As one is very much accustomed to do in conversing with one in whom we have little confidence, and with whom we have few sources of feeling in common, Charles Tyrrell pondered what he had heard in his own mind for some moments before he asked any explanation from his companion. When he had done so, however, and began to doubt, from what he knew of his father's nature, whether his first solution of the mystery was correct, he once more turned to his informant and demanded, "Pray what may be my father's purpose in this new arrangement, do you know?" "Ay, that you will learn hereafter," replied Mr. Driesen, with a sententious shake of the head, expressive of all the importance of a profound but not unpleasant secret. "Ay, that you will learn hereafter; but you must hear that from your father himself." Charles Tyrrell had a potent aversion to mysteries of every kind, and an avowed animosity, not a little mingled with contempt, for those who made them unnecessarily. To Mr. Driesen's answer, then, he offered not the slightest rejoinder; and, unwilling to gratify him by letting him see that his curiosity was excited in the least degree, he instantly turned the conversation to some indifferent subject, talked of the weather and the high road, the old heavy Blue coach and the horses that drew it, and of anything, in short, but that in regard to which he was really inclined to inquire. In the mean while the coach rolled on, and bore him nearer and nearer to his home. At one particular point the road commanded a view of the old manor-house; and Charles, looking out of the window, saw it gleaming out from among the trees. Though it was lost again almost instantly, and he could catch none of the particulars, there was an indefinable look of freshness about it, an air of renovation, which showed him that it was greatly changed. A little farther on, the coach rolled past the lodge, and it, too, had undergone improvement; but that was not all. There was a servant in mourning livery standing at the gate, and looking out at the pretty country scene before his eyes with an expression which seemed to show that the whole scene was new to him. The suit which he wore showed that he was not a servant of Sir Francis Tyrrell; but Charles saw the small, keen black eyes of Mr. Driesen wandering over his face, and he took no more notice than if the servant had been a post at the gate of some house which he had never seen before. About three quarters of a mile farther the coach stopped at the lodge of the Park, and Charles Tyrrell and his companion alighted, leaving the inside passengers to tell strange stories of the violent temper and uncontrollable passions which were considered in that neighbourhood as a part of the inheritance of the Tyrrell family.