing talking to his Excellency with this on my arm, Tom!” said he, flushing with shame and annoyance: “how these absent fits keep advancing on me! When a man begins to forget himself in this fashion, the time is not very distant when his friends will be glad to forget him. I said so this moment to Lord Wilmington, and I am afraid that he agreed with me. Where are the screws, Tom,—have I been forgetting them also?”

“No, sir, I have them here; the holdfasts were not finished, but they will be sent over to us this evening, along with the cramps you ordered.”

“So, then, my head was clear so far,” cried he, with a smile. “In my prosperous days, Tom, these freaks of mine were taken as good jokes, and my friends laughed at them over my Burgundy; but when a man has no longer Burgundy to wash down his blunders with, it is strange how different becomes the criticism, and how much more candid the critic.”

“So that, in point of enlightenment, sir, it is better to be poor.”

“It is what I was just going to observe to you,” said he, calmly. “Can you give me a cigar?”