"I shall lose my place; Squire give orders, a’ did, not a soul to come in; to drag a aged man from his nat’ral sleep an’ lose him his place an’ all; well, I was forced; no man can zay as I warn’t forced; mumper as I be, I vallies my little bit o’ life, and——" "Hold your tongue, you old flap-eared dotard, and make haste, or I’ll pink your soul. Don’t you see the jade’s dead-beat; ’tis time I stabled her." The man turned the key and slowly opened the gate. With a grunt the captain led his horse through, and, without so much as a glance at the lodge-keeper, proceeded up the quarter-mile drive leading to the house. "Old Nick’s not abed," he said to himself as he cast his eye over the house front. A light shone from a window in the turret over the porch. "The old nightbird! Lock me out! Oons!" He threw the bridle over an iron post at the side of the entrance, and walked round a projecting wing of the building till he came to a small door in the wall. He turned the iron ring, pushed, rattled; the door was fast shut. Cursing under his breath, he was proceeding towards the servants’ quarters when he heard the creak of a key turning, and, wheeling round, came to the postern just as it was opened by Squire Berkeley himself, his tall, lean, bent figure enwrapped from neck to heel in a black cassock-like garment, a skull-cap of black velvet covering his head. He held a lighted candle; his piercing eyes flashed in the darkness. "Hey, Squire!" cried the captain in a tone of forced good-humour, "I had much ado to rouse old Dick. ’Tis late to be sure; but if you’ll give me the key of the stables I’ll settle Jenny for the night and get to bed." He made as if to enter, but Mr. Berkeley spread himself across the narrow doorway. "Who are you, sirrah," he said, "to break into my park against my express orders?" There was contempt in his cold incisive tones, and anger with difficulty curbed. "Why now——" Aglionby began. "Who are you, I say? And what am I, that my orders are defied, and my house made a common inn, a toping house for you and your toss-pot ruffians? Go—go, I say!" The captain was for a moment staggered; the old man’s manner left no room for doubt that he was in earnest. But Aglionby was too old a campaigner to cry off so easily. In a tone half-conciliatory, half-aggrieved he said— "Fair and softly, Squire! this is but scurvy treatment of a tired man. Look you, I’ve been in the saddle this livelong day; the mare’s well-nigh foundered; and for myself—gads so, I could eat an ox and drink a hogshead. To-morrow, in a few hours, I’ll bid ye good-bye—for a time, if ye want a change; but to-night—no, Squire, ’tis not hospitable of you, ’tis not indeed." "You dally with me!" cried the squire, the hand that held the candle shaking with passion. "You set no foot within this door—now, nor ever again. Begone, while there is time."