Brandon Hall was one of the oldest and most magnificent of the great halls of England. As Brandon looked upon it it rose before him amidst the groves of six hundred years, its many-gabled roof rising out from amidst a sea of foliage, speaking of wealth, luxury, splendor, power, influence, and all that men hope for, or struggle for, or fight for; from all of which he and his had been cast out; and the one who had done this was even now occupying the old ancestral seat of his family. Brandon entered the gate, and walked up the long avenue till he reached the Hall. Here he rang the bell, and a servant appeared. “Is Mr. Potts at home?” “Yes,” said the man, brusquely. “I wish to see him.” “Who shall I say?” “Mr. Hendricks, from America.” The man showed him into the drawing-room. Brandon seated himself and waited. The room was furnished in the most elegant manner, most of the furniture being old, and all familiar to him. He took a hasty glance around, and closed his eyes as if to shut it all out from sight. In a short time a man entered. He appeared to be between fifty and sixty years of age, of medium size, broad-shouldered and stout. He had a thoroughly plebeian air; he was dressed in black, and had a bunch of large seals dangling from beneath his waistcoat. His face was round and fleshy, his eyes were small, and his head was bald. The general expression of his face was that of good-natured simplicity. As he caught sight of Brandon a frank smile of welcome arose on his broad, fat face. [Illustration: “YOU ARE, SIR. JOHN POTTS OF POTTS HALL.”] Brandon rose and bowed. “Am I addressing Mr. John Potts?” “You are, Sir. John Potts of Potts Hall.” “Potts of Potts Hall!” repeated Brandon. Then, drawing a card from his pocket he handed it to Potts. He had procured some of these in London. The card read as follows: BEAMISH & HENDRICKS, FLOUR MERCHANTS & PROVISION DEALERS, 88 FRONT STREET, CINCINNATI, OHIO. “I, Sir,” said Brandon, “am Mr. Hendricks, junior partner in Beamish & Hendricks, and I hope you are quite well.” “Very well, thank you,” answered Potts, smiling and sitting down. “I am happy to see you.” “Do you keep your health, Sir?” “Thank you, I do,” said Potts. “A touch of rheumatism at odd times, that’s all.” Brandon’s manner was stiff and formal, and his voice had assumed a slight nasal intonation. Potts had evidently looked on him as a perfect stranger. “I hope, Sir, that I am not taking up your valuable time. You British noblemen have your valuable time, I know, as well as we business men.” “No, Sir, no, Sir, not at all,” said Potts, evidently greatly delighted at being considered a British nobleman. “Well, Sir John--or is it my lord?” said Brandon, interrogatively, correcting himself, and looking inquiringly at Potts. “Sir John’ll do,” said Potts. “Well, Sir John. Being in England on business, I came to ask you a few questions about a matter of some importance to us.” “Proceed, Sir!” said Potts, with great dignity.