It was late at night when Sewell reached town. An accidental delay to the train deferred the arrival for upwards of an hour after the usual time; and when he reached the Priory, the house was all closed for the night, and not a light to be seen.

He knocked, however, and rang boldly; and after a brief delay, and considerable noise of unbolting and unbarring, was admitted. “We gave you up, sir, after twelve o'clock,” said the butler, half reproachfully, “and his Lordship ordered the servants to bed. Miss Lendrick, however, is in her drawing-room still.”

“Is there anything to eat, my good friend? That is what I stand most in need of just now.”

“There's a cold rib of beef, sir, and a grouse pie; but if you 'd like something hot, I 'll call the cook.”

“No, no, never mind the cook; you can give me some sherry, I 'm sure?”

“Any wine you please, sir. We have excellent Madeira, which ain't to be had everywhere nowadays.”

“Madeira be it, then; and order a fire in my room. I take it you have a room for me?”

“Yes, sir, all is ready; the bath was hot about an hour ago, and I 'll have it refreshed in a minute.”

“Now for the grouse pie. By the way, Fenton, what is the matter with his Lordship? He was n't ill, was he, when he sent off that despatch to me?”

“No, sir; he was in court to-day, and he dined at the Castle, and was in excellent spirits before he went out.”

“Has anything gone wrong, then, that he wanted me up so hurriedly?”

“Well, sir, it ain't so easy to say, his Lordship excites himself so readily; and mayhap he had words with some of the judges,—mayhap with his Excellency, for they 're always at him about resigning, little knowing that if they 'd only let him alone he 'd go of himself, but if they press him he 'll stay on these twenty years.”

“I don't suspect he has got so many as twenty years before him.”

“If he wants to live, sir, he 'll do it. Ah, you may laugh, sir, but I have known him all my life, and I never saw the man like him to do the thing he wishes to do.”

“Cut me some of that beef, Fenton, and fetch me some draught beer. How these old tyrants make slaves of their servants,” said he, aloud, as the man left the room,—“a slavery that enthralls mind as well as body.” A gentle tap came to the door, and before Sewell could question the summons, Miss Lendrick entered. She greeted him cordially, and said how anxiously her grandfather had waited for him till midnight. “I don't know when I saw him so eager or so impatient,” she said.

“Have you any clew to his reason for sending for me?” said he, as he continued to eat, and assumed an air of perfect unconcern.

“None whatever. He came into my room about two o'clock, and told me to write his message in a good bold hand; he seemed in his usual health, and his manner displayed nothing extraordinary. He questioned me about the time it would take to transmit the message from the town to your house, and seemed satisfied when I said about half an hour.”

“It's just as likely, perhaps, to be some caprice,—some passing fancy.”

She shook her head dissentingly, but made no reply.

“I believe the theory of this house is, 'he can do no wrong,'” said Sewell, with a laugh.

“He is so much more able in mind than all around him, such a theory might prevail; but I 'll not go so far as to say that it does.”

“It's not his mind gives him his pre-eminence, Miss Lucy,—it's his temper; it's that same strong will that overcomes weaker natures by dint of sheer force. The people who assert their own way in life are not the most intellectual, they are only the best bullies.”

“You know very little of grandpapa, Colonel Sewell, that's clear.”

“Are you so sure of that?” asked he, with a dubious-smile.

“I am sure of it, or in speaking of him you would never have used such a word as bully.”

“You mistake me,—mistake me altogether, young lady. I spoke of a class of people who employ certain defects of temper to supply the place of certain gifts of intellect; and if your grandfather, who has no occasion for it, chooses to take a weapon out of their armory, the worse taste his.”

Lucy turned fiercely round, her face flushed, and her lip trembling. An angry reply darted through her mind, but she repressed it by a great effort, and in a faint voice she said, “I hope you left Mrs. Sewell well?”

“Yes, perfectly well, amusing herself vastly. When I saw her last, she had about half a dozen young fellows cantering on either side of her, saying, doubtless, all those pleasant things that you ladies like to hear.”

Lucy shrugged her shoulders, without answering.

“Telling you,” continued he, in the same strain, “that if you are unmarried you are angels, and that if married you are angels and martyrs too; and it is really a subject that requires investigation, how the best of wives is not averse to hearing her husband does not half estimate her. Don't toss your head so impatiently, my dear Miss Lucy; I am giving you the wise precepts of a very thoughtful life.”

“I had hoped, Colonel Sewell, that a very thoughtful life might have brought forth pleasanter reflections.” “No, that is precisely what it does not do. To live as long as I have, is to arrive at a point when all the shams have been seen through, and the world exhibits itself pretty much as a stage during a day rehearsal.”

“Well, sir, I am too young to profit by such experiences, and I will wish you a very good-night,—that is, if I can give no orders for anything you wish.”

“I have had everything. I will finish this Madeira—to your health—and hope to meet you in the morning, as beautiful and as trustful as I see you now,—felice notte.” He bowed as he opened the door for her to pass out, and she went, with a slight bend of the head and a faint smile, and left him.

“How I could make you beat your wings against your cage, for all your bravery, if I had only three days here, and cared to do it,” said he, as he poured the rest of the wine into his glass. “How weary I could make you of this old house and its old owner. Within one month—one short month—I 'd have you repeating as wise saws every sneer and every sarcasm that you just now took fire at. And if I am to pass three days in this dreary old dungeon, I don't see how I could do better. What can he possibly want with me?” All the imaginable contingencies he could conjure up now passed before his mind. That the old man was sick of solitude, and wanted him to come and live with them; that he was desirous of adopting one of the children, and which of them? then, that he had held some correspondence with Fossbrooke, and wanted some explanations,—a bitter pang, that racked and tortured him while he revolved it; and, last of all, he came back to his first guess,—it was about his will he had sent for him. He had been struck by the beauty of the children, and asked their names and ages twice or thrice over; doubtless he was bent on making some provision for them. “I wish I could tell him that I'd rather have ten thousand down, than thrice the sum settled on Reginald and the girls. I wish I could explain to him that mine is a ready-money business, and that cash is the secret of success; and I wish I could show him that no profits will stand the reverses of loans raised at two hundred per cent! I wonder how the match went off to-day; I'd like to have the odds that there were three men down at the double rail and bank.” Who got first over the brook, was his next speculation, and where was Trafford? “If he punished Crescy, I think I could tell that,” muttered he, with a grin of malice. “I only wish I was there to see it;” and in the delight this thought afforded he tossed off his last glass of wine, and rang for his bedroom candle.

“At what time shall I call you, sir?” asked the butler.

“When are you stirring here,—I mean, at what hour does Sir William breakfast?”

“He breakfasts at eight, sir, during term; but he does not expect to see any one but Miss Lucy so early.”

“I should think not. Call me at eleven, then, and bring me some coffee and a glass of rum when you come. Do you mean to tell me,” said he, in a somewhat stern tone, “that the Chief Baron gets up at seven o'clock?”

“In term-time, sir, he does every day.”

“Egad! I 'm well pleased that I have not a seat on the Bench. I 'd not be Lord Chancellor at that price.”

“It 's very hard on the servants, sir,—very hard indeed.”

“I suppose it is,” said Sewell, with a treacherous twinkle of the eye.

“If it was n't that I'm expecting the usher's place in the Court, I 'd have resigned long ago.”

“His Lordship's pleasant temper, however, makes up for everything, Fenton, eh?”

“Yes, sir, that's true;” and they both laughed heartily at the pleasant conceit; and in this merry humor they went their several ways to bed.