The commissioner stopped short, astonished to find that the truth, and the whole truth, had absolutely passed his lips, and in such plain words; but they could not be recalled: he gasped for breath--and began an apologetical sentence about poor Mr. Drakelow, whom he should be sorry to injure or displace. “Never mind that now--time enough to think of Drakelow,” said Lord Oldborough, walking up and down the room--then stopping short, “I must see your son, sir.” “I will bring him here to-morrow, if your lordship pleases.” “As soon as possible! But he can come surely without your going for him--write, and beg that we may see him at breakfast--at nine, if you please.” The letter was written, and despatched immediately. Lord Oldborough, whilst the commissioner was writing, noted down the heads of what he had learned from M. de Tourville’s packet: then locked up those of the papers which had been deciphered, put the others into Mr. Falconer’s charge, and recommended it to him to use all possible despatch in deciphering the remainder.--The commissioner declared he would sit up all night at the task; this did not appear to be more than was expected.--His lordship rung, and ordered candles in Mr. Falconer’s room, then returned to the company in the saloon, without saying another word. None could guess by his countenance or deportment that any unusual circumstance had happened, or that his mind was in the least perturbed. Mrs. Drakelow thought he was wholly absorbed in a rubber of whist, and Miss Drakelow at the same time was persuaded that he was listening to her music.