Having arranged that they should meet again as early as possible after her visit to the madhouse, Colin took his farewell of Fanny; and, on quitting the house, proceeded immediately in the direction of the old hall of Kiddal, with the intention of carrying out another part of his plan. CHAPTER VIII. _Colin seeks an interview with Squire Lupton. An unexpected adventure takes place, which raises him to the station of a hero, and promises great things to come._ When Colin arrived at Kiddal Hall, Mr. Lupton was quietly reposing himself on a small couch placed near the widely-opened window of his drawing-room, and inhaling the fragrance of the great “wicked weed” from a long Turkish pipe, whose voluminous folds lay like a sleeping serpent on the ground beside him. At some distance from him, close to the door, and unperceived by the squire, stood an individual of short stature, dressed in a coat that reached nearly to his knees; inexpressibles that descended to the same point, blue worsted stockings, and laced-up boots. His hat was placed upon its crown on the floor beside him, as though the owner, in so disposing of it, meditated a stay of some duration. “Is that Mr. Lupton?” demanded a gruff voice. “Who the d----l is that?” exclaimed the squire, puffing the smoke away from his mouth, and looking eagerly in the direction whence the voice proceeded. “Nay--nay, now!” was the reply he received, “it signifies nothing to you who _I_ am, for if a man gets justice done him for his crimes, what can it matter to him whose hand does it?” “How did you come in here, fellow?” again asked the squire. “Never mind asking me how I got here,” replied the little old man; “that is my business and not yours. I _am_ here, and that is enough.” “But, what are you?--who are you?--for what purpose have you come here?” “Well--well! if you ask me what I am, I can tell you; I am _a father_. And, if I were to tell you what you are, sir, I should say you are an unprincipled man, and unworthy of your station: a man that, because he has power in his hands, can insult poverty, and betray it to ruin, under the pretence of doing it a service. Does your recollection extend as far back as sixteen or eighteen years ago?” Instead of answering this question, Mr. Lup-ton laid aside his pipe, rose from his seat, and advanced towards the little man in the middle of the room, extending his hand in an authoritative manner. “Come, come, fellow! go away. Save me the trouble of putting you out.” “_You_ put _me_ out, sir!” tauntingly replied his strange visiter; “it is more than you dare undertake to do if all your servants were about you; and, as it is, remember there is not one. Keep your hands off me, or I shall make you repent it. You have touched too much of my blood already; and now I have called for some of yours. Look to yourself. I 'll be fair with you.”