There was a sound of a soft tread on the floor behind him, and a smooth, liquid baritone voice broke the reverie. "Well, my old friend, so you have decided to return my call." The squire almost leaped to his feet, for, lost in his thoughts, the voice startled him. "Zounds! Sir James, you come in like a spirit." Perhaps there were not two men in the whole kingdom of such a contrast as Sir James and the squire of Trembath Manor. The latter was a perfect picture of the gentleman of the olden school. His hair, silvery white, curled in ringlets over his forehead. His face was a sturdy English one, smooth, round, rubicund and pleasant, and yet with a dignity peculiarly its own. He was stoutly built and as he stood switching his Wellington boots with his riding whip, a close student would say, "Here is a man easily imposed upon, but when that imposture stood revealed what a hot, indignant enemy he would make!" Honesty, frankness, integrity, were stamped all over the old squire's frame. Sir James was just the opposite in many respects. He was tall, dark, and sallow of countenance. A hooked nose, like the beak of an eagle, overhung a mouth that was firm and thin-lipped. His eyes, that were the strangest feature about him, were dark and had an unsteady, shifting light in them. He was clad in the conventional broadcloth tail-coat and trowsers of the same material. A man of the world, having felt the pulse of national life, he was generally cool, calm, and self-possessed. With the remark above mentioned, he came forward and his own pale, slim hand was grasped by the strong, brown one of the squire. "Welcome to Lanyan Hall. It is not often we have the pleasure of entertaining such an old friend of the family; and how are all things at the Manor? Mistress Alice, is she well?" "My Allie is tolerable well, but of her--more anon. It is of other matters, not so well, in which I want your advice." "Ah--and what is wrong? The rents not paid, failure of your tin mine, or has Midnight Jack been making some depredations on your hen roosts or sheep-folds?" "Well," rejoined the squire, as he once more seated himself beside the fire, his friend having done likewise, "as to Wheal Whimble tin mine, things are moving steadily, but the new shaft is costing a heap of money. The rockmen dull six or seven jumpers before they can make much of an impression in drilling a hole, and though they receive ten pounds a foot, yet say they can't make a living. I don't see how I am going to come out of it. As to rents, they have all been paid but Farmer Samson's, but quite a few of his sheep were taken with the murrain, and one must give a man a chance when he's honest." "And about Midnight Jack?"