a little this way and that,
letting them return, as they stiffly did, to their former attitude, "you
may be sure that the poor gentleman was quite dead by the time he
arrived here. So, since he was laid there, nothing has been lost by
delay. And, Sir Bale, if you have any directions to send to Golden
Friars, sir, I shall be most happy to undertake your message."

"Nothing, thanks; it is a melancholy ending, poor fellow! You must come
to the study with me, Doctor Torvey, and talk a little bit more;
and--very sad, doctor--and you must have a glass of sherry, or some
port--the port used not to be bad here; I don't take it--but very
melancholy it is--bring some port and sherry; and, Mrs. Julaper, you'll
be good enough to see that everything that should be done here is looked
to; and let Marlin and the men have supper and something to drink. You
have been too long in your wet clothes, Marlin."

So, with gracious words all round, he led the Doctor to the library
where he had been sitting, and was affable and hospitable, and told him
his own version of all that had passed between him and Philip Feltram,
and presented himself in an amiable point of view, and pleased the
Doctor with his port and flatteries--for he could not afford to lose
anyone's good word just now; and the Doctor was a bit of a gossip, and
in most houses in that region, in one character or another, every three
months in the year.

So in due time the Doctor drove back to Golden Friars, with a high
opinion of Sir Bale, and higher still of his port, and highest of all of
himself: in the best possible humour with the world, not minding the
storm that blew in his face, and which he defied in good-humoured
mock-heroics spoken in somewhat thick accents, and regarding the thunder
and lightning as a lively gala of fireworks; and if there had been a
chance of finding his cronies still in the George and Dragon, he would
have been among them forthwith, to relate the tragedy of the night, and
tell what a good fellow, after all, Sir Bale was; and what a fool, at
best, poor Philip Feltram.

But the George was quiet for that night. The thunder rolled over
voiceless chambers; and the lights had been put out within the windows,
on whose multitudinous small panes the lightning glared. So the Doctor
went home to Mrs. Torvey, whom he charmed into good-humoured curiosity
by the tale of wonder he had to relate.

Sir Bale's qualms were symptomatic of something a little less subl