His curiosity being aroused, he moved with a noiseless step to Mires’s shoulder, and peered over it. The Colonel’s attention was so riveted upon some object, that he did not perceive his unexpected visitor, and the latter beheld on the terrace young Vivian, who appeared to be somewhat closely examining a particular spot. Presently he stooped down, picked up something, and put it in his pocket. Colonel Mires uttered an oath, as he witnessed the act, and the next moment, stepping back, he came in contact with Vane. He gazed upon him fiercely, and said-- “How, sir? What is the meaning of this strange intrusion upon my privacy?” “Your pardon, Colonel!” exclaimed Lester Vane with a quiet smile and a shrug of the shoulders. “I wish to have a few words in private with you, and sought you with that purpose. I knocked at your door, and imagined that I heard your voice bidding me enter. I came, in fact, to confer with you respecting the individual who has this morning obtruded himself in this house. I observed that you did not welcome him with any indication of delight; and as I regard his advent as an infliction and a nuisance, it struck me that together we might rid ourselves and the house of a common enemy by some little arrangement concerted for that purpose.” Mires listened coldly. He by no means jumped at the proposition, but he motioned Vane to be seated, and they sat down to confer. CHAPTER X.--THE OLD MAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. _Jul_. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. _Cap_. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what--get thee to church o’ Thursday, Or never after look me in the face. Speak not, reply not, do not answer me. ***** Day, night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her match’d: and having now provided A gentleman of princely parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful and nobly trained, Proportion’d as one’s heart would wish a man,-- And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortunes tender, To answer--I’ll not wed--I cannot love-- I am too young--I pray you pardon me. But, an’ you will not wed. Look to’t--think on’t-- I do not use to jest; Thursday is near-- An’ you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend; An’ you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i’ the streets; For, by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee. _Jul_. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief! Shakspere.