Sewell bowed, and went his way; not straight towards the house, however, but into a little copse at the end of the garden, to recover his equanimity and collect himself. Of all the disasters that could befall him, he knew of none he was less ready to confront than the presence of Sir Brook Fossbrooke in the same town with himself. No suspicion ever crossed his mind that he would come to Ireland. The very last he had heard of him was in New Zealand, where it was said he was about to settle. What, too, could be his business with the Chief Baron? Had he discovered their relationship, and was he come to denounce and expose him? No,--evidently not. The Viceroy's introduction of him could not point in this direction, and then the old Judge's own manner negatived this conjecture. Had he heard but one of the fifty stories Sir Brook could have told of him, there would be no question of suffering him to cross his threshold. “How shall I meet him? how shall I address him?” muttered he again and again to himself, as he walked to and fro in a perfect agony of trouble and perplexity. With almost any other man in the world, Sewell would have relied on his personal qualities to carry him through a passage of difficulty. He could assume a temper of complete imperturbability; he could put on calm, coldness, deference, if needed, to any extent; he could have acted his part--it would have been mere acting--as man of honor and man of courage to the life, with any other to confront him but Sir Brook. This, however, was the one man on earth who knew him,--the one man by whose mercy he was able to hold up his head and maintain his station; and that this one man should now be here! here, within a few yards of where he stood! “I could murder him as easily as I go to meet him,” muttered Sewell, as he turned towards the house. CHAPTER XXV. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING As Sir Brook sat in the library waiting for the arrival of the Chief Baron, Lucy Lendrick came in to look for a book she had been reading. “Only think, sir,” said she, flushing deeply with joy and astonishment together,--“to find you here! What a delightful surprise!” “I have come, my dear child,” said he, gravely, “to speak with Sir William on a matter of some importance; and evidently he is not aware that my moments are precious, for I have been here above half an hour alone.” “But now that I am with you,” said she, coquettishly, “you 'll surely not be so churlish of your time, will you?” “There is no churlishness, my darling Lucy, in honest thrift. I have nothing to give away.” The deep sadness of his voice showed how intensely his words were charged with a stronger significance. “We are off to-night.” “To-night!” cried she, eagerly. “Yes, Lucy. It's no great banishment,--only to an island in the Mediterranean, and Tom came up here with me in the vague, very vague hope he might see you. I left him in the shrubbery near the gate, for he would not consent to come farther.”