ow--not here!"

Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. He thought he had
detected a new motive for Randal's interest--a motive to an Italian the
most natural, the most laudable of all.

"Find the house, Signor--write to the Padrone. He shall come. I'll talk
to him. I can manage him. Holy San Giacomo bestir thyself now--'tis long
since I troubled thee!"

Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and muttering as
he went.

The first dinner-bell rang, and, on entering the drawing-room, Randal
found Parson Dale and his wife, who had been invited in haste to meet
the unexpected visitor.

The preliminary greetings over, Mr. Dale took the opportunity afforded
by the Squire's absence to inquire after the health of Mr. Egerton.

"He is always well," said Randal, "I believe he is made of iron."

"His heart is of gold," said the Parson.

"Ah!" said Randal, inquisitively, "you told me you had come in contact
with him once, respecting, I think, some of your old parishioners at
Lansmere?"

The Parson nodded, and there was a moment's silence.

"Do you remember your battle by the Stocks, Mr. Leslie?" said Mr. Dale
with a good-humored laugh.

"Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my old opponent in
London the first year I went up to it."

"You did! where?"

"At a literary scamp's--a cleverish man called Burley."

"Burley! I have seen some burlesque verses in Greek by a Mr. Burley."

"No doubt, the same person. He has disappeared--gone to the dogs, I dare
say. Burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at present."

"Well, but Leonard Fairfield?--you have seen him since?"

"No."

"Nor heard of him?"

"No!--have you?"

"Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason to believe that
he must be doing well."

"You surprise me! Why?"

"Because, two years ago, he sent for his mother. She went to him."

"Is that all?"

"It is enough; for he would not have sent for her if he could not
maintain her."

Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler announced
dinner.

The Squire was unusually taciturn--Mrs. Hazeldean thoughtful--Mrs. Dale
languid, and headachy. The Parson, who seldom enjoyed the luxury of
converse with a scholar, save when he quarrelled with Dr. Riccabocca,
was animated, by Randal's repute for ability, into a great desire for
argument.

"A glass of wine, Mr. Leslie. You were saying, before dinner, that
burlesque Greek is not a