morrow; don't
forget."

Sir John bit his knightly lip, but answered, smiling, that he would
remember, and begging George not to ring, as his trap was at the hall-
door, and the servant waiting, he bade an affectionate good-night to
Arthur, to whom he expressed a hope that they would soon meet again,
and let himself out of the room. But, as soon as the door was closed,
he went through another performance exceedingly inappropriate in a
knight. Turning round, his smug face red with anger, he pirouetted on
his toes, and shook his fist violently in the direction of the door.

"You scoundrel!" he said between his teeth, "you have made a fool of
me for twenty years, and I have been obliged to grin and bear it; but
I will be even with you yet, and her too, more especially her."

So soon as Sir John had left, Arthur told his host that, if the
morning was fine, he proposed to go and fish in Bratham Lake, and that
he also proposed to take his departure by the last train on the
following evening. To these propositions George offered no objection--
indeed, they were distinctly agreeable to him, as lessening the time
he would be forced to spend in the society of a guest he cordially
detested, for such was the feeling that he had conceived towards
Arthur.

Then they parted for the night; but, before he left the room, George
went to lock up the safe that was still open in the corner. Struck by
some thought, he unlocked the separate compartment with a key that
hung on his watch-chain, and extracted therefrom a thick and neatly
folded packet of letters. Drawing out one or two, he glanced through
them and replaced them.

"Oh! Lady Anne, Lady Anne," he said to himself as he closed the case,
"you are up in the world now, and you aspire to rule the county
society, and have both the wealth and the wit to do it; but you must
not kick over the traces, or I shall be forced to suppress you, Lady
Anne, though you are the wife of a Brummagem knight, and I think that
it is time you had a little reminder. You are growing a touch too
independent."

CHAPTER XIX

Arthur's sleep was oppressed that night by horrible nightmares of
fighting dogs, whereof the largest and most ferocious was fitted with
George's red head, the effect of which, screwed, without any eye to
the fitness of things, to the body of the deceased Snarleyow, struck
him as peculiarly disagreeable. He himself was armed with a gun, and
whilst he wa