oment, and drew the
same conclusion. Mr. May was in possession of the _parole_, as the
French say, and he added instinctively in an undertone,

"Take care; if I were you I would not try him too far."

Mr. Copperhead said nothing; but he stared too, rather aghast at this
new revelation. What! his porcelain, his Dresden figure of a son, his
crowning curiosity, was _he_ going to show a will of his own? The despot
felt a thrill go over him. What kind of a sentiment love was in his mind
it would be hard to tell; but his pride was all set on this heavy boy.
To see him a man of note, in Parliament, his name in the papers, his
speeches printed in the "Times," was the very heaven of his
expectations. "Son of the famous Copperhead, the great contractor." He
did not care about such distinction in his own person; but this had
been his dream ever since Clarence came into being. And now there he
stood gloomy, obdurate. If he had made up his mind to make a low
marriage, could his father hinder him--could anything hinder him? Mr.
Copperhead looked at his son and quailed for the first time in his life.

"May," he said, hurriedly, "do the best you can; he's got all his
mother's d----d obstinacy, you can see, can't you? but I've set my heart
on making a man of him--do the best you can."

Mr. May thought to himself afterwards if he had only had the vigour to
say, "Pay me six months in advance," the thing would have been done. But
the lingering prejudices of breeding clung about him, and he could not
do it. Mr. Copperhead, however, was very friendly all the rest of the
day, and gave him private looks and words aside, to the great admiration
of the Dorsets, to whom the alliance between them appeared remarkable
enough.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A CATASTROPHE.

Mr. May left the Hall before dinner, notwithstanding the warm invitation
which was given to him to stay. He was rather restless, and though it
was hard to go out into the dark just as grateful odours began to steal
through the house, it suited him better to do so than to spend the night
away from home. Besides, he comforted himself that Sir Robert's cook was
not first-rate, not good enough to make it a great temptation. It was a
long walk to the station, for they had no horses at liberty to drive
him, a fact at which he was slightly offended, though he was aware that
Sir Robert's stable was but a poor one. He set out just as the
dressing-bell began to ring, fortified with a glass