e
was drawn in the right place, excluding as it did any reference to the
rout of Mrs. Venables, and indeed all details whatsoever.

The butler, however, and in a less degree the footman, presented a
rather interesting study during the course of this momentous meal, had
the professional observer present been only a little less concerned for
his hostess. The butler was a pompous but capable creature, whom Steel
had engaged when he bought the place. Though speedily reduced to a more
respectful servitude than he was accustomed to, the man had long since
ceased to complain of his situation, which carried with it the highest
wages and all arbitrary powers over his subordinates. On the steps, at
her deferred departure, Mrs. Venables had screamed the secret of his
mistress's identity into the butler's ear. The butler had risen with
dignity to the occasion, and, after a brief interview, resigned on the
spot with all his men. The mild interest was in the present behavior of
these gentry, which was a rich blend of dignity and depression, and
betrayed a growing doubt as to whether the sinking ship, that they had
been so eager to abandon, was really sinking after all.

Certainly the master's manner could not have been very different at the
head of his table as originally laid. It was not festive, it was neither
unnaturally jocular nor showy in any way, but it was delightfully
confident and serene. And the mistress was as calm in her way, though
for once hers was the colder way, and it was the opinion of the pantry
that she felt more than she showed; without a doubt Mrs. Woodgate had
more work to restrain, now her tears for Rachel, and now her consuming
indignation with the absentees.

"Your wife feels it as much as mine," said Steel to the vicar, when the
gentlemen were alone at last; and one of them could have struck him for
the speech, one who had insight and could feel himself.

"I wouldn't go so far as that," the good vicar rejoined. "But Morna
feels it dreadfully. Dreadfully she feels it!"

"I almost wish we had kept the table as it was," pursued Steel over his
cigar, "and had one of those flash-light photographs taken, as they do
at all the twopenny banquets nowadays. All that was left of them--left
of six-and-twenty!"

His flippant tone made Langholm writhe, and drove him into the
conversation to change its tenor. He asked by whom the evil had come.
"Surely not the judge?"

"No," said Steel, with emphasis. "Not that I