"Yes, sir, such was the word I made use of," replied Colonel Manners, "because the expressions you applied to Sir William Ryder were calumnious, if applied to my friend, whom a long life of noble actions raises above suspicion; but I trust and believe we are speaking of different persons." "'Tis well, sir; 'tis very well!" replied Lord Dewry, appearing to grow somewhat cooler; "'tis extremely well!--I trust it is as you say. Give me a glass of soda-water. Maria, I shall now retire to rest; I am somewhat fatigued: my apartments are, I think, opposite the drawing-room. Good-night!--Colonel Manners, I wish you good-night!" And, bowing with low and bitter courtesy, he left the room. Colonel Manners, whatever might be his feelings, and whatever might be his intentions, took no notice of what had passed after Lord Dewry left the room, although he could not but feel that he had been insulted by a man whose age protected him; but both Mrs. Falkland and De Vaux spoke upon the subject, after a moment's painful pause. The first apologized with dignified mildness for the occurrence, and assuring her visiter that something strange and extraordinary must have irritated her brother during the course of the day, or that he would not so far have forgot his usual _bienseance_; and the latter pressed his friend with kindly earnestness to forget what had occurred, and not to suffer it to affect his conduct, or abridge his stay. Colonel Manners smiled, and suffered himself to be overcome: "You know, De Vaux, that I am not one to be driven from my position by the first fire," he said; "and as I suppose that Lord Dewry and myself will not meet very frequently after the present time, we shall have but few opportunities of being as agreeable to each other as we have been to-night." Thus ended the conversation, and soon after the party separated, each grieving not a little that the harmony of the evening had been so unfortunately interrupted, when there was no reason to expect such an event. CHAPTER IV. The mind of man is a curious thing, in some respects not at all unlike an old Gothic castle, full of turnings and windings, long dark passages, spiral staircases, and secret corners. Among all these architectural involutions, too, the ideas go wandering about, generally very much at random, often get astray, often go into a wrong room and fancy it their own; and often, too, it happens that, when one of them is tripping along quite quietly, thinking that all is right, open flies a door; out comes another, and turns the first back again--sometimes rudely, blowing her candle out, and leaving her in the dark,--and sometimes taking her delicately by the tips of the fingers, and leading her to the very spot whence she set out at first.