o to wreck. The house was of weather-streaked white stone, in part
staring and pretentious, in part prodigal and vagabondish. The
drawing-room of Newton-le-Moor, like most drawing-rooms, was a
commentary--more or less complete--on the life and character of its
owner. If it did not represent all his practices and pursuits--his
repudiation of just claims and obligations; his sleeping till noon and
waking till morning, and faring sumptuously at his neighbours' expense;
his fleecing of every victim who crossed his false door by borrowing,
bill-discounting, horse-dealing, betting, billiards, long and short
whist, and brandy-drinking--at least it painted one little peculiarity
of John Fitzwilliam Baring very fairly. Not one accessory which could
contribute to his comfort and enjoyment was wanting, from the
exceedingly easy chair for his back, to the alabaster lamp for his
eyes, and the silver pastile-burner for his nose. On the other hand,
there was scarcely an article that had no special reference to John
Fitzwilliam Baring which was not in the last stages of decay.

On this evening, before Gervase Norgate came up with her father from the
dining-room, where he might sit too long, considering who was waiting
him, Diana had her tea-table arranged, and sat down behind it as if to
do its honours. She showed no symptoms of discomposure, unless that her
rose-colour flickered and flushed in a manner that was not natural to
it; yet she had so entrenched herself, that when Gervase Norgate
entered, with an irregular, unsteady step, although as nearly sober as
he ever was, she could not be touched except at arm's length, and by the
tips of the fingers, over which he bowed.

Mr. Norgate was not in his flower and prime. He was not above a year or
two Miss Baring's senior; but his whole being had suffered eclipse
before it reached maturity, though he still showed some remains of what
might have been worth preserving. His physique had been what no word
interprets so fitly as the Scotch word "braw,"--not huge and unwieldy in
size and strength, but manly and comely. His shoulders were still broad,
though they slouched. His hand and arm were still a model, somewhat
wasted and shaken, of what in muscular power and lightness a hand and
arm should be. His dark brown hair, dry and scanty at five-and-twenty,
still fell in waves. His eyes, dulled and dimmed, were still the kindly,
magnanimous, forgiving blue eyes. His mouth had always been a heavy