Griffith had a good wash, and enjoyed certain little conveniences which he had not at the "Packhorse." He doffed his riding suit, and donned the magnificent dress Ryder had selected for him; and with his fine clothes he somehow put on more ceremonious manners. He came down to the dining-room. To his surprise he found it illuminated with wax candles, and the table and sideboard gorgeous with plate. Supper soon smoked upon the board; but, though it was set for three, nobody else appeared. Griffith inquired of Ryder whether he was to sup alone. She replied, "My mistress desires you not to wait for her. She has no stomach." "Well, then, I have," said Griffith; and fell o with a will. Ryder, who waited on this occasion, stood and eyed him with curiosity. His conduct was so unlike a woman's. Just as he concluded, the door opened, and a burly form entered. Griffith rose and embraced him with his arms and lips, after the fashion of the day. "Welcome, thou one honest priest!" said he. "Welcome, thrice welcome, my long-lost son!" said the cordial Francis. "Sit down, man, and eat with me. I'll begin again, for you." "Presently, Squire; I've work to do first. Go thou and bid thy mistress to come hither to me." Ryder, to whom this was addressed, went out, and left the gentlemen together. Father Francis drew out of his pocket two packets, carefully tied and sealed. He took a knife from the table and cut the strings, and broke the seals. Griffith eyed him with curiosity. Father Francis looked at him. "These," said he, very gravely, "are the letters that Brother Leonard hath written, at sundry times, to Catherine Gaunt, and these are the letters Catherine Gaunt hath written to Brother Leonard." Griffith trembled, and his face was convulsed. "Let me read them at once," said he: and stretched out his hand, with eyes like a dog's in the dark. Francis withdrew them, quietly. "Not till she is also present," said he.