As we entered at the trim gate, and went up through the orderly, neat garden, where not a weed was to be seen, I could understand this small aspect of Miss Saville's affliction, the ends of cigars, and the smell of brandy and water, as well as her greater and sorer sorrow over the fallen brother, who still was dear to her--but the idea of an interview with him was not more agreeable on this account--I waited while she hurriedly dried her eyes, and went in with her very reluctantly. What could this man want with me! and all my old abhorrence of him returned upon me as I prepared for this unpleasant meeting. He was the first messenger of misfortune to us, and I had never tried to surmount my first disgust and aversion to him. The Rev. Mr. Saville's trim, snug study, was indeed sadly desecrated. He himself, the good Rector, was coughing in the atmosphere of smoke which hovered round the fire where Saville sat, with his legs upon a chair, in insolent ease and luxury. There was no brandy and water visible, but the heated look in the man's face, and the close, disagreeable air of the room, was quite enough to justify what his sister said. I suppose it was in the haste of her agitation that she ushered me immediately into the room, where we did not seem to be expected, and where I scarcely could breathe. "You should not have brought Mrs. Southcote here, Martha," said the Rector, who was no less stiff and formal than of old, though a painful embarrassment mingled with elaborate courtesies; "this is not a fit place for a lady; we will join you in the drawing-room, Martha." "Any place will do to tell good news in," said Saville, withdrawing his feet from the chair, and sitting erect. "Give the lady a seat, Martha, and leave us. Glad to see you, Mrs. Southcote; glad to have an opportunity of making my statement to you; had you heard it sooner it might have saved you trouble. Now, good people, why are you waiting? This piece of news does not concern you. William, take Martha away." "Oh, don't leave me, Miss Saville," I said, retreating a little, and grasping her hand. "What, afraid!" said the man with a sneer; "you had more spirit when I saw you first, young lady; but as this that I have to say to you," he continued, gravely, "is of the greatest importance to your family, I leave it with yourself to judge whether it would not be best to keep it for your ears alone." What could it be? I looked earnestly at him and he at me. I was no coward; and here, when I had only dislike, and no other feeling which could betray me, I was brave enough after the first moment. I turned to the Rector and Miss Saville, who stood behind, half-frightened, half-displeased, and full of anxious curiosity. "Pray leave us, as he says," said I. "If it is anything worth your hearing, I will tell you what it is; but in the meantime he will not speak till you are gone."