nt.'

For the first time Dangerfield's countenance actually darkened and grew
stern, but Mervyn could not discern whether it was with anger or deep
thought, and the round spectacles returned his intense gaze with a white
reflected sheen, sightless as death.

But the stern mouth opened, and Dangerfield, in his harsh, brief tones,
said--

'You speak without reflection, Sir, and had nigh made me lose my temper;
but I pardon you; you're young, Sir, and besides, know probably little
or nothing of me. Who are you, Sir, who thus think fit to address me,
who am by blood and education as good a gentleman as any alive? The
inducements you are pleased to offer--you may address elsewhere--they
are not for me. I shall forget your imprudence, and answer frankly any
questions, within my knowledge, you please to ask.'

Mervyn bowed apologetically, and a silence ensued; after which he thus
availed himself of his host's permission to question him--

'You mentioned Irons, the clerk, Mr. Dangerfield, and said that he sees
Charles Archer. Do you mean it?'

'Why, thus I mean it. He _thinks_ he sees him; but, if he does, upon my
honour, he sees a ghost,' and Dangerfield chuckled merrily.

'Pray, Mr. Dangerfield, consider me, and be serious, and in Heaven's
name explain,' said Mervyn, speaking evidently in suppressed anguish.

'Why, you know--don't you? the poor fellow's not quite right here,' and
he tapped the centre of his own towering forehead with the delicate tip
of his white middle finger. 'I've seen a little of him; he's an angler,
so am I; and he showed me the fishing of the river, here, last summer,
and often amused me prodigiously. He's got some such very odd maggots! I
don't say, mind ye, he's _mad_, there are many degrees, and he's quite a
competent parish clerk. He's only wrong on a point or two, and one of
them is Charles Archer. I believe for a while he thought _you_ were he;
and Dangerfield laughed his dry, hard chuckle.

'Where, Sir, do you suppose Charles Archer is now to be found?' urged
Mervyn.

'Why, what remains of him, in Florence,' answered Dangerfield.

'You speak, Sir, as if you thought him dead.'

'Think? I know he's dead. I knew him but three weeks, and visited him in
his sickness--was in his room half an hour before he died, and attended
his funeral,' said Dangerfield.

'I implore of you, Sir, as you hope for mercy, don't trifle in this
matter,' cried Mervyn, whose face was white, like that of a man