He sighed again very softly, for he was exceedingly sorry for himself, as he thought of the founder's thousands. "You are a lucky fellow," he continued, addressing the carp; "you always swim about clad in golden armour, and pay nothing for the show. True, I have not paid for mine, but I suppose that some day I shall be obliged." Just then the carp smacked its lips as it thrust its nose above the water, gave its tail a lazy flap, and turned itself endwise so as to face Sir Mark, who gazed full at its fat gasping mouth, puffy eyes, and generally inane expression. "What becomes of the old Beckleys?" said Sir Mark. "One might fancy that they all went to animate the bodies of the carp in this moat, for yon fish bears a wondrous resemblance to the baronet. I wonder whether he is as well clothed in golden scales. By all that's holy, here he is." For, unnoticed on the soft velvety grass, Sir Thomas Beckley had come slowly up, looking in effect much more like the great carp than might have been considered possible, for his head was so charged with his daughter's mission that it seemed to force his mouth open, and his eyes from his head, while, as he came close up, he gasped two or three times, opening and shutting his lips without making a sound. "Fishing, Sir Mark?" he said at last, for want of something better to say. "You have captured one, I suppose?" "No, Sir Thomas," said his guest with a sigh. "Faith, an' I do not care to catch the poor things. I find in angling a change from dwelling on my sad thoughts. You never catch them, I suppose?" "No," was the reply, "I never do. My father once caught one." "Indeed!" said Sir Mark, yawning, for it was a peculiarity of Sir Thomas Beckley that he made everyone with whom he came into contact yawn. "Yes," continued Sir Thomas. "It was during a very hot summer, and the moat was nearly dry. I remember it well." "You seem to have an excellent recollection, Sir Thomas." "I have, Sir Mark, I have," said the baronet pompously. "The great carp had somehow been left in a tiny pool whence he could not escape, so my father caught him." "But not with a hook, Sir Thomas--he did not angle." "Marry, sir, but he did. He'd have gone in after it but for the mud, which would have sullied his trunk hose and velvet breeches of murrey colour, so he had a kitchen meat hook tied to a long pole, and caught the big fish fairly." "Indeed, Sir Thomas? It must have been an exciting scene." "My father was a great man, Sir Mark." "Great and rich, Sir Thomas?" "Very, Sir Mark." "Then I have been doing wrong," thought Sir Mark. "This old idiot here must have inherited all the old man's money, unless--. Did your brothers much resemble him, Sir Thomas?" he said aloud. "Brothers, sir? I never had a brother. I was an only child." "Indeed! But I might have known. Sir Thomas, this is a fitting time to thank you for your hospitality. I may not have another chance before I go."