“Look here, Trafford,” he cried, “and see what a noble extension we shall give to the old grounds of the Nest. The whole of this wood--eleven hundred and seventy acres--comes in, and this mountain down to that stream there is ours, as well as all these meadow-lands between the mountain and the Shannon,--one of the most picturesque estates it will be in the kingdom. If I were to have my own way, I 'd rebuild the house. With such foliage--fine old timber much of it--there 's nothing would look better than one of those Venetian villas, those half-castellated buildings one sees at the foot of the mountains of Conigliano; and they are grand spacious places to live in, with wide stairs, and great corridors, and terraces everywhere. I see, however, Lendrick's heart clings to his old cottage, and we must let him have his way.” “What is this here?” asked Trafford, drawing out from the mass of papers the plan of a very pretty but very diminutive cottage. “That's to be mine. This window you see here will project over the river, and that little terrace will be carried on arches all along the river bank. I have designed everything, even to the furniture. You shall see a model cottage, Trafford; not one of those gingerbread things to be shown to strangers by ticket on Tuesdays or Saturdays, with a care-taker to be tipped, and a book to be scribbled full of vulgar praises of the proprietor, or doggerel ecstasies over some day of picnicking. But come and report yourself,--where have you been, and what have you done since I saw you?” “I have a long budget for you. First of all, read that;” and he handed Sir Brook Sewell's letter. “What! do you mean to say that you met him?” “No; I rejoice to say I have escaped that mischance; but you shall hear everything, and in as few words as I can tell it. I have already told you of Mrs. Sewell's visit here, and I have not a word to add to that recital. I simply would say that I pledge my honor to the strict truth of everything I have told you. You may imagine, then, with what surprise I was awoke from my sleep to read that note. My first impression was to write him a full and explicit denial of what he laid to my charge; but as I read the letter over a third and even a fourth time, I thought I saw that he had written it on some sort of compulsion,--that, in fact, he had been instigated to the step, which was one he but partly concurred in. I do not like to say more on this head.” “You need not. Go on.” “I then deemed that the best thing to do was to let him have his shot, after which my explanation would come more forcibly; and as I had determined not to fire at him, he would be forced to see that he could not persist in his quarrel.” “There you mistook your man,” cried Sir Brook, fiercely.