Linton placed the box before him on the table, and gazed at it in a kind of rapture. “There,” thought he, “lies the weapon by which at once I achieve both fortune and revenge. Let events take what turn they will, _there_ is a certain source of wealth. A great estate like this will have its claimants; with me it rests who shall be the successful one.” A hurried knocking at the door interrupted the current of these musings; and Linton, having replaced the casket in the press, unlocked the door. It was Mr. Phillis, who, in all the gala of full dress, and with a rare camellia in his button-hole, entered. “Well, Phillis, is all going on as it ought?” said Linton, carelessly. “Scarcely so, sir,” said the soft-voiced functionary; “the house is filling fast, but there is no one to receive the company; and they are walking about staring at each other, and asking who is to do the honors.” “Awkward, certainly,” said Linton, coolly; “Lady Kilgoff ought to have been the person.” “She is gone, sir,” said Phillis. “Gone! gone! When, and where?” “I cannot say, sir; but my Lord and her Ladyship left this morning early, with post-horses, taking the Dublin road.” Linton did not speak, but the swollen vein in his forehead, and the red flush upon his brow, told how the tidings affected him. He had long speculated on witnessing the agonies of her grief when the hour of his revenge drew nigh; and this ecstasy of cruelty was now to be denied him. “And my Lord--had he regained any consciousness, or was he still insensible?” “He appeared like a child, sir, when they lifted him into the carriage.” “And Lady Kilgoff?” “She held her veil doubled over her face as she passed; but I thought she sighed, and even sobbed, as she handed me this letter.” “'For Roland Cashel, Esquire,'” said Linton, reading as he took it. “Did she speak at all, Phillis?” “Not a word, sir. It was a sad-looking procession altogether, moving away in the dim gray of the morning.” Linton placed the letter in a rack upon the chimney, and for some seconds was lost in thought. “If Lady Janet, sir, would be kind enough to receive the company,” murmured Phillis, softly. “Pooh, man, it is of no consequence!” said Linton, roughly, his mind dwelling on a very different theme. “Let who will play host or hostess.” “Perhaps you would come down yourself soon, sir?” asked Phillis, who read in the impatience of Linton's manner the desire to be alone, and coupled that desire with some mysterious purpose. “Yes, leave me, Phillis; I'm going to dress,” said he, hurriedly. “Has _he_ returned yet?” “No, sir; and we expected him at five o'clock.” “And it is now nine,” said the other, solemnly; “four hours later.” “It is very singular!” exclaimed Phillis, who was more struck by the altered expression of Linton's face than by the common-place fact he affected to marvel at.