t seemed to him that this man would henceforth possess a
hold upon him, and assert himself upon the strength of his knowledge.

The baronet could hardly arrest a groan; but he sat there, stern and
immovable, fighting behind his mask of pride, to regain his composure
before again speaking.

"Let me know when her ladyship comes in--at least," he said, correcting
himself, "ask her if she will see me upon her return."

"Yes, Sir Murray."

"That will do. You can go," said the baronet, for the man still
lingered as if about to speak; but the next moment he made a low bow and
left the room.

As the door closed upon the servant, the strength which had been
sustained by Sir Murray's pride collapsed, and letting his head fall
upon his hands, he groaned bitterly. The lines in his face grew more
deeply marked; his lips became parched; and at last he rose from his
seat to pace the room with hasty strides, as he turned over and over the
thoughts that had flashed upon him.

Yes, she was often out; her old passion for botany had returned, and, it
had never struck him before, she did take long, very long walks. And
now it was all plain enough: he was the laughing-stock even of his
servants--he had read it in that man's eye. True, he might dismiss him,
but it was sure to be known throughout the house. But wait awhile; he
would not be rash and hasty; he would think matters over.

He smiled as he took his seat once more, but the smile faded into a look
of the most bitter misery, and, as he sat there hour after hour awaiting
Lady Gernon's return, years seemed to have passed over his head, and not
without leaving their marks.

Book 1, Chapter XIV.

MAN AND MAID.

"Curse him!" muttered Gurdon, as he left the room; "a purse-proud,
haughty brute! looks upon a servant as if he were a dog. I know him,
though--read him like a book--turn him inside out like a glove. Waited
on him, served him as I have all these years, and yet, because a man
can't help giving way just a trifle to his weakness, he's to be
threatened always with the sack. He won't send me away, though, not
he--he knows better. Read him like a book I can, and he knows it too.
Pride must have a fall, and he's full of it--running over with it. Just
as if one man wasn't as good as another. Discharge me, will he?
Perhaps I'll discharge myself before he has the chance. Sitting and
sulking there in his old library, day after day. I haven't forgotten
the old affair.