“And you’ll be safe out of my way, lad,” he murmured, softly, “and I shall lose my bright-faced boy--so much the better for him, so much the worse for me!” “My friend is something more than a gentleman,” answered Laurence Desmond. “He is a _preux chevalier_. He is the descendant of a noble old Spanish family--a Frenchman by birth and education, and half an Englishman by long residence in England. He lives in a picturesque old house near Windsor, and on the banks of the Thames; such a spot as one scarcely expects to see out of Creswick’s pictures. I don’t see much of him, for my life is too busy for friendship; and--and there are other reasons that keep us asunder,” added Mr. Desmond, with some slight embarrassment of manner. “Can you exist in the country, Mr. Thorburn?” he asked presently. “I love the country so well that I can scarcely exist in London, except for the sake of my uncle’s society.” “Which is about the worst thing you can have!” growled Daniel. “Ah! you are a poet, and a poet should live amongst lonely woods and sylvan streams. Well, you will be delighted with my friend, Theodore de Bergerac, and still more delighted with the place he lives in. I’ll write to him to-morrow, and tell him I’ve found the blue diamond of the nineteenth century, a young man who does not affect to be old. Can you go to him immediately?” “M. de Bergerac will no doubt wish to hear from my late employer, the principal of the Parthenée,” Eustace answered, after some hesitation. “Not at all. I will be responsible for the character and qualifications of my old friend’s nephew. There need be no delay on that account,” said Laurence. “There need be no delay on any account, then,” exclaimed Daniel; “the boy is ready to leave London to-morrow, if necessary.” “I beg your pardon, Uncle Dan. Unless M. de Bergerac really wants me immediately, I should be glad of a week’s delay,” said Eustace, with considerable embarrassment. “I have some business to do before I leave London.” “Business!” cried Daniel; “what business?” “I will tell you all about it by and by, Uncle Dan.” “My friend has waited six months, and he can afford to wait another week,” said Laurence, good-naturedly. “Come and see me when your business is finished, Mr. Thorburn.” “Good-night, and thank you, Desmond,” said Daniel, wringing his friend’s hand with muscular heartiness. “I told you that a favour to him is thrice a favour to me; and if ever I have a chance of proving that I meant what I said, I won’t let the opportunity slip.” When the two men had left the Temple, and were walking homewards through quiet back-streets, Daniel Mayfield turned sharply upon his nephew. “What the deuce is to keep you in London for a week, Eustace?” he asked. “I want to go to Bayham, Uncle Dan, to make some inquires that may help me.” Daniel laid his hand on the young man’s arm.