ants to fight un, but my dame she is timorous, and
won't let us, because of the laayer. And th' upshot is, this here
Richard Bassett is master after a manner, and comes on the very lawn,
and brings men with a pole measure, and uses the place as his'n mostly;
but our Joe bides in the Hall with his gun, and swears he'll shoot him
if he sets foot in the house. Joe says he have my lady's leave and
license so to do, but not outside."

Sir Charles turned very red, and was breathless with indignation.

Dr. Suaby looked uneasy, and said, "Control yourself, sir.'"

"I am not going to control _myself,"_ cried Rolfe, in a rage. "Don't
you take it to heart, Sir Charles. It shall not last long."

"Ah!"

"Dr. Suaby, can you lend me a gig or a dog-cart, with a good horse?"

"Yes. I have got a WONDERFUL roadster, half Irish, half Norman."

"Then, Mr. Moss, to-morrow you and I go to Huntercombe: you shall show
me this Bassett, and we will give him a pill."

"Meantime," said Dr. Suaby, "I take a leaf out of your Medicina laici,
and prescribe a hearty supper, a quart of ale, and a comfortable bed to
Mr. Moss. James, see him well taken care of. Poor man!" said he, when
Moss had retired. "What simplicity! what good sense! what ignorance of
the world! what feudality, if I may be allowed the expression."

Sir Charles was manifestly discomposed, and retired to bed early.

Rolfe drove off with Moss at eight o'clock, and was not seen again all
day. Indeed, Sir Charles was just leaving Dr. Suaby's room when he came
in rather tired, and would not say a word till they gave him a cup of
tea: then he brightened up and told his story.

"We went to the railway to meet Sharpe. The muff did not come nor send
by the first train. His clerk arrived by the second. We went to
Huntercombe village together, and on the road I gave him some special
instructions. Richard Bassett not at home. We used a little bad
language and threw out a skirmisher--Moss, to wit--to find him. Moss
discovered him on your lawn, planning a new arrangement of the flower
beds, with Wheeler looking over the boundary wall.

"We went up to Bassett, and the clerk served his copy of the writ. He
took it quite coolly; but when he saw at whose suit it was he turned
pale. He recovered himself directly, though, and burst out laughing.
'Suit of Sir Charles Bassett. Why, he can't sue: he is civiliter
mortuus: mad as a March hare: in confinement.' Clerk told him he was
mistaken; Sir Ch