“I 'll go to him at once. We shall meet again,” said she, as she opened the sash-door and hastened down the lawn at speed. After another wait of full a quarter of an hour, Foss-brooke's patience became exhausted, and he drew nigh the bell to summon a servant; his hand was on the rope, when the door opened, and Sewell entered. Whatever astonishment Fossbrooke might have felt at this unexpected appearance, nothing in his manner or look betrayed it. As for Sewell, all his accustomed ease had deserted him, and he came forward with an air of assumed swagger, but his color came and went, and his hands twitched almost convulsively. He bowed, and, smiling courteously, invited Fossbrooke to be seated. Haughtily drawing himself up to his full height, Sir Brook said, in his own deep sonorous voice, “There can be nothing between us, sir, that cannot be dismissed in a moment--and as we stand.” “As you please, sir,” rejoined Sewell, with an attempt at the same haughty tone. “I have been deputed by my stepfather, the Chief Baron, to make his excuses for not receiving you,--his health forbids the excitement. It is his-wish that you may make to _me_ whatever communication you had destined for _him_.” “Which I refuse, sir, at once,” interrupted Sir Brook. “I opine, then, there is no more to be said,” said Sewell, with a faint smile. “Nothing more, sir,--not a word; unless perhaps you will be gracious enough to explain to the Chief Baron the reasons--they cannot be unknown to you--why I refuse all and any communication with Colonel Sewell.” “I have no presumption to read your mind and know your thoughts,” said Sewell, with quiet politeness. “You would discover nothing in either to your advantage, sir,” said Fossbrooke, defiantly. “Might I add, sir,” said Sewell, with an easy smile, “that all your malevolence cannot exceed my indifference to it?” Fossbrooke waived his hand haughtily, as though to dismiss the subject and all discussion of it, and after a few seconds' pause said: “We have a score that must be settled one day. I have deferred the reckoning out of reverence to the memory of one whose name must not be uttered between us, but the day for it shall come. Meanwhile, sir, you shall pay me interest on your debt.” “What do you assume me to owe you?” asked Sewell, whose agitation could no longer be masked. “You would laugh if I said, your character before the world and the repute through which men keep your company; but you will not laugh--no, sir, not even smile--when I say that you owe me the liberty by which you are at large, instead of being, as I could prove you, a forger and a felon.” Sewell threw a hurried and terrified look around the room, as though there might possibly be some to overhear the words; he grasped the back of a chair to steady himself, and in the convulsive effort seemed as if he was about to commit some act of violence. “None of that, sir,” said Fossbrooke, folding his arms.