The night alarm, however, soon became known over Farafield, and many people had sufficient interest in the old man and his daughter to come or send, and make inquiries. Among these he had one visitor who amused and one who angered him. The first was a stranger, who sent up a card with the name of Mr. Frank St. Clair, and a message from Mrs. Stone, who begged to have the last news of the sufferer. “Show him up, show him up,” old Trevor said, his keen eyes twinkling with malice and humor; but when the large figure of the young barrister (for that was Mr. Frank St. Clair’s profession) entered the room, the old man was impressed, in spite of himself, by the solidity and imposing proportions of Mrs. Stone’s nephew and candidate; there was an air of respectability about him which compelled attention. He was handsome, but he was also serious, and had that air of a man who has given hostages to society, which nothing confers so surely as this tendency to a comfortable and respectable fullness of frame. Old Trevor acknowledged to himself that this was no young dandy, but a man, possibly, of weight of character as well as person; his very tendency (to speak politely) to _embonpoint_ conciliated the old man. Schemers are seldom fat. Mr. Frank St. Clair looked respectable to the tips of his well-brushed boots, and as he looked at him, old Trevor was mollified in spite of himself. “Yes, I gave them a fright,” he said. “I thought myself that matters were coming to a crisis; but it was a false alarm. You may tell your aunt that I am as well as ever, and as clear in my intellects as ever--such intellects as I have.” “Nobody would doubt that, I think,” said St. Clair; and indeed Mr. Trevor flattered himself that nobody could doubt it. He was as clearly aware of the effect upon a stranger of his own keen eyes and vivacious wide-awake aspect as any one could be. “There’s no telling,” said the old man; “some people think they can take me in--which is a mistake, Mr. St. Clair--a great mistake.” “I should think so,” said St. Clair, with easy composure. “If you will let me, I will sit down,” he said; “if there is nothing to occupy you for the moment, I wonder if you will let me ask your advice about a little money I have?” Again the malicious gleam awoke in old Trevor’s eyes, a mixture of suspicion, admiration, and interest moved him. Every man who had money interested him more or less; but if this was a dodge on Mrs. Stone’s part, the move was one which might have filled any like minded artist with admiration. He chuckled as he invited the confidence of his visitor; yet though he thought he saw through the deceit, he respected St. Clair all the same for having money to invest, even if it were not his own, but lent to him for the occasion; it threw a halo of interest round him in old Trevor’s eyes.