It was the young man, by name Frank Hartleton, who had been so curious and suspicious at the period of the great storm at Learmont, when the wing of the building, in which was the smithy, had been burnt down. The recognition was evidently mutual; indeed, no one who had once seen Learmont could easily again forget him; and, although a great personal change had taken place in the appearance of Hartleton, yet the features of all who had taken any part in the proceedings of that eventful night at the little village of Learmont were too indelibly impressed upon the memory of the squire for him to find any difficulty in recognising in the staid, and somewhat grave, gentleman person before him, the Frank Hartleton who had always held him at open defiance and laughed at his power. Hartleton stopped short when he saw Learmont; and his first exclamation was,— “This is strange, indeed!” “Sir,” said Learmont, “did you address me?” “Scarcely,” replied Hartleton; “but your name is Learmont?” “Well, sir?” replied the other with considerable hauteur. “Do you know me, Squire Learmont?” “I recognised the features, and know the names of many, sir,” said Learmont, “that still are not upon my roll of friends or acquaintances.” “You do know me,” said Hartleton, “I have no desire to be rude to you, Squire Learmont; but our sudden meeting took me somewhat by surprise, and the exclamation that I uttered arose from the curious coincidence that I have been all night dreaming of you and the village of Learmont, and was in deep thought about the mysterious occurrences that took place three years ago when I suddenly came upon you.” If his hatred and dread of Hartleton would have induced Learmont to treat him in such a manner that he could not address him, his guilty fears urged him to prolong the conversation, in order to discover, if possible, the complexion of Hartleton’s thoughts with regard to him, that he might know if he had anything really to dread from that quarter. It was, therefore, with more courtesy that he said,— “The coincidences are curious. I—I believe I speak to Sir Francis Hartleton now?” “Yes,” replied Hartleton; “I was, you recollect, destined for the law, which my small patrimony just enabled me to enter with credit. I am now a justice, and a knight, as you say.” “I give you joy, sir, of your advancement,” said Learmont. “You are very kind,” replied Hartleton, fixing his eyes upon the countenance of Learmont in a manner that it required all the firmness of the latter not to quail under. “Might I presume so far,” said Learmont, “as to ask, what were the thoughts concerning me that engaged Sir Francis Hartleton even now?” “I was thinking of the mysterious man,” said Hartleton, “who rushed with such wild gestures and shrieks from the burning house.” Learmont strove to command his features to indifference; but, the effort was almost beyond his power, and he spoke to endeavour to cover his agitation.