“I ought not to have got into these things,” said Sewell, as he walked impatiently down the room. “These family bedevilments should be kept from one's friends; but the murder is out now, and you can see how I stand--and see besides, that if I am not always able to control my temper, a friend might find an excuse for me.” Cave gave a kindly nod of assent to this, not wishing, even by a word, to increase the painful embarrassment of the scene. “Heigh ho!” cried Sewell, throwing himself down in a chair, “there's one care off my heart, at least! I can remember a time when a night's bad luck would n't have cost me five minutes of annoyance; but nowadays I have got it so hot and so heavy from fortune, I begin not to know myself.” Then, with a sudden change of tone, he added: “When are you coming out to us again? Shall we say Tuesday?” “We are to be inspected on Tuesday. Trafford writes me that he is coming over with General Halkett,--whom, by the way, he calls a Tartar,--and says, 'If the Sewells are within hail, say a kind word to them on my part.'” “A good sort of fellow, Trafford,” said Sewell, carelessly. “An excellent fellow,--no better living!” “A very wide-awake one too,” said Sewell, with one eye closed, and a look of intense cunning. “I never thought so. It is, to my notion, to the want of that faculty he owes every embarrassment he has ever suffered. He is unsuspecting to a fault.” “It's not the way _I_ read him; though, perhaps, I think as well of him as _you_ do. I 'd say that for his years he is one of the very shrewdest young fellows I ever met.” “You astonish me! May I ask if you know him well?” “Our acquaintance is not of very old date, but we saw a good deal of each other at the Cape. We rode out frequently, dined, played, and conversed freely together; and the impression he made upon me was that every sharp lesson the world had given him he 'd pay back one day or other with a compound interest.” “I hope not,--I fervently hope not!” cried Cave. “I had rather hear to-morrow that he had been duped and cheated out of half his fortune than learn he had done one act that savored of the--the--” He stopped, unable to finish, for he could not hit upon the word that might be strong enough for his meaning, and yet not imply an offence. “Say blackleg. Is n't that what you want? There's my wife's pony chaise. I 'll get a seat back to the Nest. Goodbye, Cave. If Wednesday is open, give it to us, and tell Trafford I'd be glad to see him.” Cave sat down as the door closed after the other, and tried to recall his thoughts to something like order. What manner of man was that who had just left him? It was evidently a very mixed nature. Was it the good or the evil that predominated? Was the unscrupulous tone he displayed the result of a spirit of tolerance, or was it the easy indifference of one who trusted nothing,--believed nothing?