orld of art, Waife was
gone--nothing left of him;--the part lived as if there were no actor to
it;--it was the Fool--it was Lear.

For the first time Darrell felt what a grand creature a grand actor
really is--what a luminous, unconscious critic bringing out beauties of
which no commentator ever dreamed! When the reading was over, talk
still flowed; the gloomy old hearth knew the charm of a home circle. All
started incredulous when the clock struck one. Just as Sophy was passing
to the door, out from behind the window curtain glared a vindictive,
spiteful eye. Fairthorn made a move at her, which 'tis a pity Waife did
not see--it would have been a study for Caliban. She uttered a little
scream.

"What's the matter?" cried the host.

"Nothing," said she quickly--far too generous to betray the hostile
oddities of the musician. "Sir Isaac was in my way--that was all."

"Another evening we must have Fairthorn's flute," said Darrell. "What a
pity he was not here to-night!--he would have enjoyed such reading--no
one more."

Said Mrs. Morley, "He was here once or twice during the evening; but he
vanished!"

"Vanishing seems his forte," said George.

Darrell looked annoyed. It was his peculiarity to resent any jest,
however slight, against an absent friend; and at that moment his heart
was perhaps more warmed towards Dick Fairthorn than to any man living.
If he had not determined to be as amiable and mild towards his guests
as his nature would permit, probably George might have had the flip of
a sarcasm which would have tingled for a month. But as it was, Darrell
contented himself with saying gravely:

"No, George; Fairthorn's foible is vanishing; his forte is fidelity. If
my fortune were to vanish, Fairthorn would never disappear; and that's
more than I would say if I were a King, and Fairthorn--a Bishop!"

After that extraordinary figure of speech, "Good-nights" were somewhat
hastily exchanged; and Fairthorn was left; behind the curtain with
feelings towards all his master's guests as little, it is to be hoped,
like those of a Christian Bishop towards his fellow-creatures, as they
possibly could be.

CHAPTER VII.

"Domus et placens Uxor."

FAIRTHORN FINDS NOTHING _PLACENS_ IN THE _UXOR_, TO WHOM _DOMUS_ IS
INDEBTED FOR ITS DESTRUCTION.

Another day! Lionel is expected to arrive an hour or two after noon.
Darrell is in his room--his will once more before him. He has drawn up a
rough co