When Annie entered the library, she found that the "lawyer gentleman," whom her maid had mentioned, was the family solicitor, Mr. Knevitt, who was well known to her, and for whom Caterham had had much liking and respect. Lord Beauport and he were standing together beside a long table, strewn with papers, and on which stood a large despatch-box open, and, as she saw while she walked up the room, also full of papers. At some distance from the table, and in the shade, Lady Beauport was seated, her hands clasped together in her lap, and her figure leaning completely back in the deep arm-chair she occupied. She looked very pale and worn, and her deep mourning was not becoming to her. Sharp contention of thought and feeling was going on under that calm exterior,--bitter pangs, in which vexation had a large share, as well as regret, and a sense that she was to be baffled in the future as she had been defeated in the past. Ay, the future,--she had begun to think of it already, or rather she had begun (when had she ever ceased?) to think of _him_. Lionel was the future to her. What if there were more trouble and opposition in store for her? What if Arthur (ah, poor fellow! he had never understood young men different from himself, and he was always hard on Lionel) had left any communication for his father, had written any thing touching the particulars of Lionel's career which he knew, and had warned her not to ask? Hitherto nothing of the sort had been found in the examination of Lord Caterham's papers instituted by Lord Beauport and Mr. Knevitt. There was a packet for Annie Maurice, indeed; they had found it an hour ago, and Lord Beauport had just sent for Annie in order to hand it over to her. Lady Beauport had, however, no apprehensions connected with this matter; the virtues of the dead and the vices of the living son (though she would not have given them their true name) secured her from feeling any. Whatever Lionel had done she felt convinced was not of a nature to be communicated to Annie, and Caterham would have guarded her with the utmost caution from hearing any thing unfit for her ears. No, no; there was no danger in that quarter. Had she not felt sure, before this "dreadful thing"--as she called Lord Caterham's death to herself--happened, that the scrupulous delicacy of her son, where Annie was concerned, would be her best aid and defence against his defeat of her projects? The letter, the packet--whatever it might be called--was probably an effusion of feeling, a moral lecture on life, or a posthumous guide to studies, in which Arthur had desired to see his gentle and interesting cousin proficient.