“How I could make you beat your wings against your cage, for all your bravery, if I had only three days here, and cared to do it,” said he, as he poured the rest of the wine into his glass. “How weary I could make you of this old house and its old owner. Within one month--one short month--I 'd have you repeating as wise saws every sneer and every sarcasm that you just now took fire at. And if I am to pass three days in this dreary old dungeon, I don't see how I could do better. What can he possibly want with me?” All the imaginable contingencies he could conjure up now passed before his mind. That the old man was sick of solitude, and wanted him to come and live with them; that he was desirous of adopting one of the children, and which of them? then, that he had held some correspondence with Fossbrooke, and wanted some explanations,--a bitter pang, that racked and tortured him while he revolved it; and, last of all, he came back to his first guess,--it was about his will he had sent for him. He had been struck by the beauty of the children, and asked their names and ages twice or thrice over; doubtless he was bent on making some provision for them. “I wish I could tell him that I'd rather have ten thousand down, than thrice the sum settled on Reginald and the girls. I wish I could explain to him that mine is a ready-money business, and that cash is the secret of success; and I wish I could show him that no profits will stand the reverses of loans raised at two hundred per cent! I wonder how the match went off to-day; I'd like to have the odds that there were three men down at the double rail and bank.” Who got first over the brook, was his next speculation, and where was Trafford? “If he punished Crescy, I think I could tell _that_,” muttered he, with a grin of malice. “I only wish I was there to see it;” and in the delight this thought afforded he tossed off his last glass of wine, and rang for his bedroom candle. “At what time shall I call you, sir?” asked the butler. “When are you stirring here,--I mean, at what hour does Sir William breakfast?” “He breakfasts at eight, sir, during term; but he does not expect to see any one but Miss Lucy so early.” “I should think not. Call me at eleven, then, and bring me some coffee and a glass of rum when you come. Do you mean to tell me,” said he, in a somewhat stern tone, “that the Chief Baron gets up at seven o'clock?” “In term-time, sir, he does every day.” “Egad! I 'm well pleased that I have not a seat on the Bench. I 'd not be Lord Chancellor at that price.” “It 's very hard on the servants, sir,--very hard indeed.” “I suppose it is,” said Sewell, with a treacherous twinkle of the eye. “If it was n't that I'm expecting the usher's place in the Court, I 'd have resigned long ago.” “His Lordship's pleasant temper, however, makes up for everything, Fenton, eh?”