"He seemed to know all about you, sir, just as though he lived at your house," said Stephenson to the Squire; "and Mrs. Todhetley sent him for her brooch that day. Perhaps you may know, sir, who it was she sent?" "Sent! why, nobody," spluttered the Squire. "It must have been a planned thing. The brooch is not broken." "He said the little pink flower had got broken off, and that Mrs. Todhetley did it with her shawl," persisted Stephenson, unable to stare away his perplexity. And I think we were all feeling perplexed too. "He knew what the brooch cost, and that it was bought for a wedding present, and that Mrs. Todhetley kept the brooch for herself because the wedding did not come off," went on Stephenson. "How could I suppose, sir, it was anybody but your own son? Why once I called him 'Mr. Todhetley;' I remember it quite well; and he did not tell me I was mistaken. Rely upon it, if you'll excuse me for saying so, Squire Todhetley, that it is some young gentleman who is intimate at your house and familiar with all its ways." "Hang him for a young rogue!" retorted the Squire. "And your own name was on the note, sir, which he bade me notice, and all! And--and I don't see how it was possible to _help_ falling into the mistake that he came from you," concluded Stephenson, with a slightly injured accent. Upon which the Squire, having had time to take in the bearings of the matter, veered round altogether to the same opinion, and said so, and shook hands with Stephenson when we departed. Tom Chandler let us go on, remaining behind for a minute or two. He wanted to put quietly a few questions about the appearance of the young man who had changed the note. He also examined the silver-gilt pencils, finally buying one which was precisely similar, stone and all, to the one which had been sold that other morning. Stephenson answered the questions to the best of his ability and recollection. And Tom Chandler found that while on some points the description would have served very well for that of Richard MacEveril, on other points it did not seem to fit in with it at all. A TRAGEDY IV.--OLIVER I Dinner was over. Emma Paul had gone out to stroll in the shady garden and wait for the evening breeze that would soon come on, and was so delightful after the heat of the day. Her father remained at the table. He was slowly sipping at his one glass of port wine, which he took in a large claret glass, when the door opened and Thomas Chandler entered. "Oh," said Mr. Paul. "So you _are_ back, are you, young man!" "I went on to Worcester, sir," explained Tom; who though he was now made Mr. Paul's partner, could not get rid all at once of the old mode of addressing him. Managing clerks in these days, who are qualified solicitors, do not condescend to say "Sir" to their chief, no matter though he be their elder by half a life-time; but they did in the days gone by.