egan on a note of joyful surprise, sliding at once
into one of alarm. He stood and stared at this ghost of the old Rector.

Elsmere grasped his hand, and asked him to take him into the dining-room
and give him some wine before announcing him. Vincent ministered to him
with a long face, pressing all the alcoholic resources of the Hall upon
him in turn. The Squire was much better, he declared, had been carried
down to the library.

'But, lor, sir, there ain't much to be said for your looks
neither--seems as if London didn't suit you, sir.'

Elsmere explained feebly that he had been suffering from his throat, and
had overtired himself by walking over the common. Then, recognizing
from a distorted vision of himself in a Venetian mirror hanging by, that
something of his natural color had returned to him, he rose and bade
Vincent announce him.

'And Mrs. Darcy?' he asked, as they stopped out into the hall again.

'Oh, Mrs. Darcy, sir, she's very well,' said the man, but, as it seemed
to Robert with something of an embarrassed air.

He followed Vincent down the long passage--haunted by old memories,
by the old sickening sense of mental anguish--to the curtained door.
Vincent ushered him in. There was a stir of feet, and a voice, but at
first he saw nothing. The room was very much darkened. Then Meyrick
emerged into distinctness.

'Squire, here is Mr. Elsmere! Well, Mr. Elsmere, sir, I'm sure we're
very much obliged to you for meeting the Squire's wishes so promptly.
You'll find him poorly, Mr. Elsmere, but mendin--oh yes, mending,
sir--no doubt of it.'

Elsmere began to perceive a figure by the fire. A bony hand was advanced
to him out of the gloom.

'That'll do, Meyrick. You won't be wanted till the evening.'

The imperious note in the voice struck Robert with a sudden sense of
relief. After all, the Squire was still capable of trampling on Meyrick.

In another minute the door had closed on the old doctor, and the two men
were alone. Robert was beginning to get used to the dim light. Out of
it, the Squire's face gleamed almost as whitely as the tortured marble
of the Medusa just above their heads.

'It's some inflammation in the eyes,' the Squire explained briefly,
'that's made Meyrick set up all this d----d business of blinds and
shutters. I don't mean to stand it much longer. The eyes are better, and
I prefer to see my way out of the world, if possible.'

'But you are recovering?' Robert said, laying his hand