The footman returned with word that his master would attend upon the visitors in a minute; and showed them into a large room, which appeared, by the candles he lighted, to be devoted to the exercise of his master’s functions as justice of the peace. Near one end was a large table whereon were an inkstand, pens, and a few weighty-looking books. The walls were paneled in oak, and the bare floor was of the same wood. There were two armchairs drawn up to the table, and two before the fireplace, while oak settles stood against the wall. The servant fanned the smouldering fire into a blaze, put on a fresh log, and left the apartment. Everell had been looking at a door in the side of the room, near the table. It was slightly ajar, and its key was in place,—two indications that it sheltered no secret. As soon as he and Georgiana were alone, Everell led her hastily to it, and, throwing it open, discovered a large closet containing a disorderly array of shabby cloaks, wigs, whips, hats and such, on pegs; and old record books piled in a corner. “’Tis none so roomy, but ’twill do at a pinch,” said Everell. “I think it best you should be out of sight altogether, miss. I can tell my story better. I must command you to enter.” And he gently pushed her into the closet. “Do not dare to cry out; and when I open the door to fetch you, be veiled, cloaked, and silent, as you are now. Remember!—or injury will be done.—Stay, those books will serve you to sit on—you will be tired standing.” He guided her to the pile of old volumes, and then came out of the closet, and locked the door. The key, long unused save as a door handle, turned hardly, and he had difficulty in getting it from the lock in order to pocket it. As he was in the act of drawing it out, a heavy step made him glance around. He beheld a robust-looking man with a red face, who stood regarding him with pugnacious astonishment. “Your servant, sir,” said Everell, with an easy bow. “Mr. Thornby, I believe.” “That’s my name, sir,” said the Squire, bluntly. “Might I ask what you’re doing at that there closet door, sir?” “Closet door, sir?” repeated Everell, lightly. “Only locking it, sir,—that’s all.” And he held up the key as evidence of the truth of his assertion. “And perhaps I have a right to know what the devil you’re a-locking it for? Who asked you for to lock my doors, sir? Ecod, I must say this is rare manners in a stranger. I don’t remember as how I ever had the honour of seeing your face afore, sir.” “’Tis quite true we have never met before, sir. The loss has been mine,” said Everell, resting upon courtesy till he could see how best to deal with his man. At the same time, he carelessly pocketed the key.