with amazement. The phrases quoted told their own
tale; they were plainly from the shyster's mint. A few hours back I had
seen him a mere bedlamite and fit for a strait-waistcoat; he was
penniless in a strange country; it was highly probable he had gone
without breakfast; the absence of Norris must have been a crushing blow;
the man (by all reason) should have been despairing. And now I heard of
him, clothed and in his right mind, deliberate, insinuating, admiring
vistas, smelling flowers, and talking like a book. The strength of
character implied amazed and daunted me.

"This is curious," I said to the under-gardener; "I have had the
pleasure of some acquaintance with Mr. Carthew myself; and I believe
none of our western friends ever were in England. Who can this person
be? He couldn't--no, that's impossible, he could never have had the
impudence. His name was not Bellairs?"

"I didn't 'ear the name, sir. Do you know anything against him?" cried
my guide.

"Well," said I, "he is certainly not the person Carthew would like to
have here in his absence."

"Good gracious me!" exclaimed the gardener. "He was so pleasant-spoken
too; I thought he was some form of a schoolmaster. Perhaps, sir, you
wouldn't mind going right up to Mr. Denman? I recommended him to Mr.
Denman, when he had done the grounds. Mr. Denman is our butler, sir," he
added.

The proposal was welcome, particularly as affording me a graceful
retreat from the neighbourhood of the Carthew Chillinghams; and, giving
up our projected circuit, we took a short cut through the shrubbery and
across the bowling-green to the back quarters of the Hall.

The bowling-green was surrounded by a great hedge of yew, and entered by
an archway in the quick. As we were issuing from this passage, my
conductor arrested me.

"The Honourable Lady Ann Carthew," he said, in an august whisper. And
looking over his shoulder I was aware of an old lady with a stick,
hobbling somewhat briskly along the garden path. She must have been
extremely handsome in her youth; and even the limp with which she walked
could not deprive her of an unusual and almost menacing dignity of
bearing. Melancholy was impressed besides on every feature, and her
eyes, as she looked straight before her, seemed to contemplate
misfortune.

"She seems sad," said I, when she had hobbled past and we had resumed
our walk.

"She enjoy rather poor spirits, sir," responded the under-gardener. "Mr.
Carthew--the o