“An awfully singular, elderly little gentleman. Pray do you know who he really is?” “Ay!” added the solicitor, musingly, “a singularly peculiar personage, indeed. I never could make out who he was, or is, or will turn out to be.” “Strange little fellow enough,” responded Mark, “but you pose me when you ask me who he is. I often ask myself that question.” “He appears to be very kind-hearted, and to have a generous spirit,” said Flora. “I should like to know who he really is. He comes and departs so mysteriously; he seems to be acquainted with everything that has happened or is about to take place; papa says he is very wealthy----” “E--nor--mously wealthy,” chimed in the solicitor, speaking emphatically. “He possesses great influence over individuals,” continued Flora, “and, seemingly, over circumstances. I have great faith in anything he may predict, and--and I really should like to know who he is.” The object of their speculations was at this moment alone with Wilton; on entering the library, he strode rather than walked up to where Wilton was seated, still poring over the abstract. He threw himself into a seat with a sudden violence which made Wilton start, then to elevate his eyebrows, then to frown. This person--this Mr. Gomer, was assuming a familiarity, which he now thought it would be proper to check. He screwed up his eyes and affected a distant manner. “You have something to communicate to me, Gomer, I apprehend, by your speedy return,” he observed, with his eyes fixed upon the paper he held in his hand. “I have, Wilton,” he said curtly; “a very good time too, I think, to say it, now that you are all but installed owner of your large property.” Mr. Wilton coldly inclined his head. “Proceed!” he exclaimed. Nathan made a grimace. “Hem!” he coughed, “the gap is wide which separates the Queen’s Bench from Eglinton Park, Mr. Wilton.” Mr. Wilton’s cheek flushed at the suggestion. He coughed too. “Um--a--Gomer,” he said, “those are contrasts which only vulgar minds draw. Wonder is the offspring of ignorance--um--a--don’t repeat, I pray, such observations.” “And Pride is the parent of evil,” chuckled Gomer. “Ah, I used to write that in a copy-book. However, I have not come here to make reflections, or to bring disagreeable reminiscences before you. I came to inform you that, the day after to-morrow, you will have to appear against our cunning friend, Mr. Chewkle, who very nearly rendered the possession of the Eglinton estates a matter of no importance to you.” “The atrocious assassin,” exclaimed Wilton. “I wonder how I escaped the villain’s bullet upon such favourable terms.” “Do you not know?” asked Gomer, eyeing him keenly. “Um--a--well, by the providence of Heaven, his aim was bad, and my gamekeepers were at hand,” said Wilton, reflectively. “Truly it was a fortunate circumstance that they were near, or the wretch would have slain me. I have a faint remembrance of his kneeling upon my chest----”