Rupert allowed Mrs. Beatson a certain amount of latitude, but here she overstepped the mark. He passed over her observation in silence, and gave his orders for the day. "I shall have dinner at eight," he remarked, having arranged matters, "as I am going to town and will not be back until late." "Going to see the lawyers, I suppose, sir," mentioned the housekeeper with an odd look on her dreary face. Rupert looked up suddenly, wondering why she had made such a pertinent observation, for it was in his mind to do what she had suggested. "Why do you suppose that, Mrs. Beatson?" "Well, sir, it's only natural, as no doubt there are marriage settlements to be prepared, and all must be in order for the ceremony." Mrs. Beatson said this glibly enough, and her reason appeared to be very plausible. Nevertheless, her glance was so significant that Hendle wondered if she had guessed his trouble. It seemed to be incredible, since Leigh had promised to hold his tongue until the matter was properly threshed out. Yet there was a certain malicious triumph lurking in the housekeeper's look, which hinted that she was rejoicing at his approaching downfall. After swift reflection Rupert thought that he was mistaken, and was in the position of a man who sees a bird in every bush. He therefore ignored Mrs. Beatson's remark and merely repeated that he would return late to dine. The woman hesitated for a moment, as if she wished to speak more plainly, then tossed her head and glided out in her ghostly way. Rupert frowned, for her behavior made him uncomfortable. Yet it was impossible that she should know anything of the thunderbolt which had struck him. And after all, as the Squire reflected when he started to walk to the railway station, the thunderbolt had not yet reached its mark and might not reach it at all. Only an examination of the will would prove if he was a rich man or a pauper, and in his anxiety to learn this, Hendle called in at the Vicarage as he passed the rickety gate. Strange to say, Mr. Leigh proved to be absent, as he had gone to see a dying parishioner. It was only a short walk to the little wayside station, at which the London trains stopped occasionally during the day. Rupert caught the ten o'clock train easily, and, although it was very full, managed to secure a compartment to himself. Here, when the engine started, he gave himself up to meditation, not, as it may be guessed, of the most pleasant kind.