Hugh got up uneasily. A mirror hung on the wall in front of him, and he stood and looked vacantly into it. His thoughts wandered, and when a gleam of consciousness returned the first object that he saw was the reflection of his own face. It was full of light and expression. Perhaps it wore a ghostly smile. He turned away from the sight impatiently. Sitting down again he tried to compose himself. Point by point he revolved the situation. He thought of what the lawyer had said of his deserted wife and lost son of Lowther. Then, taking out of an inner pocket the medallion that Mr. Bonnithorne had lent him, he looked at it long and earnestly. The inspection seemed to afford a grim satisfaction. There could be no doubt now of the ghostly smile that played upon his face. There was a tall antique clock in the corner of the hall. It struck eight. The slow beats of the bell echoed chillily in the hushed apartment. The hour awakened the consciousness of the brooding man. At eight o'clock Mr. Bonnithorne was appointed to be there to make the will. Hugh Ritson touched gently a hand-bell that stood on the table. A servant entered. "Send Natt to me," said Hugh. A moment later the stableman shambled into the hall. He was a thick-set young fellow with a short neck and a full face, and eyelids that hung deep over a pair of cunning eyes. At first sight one would have said that the rascal was only half awake; at the second glance, that he was never asleep. Hugh received him with a show of cordiality. "Ah, Natt, come here--closer." The man walked across. Hugh dropped his voice. "Go down to Little Town and find Mr. Bonnithorne. You may meet him on the way. If not, he will be at the Flying Horse. Tell him I sent you to say that Adam Fallow lies dying at Bigrigg, and must see him at once. You understand?" The man lifted his slumberous eyelids. A suspicious twinkle lurked beneath them. He glanced around, then down at his big, grimy boots, measured with one uplifted hand the altitude of the bump on the top of his bullet head, and muttered, "I understand." Hugh's face darkened. "Silence!" he said, sternly; and then he met Natt's upward glance with a faint smile. "When you come back, get yourself out of the way--do you hear?" The heavy eyelids went up once more. "I hear." "Then be off!" The fellow was shuffling away. "Natt," said Hugh, following him a step, "you fancied that new whip of mine; take it. You'll find it in the porch." A smile crossed Natt's face from ear to ear. He stumbled out. Hugh Ritson returned to the hearth. That haunting mirror caught the light of his eyes again and showed that he too was smiling. At the same instant there came from the inner room the dull, dead sound of a deep sob. It banished the smile and made him pause. He looked at the reflection of his face--could it be the face of a scoundrel? Was he playing a base part? No, he was merely asserting his rights; his plain legal rights--nothing more.