An old man, with a shrivelled face of a deep turmeric hue, as if the yellow jaundice had been for years his favourite complaint, stalked rather than walked into the room. He was a singular-looking man, with a certain peculiarity in his mien which would prevent the possibility of his going anywhere in society without his being stared at. He wore a violet-coloured cloth frock coat, a buff waistcoat, as yellow as his own face, and chocolate trousers, almost tight enough to be pantaloons; upon his feet, which were small, were polished boots, and upon his head a bright, black, carefully brushed beaver hat, very much turned up at the brim. He was followed by a small man, dressed all in black, save his cravat; his whiskers and his hair were White with the whiteness of what is dead, and formed a strange contrast to his garb. The yellow-visaged old gentleman, on gaining the middle of the room, turned a pair of jet black, brilliant eyes upon Mr. Jukes and smiled, not auspiciously but cynically, and yet triumphantly. “The wrong room?” ejaculated Mr. Jukes, suggestively. “Not at all,” replied the old man, exhibiting a row of teeth, which appeared ghastly in that golden visage. “My name is Nathan Gomer; this house is mine; I am the landlord, and my claim upon the contents of these apartments takes precedence of yours. I think it does--I say I believe it does.” “If you _are_ the landlord?” said Mr. Jukes, eyeing him doubtfully. “I can prove that, Jukes,” said the owner of the white whiskers. “You know me, Jukes?” “I do, Mr. Graba,” responded Jukes. “I am Mr. Gomer’s agent.” “And a sworn broker,” added Nathan Gomer. “Not less than one hundred pounds is owing to me for rent.” “For how long?” asked Jukes. “Twelve months,” replied Nathan Gomer. “Mr. Wilton rented the whole house, and has not paid me the last year’s rent. There is not more than enough here to satisfy my claim. I think so--I say I believe there is not.” “There isn’t,” gruffly muttered Jukes. “Produce your warrant of execution upon these goods, Mr. Graba!” said Mr. Nathan Gomer. “I think you’ll find it formal and proper.” “P’raps _you’d_ like to look at it?” said Mr. Jukes to Charley. “I should,” he answered; “give it to me.” Nathan Gomer looked at him with inquiring eyes, and watched him read every word in the document with careful attention from the first to the last. When he had ended his perusal, Nathan Gomer smiled. “Nothing informal or contrary to law there?” he exclaimed. “Nothing!” said Charley with a sigh. “This is dreadful!” murmured Lotte. Flora, however, was not further distressed--at least she displayed no additional grief at this new incident. She had, in fact, been so stunned and overwhelmed by the first event of the morning--that which involved the compulsory absence of her father--that any circumstance of a minor description could neither add to nor diminish her sorrow. Nathan Gomer turned to Mr. Jukes.