."

"Very like; meantime, your losses to-night to my Lord Etherington are no
trifle, and no secret neither."

"Mr. Touchwood, I desire to know where you had your information?" said
Mowbray.

"A matter of very little consequence compared to its truth or falsehood,
Mr. Mowbray," answered the old gentleman.

"But of the last importance to me, sir," said Mowbray. "In a word, had
you such information by or through means of Lord Etherington?--Answer me
this single question, and then I shall know better what to think on the
subject."

"Upon my honour," said Touchwood, "I neither had my information from
Lord Etherington directly nor indirectly. I say thus much to give you
satisfaction, and I now expect you will hear me with patience."

"Forgive me, sir," interrupted Mowbray, "one farther question. I
understand something was said in disparagement of my sister just as I
entered the tea-room?"

"Hem--hem--hem!" said Touchwood, hesitating. "I am sorry your ears have
served you so well--something there _was_ said lightly, something that
can be easily explained, I dare say;--And now, Mr. Mowbray, let me speak
a few serious words with you."

"And now, Mr. Touchwood, we have no more to say to each other--good
evening to you."

He brushed past the old man, who in vain endeavoured to stop him, and,
hurrying to the stable, demanded his horse. It was ready saddled, and
waited his orders; but even the short time that was necessary to bring
it to the door of the stable was exasperating to Mowbray's impatience.
Not less exasperating was the constant interceding voice of Touchwood,
who, in tones alternately plaintive and snappish, kept on a string of
expostulations.

"Mr. Mowbray, only five words with you--Mr. Mowbray, you will repent
this--Is this a night to ride in, Mr. Mowbray?--My stars, sir, if you
would but have five minutes' patience!"

Curses, not loud but deep, muttered in the throat of the impatient
laird, were the only reply, until his horse was brought out, when,
staying no farther question, he sprung into the saddle. The poor horse
paid for the delay, which could not be laid to his charge. Mowbray
struck him hard with his spurs so soon as he was in his seat--the noble
animal reared, bolted, and sprung forward like a deer, over stock and
stone, the nearest road--and we are aware it was a rough one--to
Shaws-Castle. There is a sort of instinct by which horses perceive the
humour of their riders, and are furious and im