It was some hour and a half later that, having finished dinner—and he had talked more fluently at the meal, and with less restraint than of late—he rose from the table with Miss Peacock and Josina. “I’ll come with you,” he said. “I shall have my wine upstairs.” And then, turning to Miss Peacock, “The Squire will want you to witness his signature,” he said. “Will you come? He has to sign some deeds that Welsh’s have sent.” Miss Peacock bewailed herself. She was in a flurry at the prospect. “Oh, dear, dear,” she said, “I wish he didn’t! I am all of a twitter, and then he scolds me. I am sure to put my name in the wrong place, or write his or something.” Josina laughed. “What will you give me to go instead?” she asked. “Come? But, there, I’ll go. In fact, he told me before dinner that I was to go.” She moved towards the door. But Arthur did not move. He looked disturbed. “I don’t think that that will do,” he said slowly. “Considering what it is—I think the Peahen would be the better.” “But if she doesn’t like it?” Jos objected. “And I must go, Arthur, for he told me to go. So the sooner the better. We have sat longer than usual, and, though Calamy is with him, he won’t like to be kept waiting.” Arthur seemed to consider it. “Oh, very well,” he said at last. He followed her from the room. The Squire was sitting before the fire, at the small round table at which he had eaten his meal. A decanter of port and a couple of glasses stood at his elbow. Two candles in tall silver candlesticks shed a circle of light on the table, and showed up his white head and his hands, but failed to illumine the larger part of the room. The great bed with its drab hangings, the lofty press with its brass handles, the dark Windsor chairs, now lurked in and now sprang from the shadows, as the fire flickered up or sank. On the verge of the circle of light the butler moved mysteriously, now appearing, now disappearing; now coming forward to set an inkstand and goose-quills beside the decanter, now withdrawing to pile unseen plates upon an unseen tray. The Squire was tapping impatiently on the table when they entered. “Well, you’re in no hurry for your wine to-night,” he said. “Have you brought the papers? You might have a’most written them in the time you’ve been.” “Sorry, sir,” said Arthur. “They are here. Will you sit here, Jos?” “Nay, nay, she must be near by,” the old man objected. His hearing was still good. “Close up! Close up, girl! I want her eyes. And do you fill your glass. Now have you all ready? Then do you read me the agreement first, that I may see if the lease tallies. And read slowly, lad, slowly. Calamy?” “I am here, sir,” lugubriously. “Where we’ll be tomorrow——” “D—n you, don’t whine, man, but snuff the candles. And then get out. Do you hear?” Calamy mumbled that it would be all the same at the latter end. He went out with his tray, and closed the door behind him.