But Mr. Driesen did not appear to hear him, and retired with the same steady step. He closed the door after him, and father and son were left alone. What followed nobody has ever known. The gamekeepers came out and took their posts in the hall at the appointed time; the butler lingered about to open the door for Master Charles, whom he had loved from his infancy, and to give him his hat, and gloves, and gun; and Lady Tyrrell's footman, who had been sent down with a small note from her to her son, on finding that he was with Sir Francis, lingered beside the butler in the vestibule. At first the conversation between Sir Francis and his son, whatever might be its nature, did not make itself heard beyond the precincts of the library; but gradually the voices of both were heard rising louder and louder, in that fierce fiery tone that could not be mistaken. The voice of Sir Francis became a shout, and the deep tones of Charles were heard replying like distant thunder. The servants looked at each other with dread and apprehension; for although but too often they had heard and witnessed the angry contentions which arose in that family, there seemed to be a deep conviction upon all of them that this was something more serious, more terrible than ever before occurred. The butler could resist it no longer, and put his ear to the key-hole. "Good God!" he cried, after listening for a moment; "run, William, to Mr. Driesen; ask him to come here, for God's sake; for I am afraid of mischief. Tell him there has never been anything like this in the house before." The man obeyed instantly; but before Mr. Driesen appeared, though to do him justice, he made as much speed as possible, the door of the library was thrown back, as if the hand that opened it would have dashed it from its hinges, and Charles Tyrrell appeared, as pale as death, with the exception of a small red spot in the centre of either cheek. The voice of Sir Francis Tyrrell was heard screaming after him, at the very highest pitch of passion; but the only words which were distinct were something about "Your father." They caught his son's ears, and instantly made him turn with flashing eyes and a quivering lip. "My father!" he exclaimed, "do you call yourself my father, after the words you have just spoken? Out upon it!" And snatching his hat, gloves, and gun from the servant, he rushed forth into the open air. The freshness seemed in a degree to recall him to himself, and seeing the gamekeepers following him with the dogs, he paused upon the lawn, saying, "Not to-day--not to-day; I shall not want you--I have no time left," and he dashed into the wood along the path, that very path which we have described in the beginning of this work, and which, some way farther on, divided into two, leading to the long walk of beech-trees, called the ladies' walk, on one hand, and to the walled kitchen garden in the middle of the wood, on the other.