Which was more than Agatha did. She could not make him out at all. The wandering eye, dulled with more than mere age--for it had been his pride that the Harper eye always sparkled to the last; the accidental twitches about the mouth, which hung loosely, and seemed unable to control its muscles; above all, the extraordinary and sudden lapse of a memory which had hitherto been wonderful for his years. There was something not right, some hidden wheel broken or locked in the mysterious mechanism that we call human life. Agatha felt uneasy. She wished Nathanael had been at home: and began to consider whether some one--not herself--ought not to write and hint that his father did not seem quite well. Meanwhile, she closely watched the old man, who seemed this day to show her more kindness and attention than ever,--there was no mistaking that. He kept her constantly at his side, talking to her with marked courtesy. Once she saw his eyes--those poor, dull, restless eyes, fixed on her with an expression that was quite unaccountable. Going in to dinner, his step, which began measured and stately, suddenly tottered. Agatha caught his arm. “You are not well--I am sure of it.” “Indeed!” said Mr. Grimes, who was following close behind, with the very reluctant Miss Mary towering over his petty head. “No wonder that Mr. Harper is not quite well to-day.” The Squire swerved aside, like an old steed goaded by the whip, then rose to his full height, which was taller than either of his sons--the Harpers of ancient time were a lofty generation. “Mr. Grimes, I assure you I am quite well. Will you do me the honour to cease your anxiety about me, and lead in my daughter to her seat?” Grimes passed on--quenched. There was something in “the grand old name of gentleman” that threw around its owner an atmosphere in which plebeian intruders could not breathe. “A person, Agatha,” whispered the Squire, as his eyes, bright with something of their old glow, followed the evidently objectionable guest--“A person to whom I show civility for the sake of--of my family.” Agatha assented, though not quite certain to what. Scanning Mr. Grimes more narrowly, she faintly remembered him, and the unpleasant, nasal-toned voice which had gabbled through her marriage settlement. She wondered what he had come to Nathanael for?--why Nathanael's father paid him such attention? On her part, the sensation of dislike, unaccountable yet instinctive dislike, was so strong, that it would have been a real satisfaction to her mind if the footmen, instead of respectfully handing Mr. Grimes his soup, had handed himself out at the dining-room window.