"I thought not," muttered Cousin Thompson. "That was a good bold shot right in the bull's-eye. Now, Master Horace, the old adage is going to be proved. Every dog has his day, and this dog is going to have his. How many times have you lent him money in a cursed grudging, curmudgeon-like spirit? How often have I come here, worn out with worry and scheming to get an honest living, and you have received me--you rolling in riches--with a churlish hospitality such as I should have thrown back at you if I had not been so poor? Never mind, my dear boy; the world turns round, and those who are down to-day are up to-morrow. I can make Squire Tom squeak to a pretty tune whenever I like, and the widow--well, she's not a bad sort of woman to come and sit in the nest she has helped to line. `Manor House, Duke's Hampton: Manor House, Duke's Hampton!' Not a bad address. There are worse things than being a country gentleman--county magistrate is the proper term. Yes, my dear cousin, things look brighter than they have looked for years. What a blessed thing is the British law, especially where a medical question comes in. The fruit's about ripe, and if I do not stretch out my hand to pick it, why, I must be a fool." "Fool!" he said, as he stood there smiling, with the lighted candle in his hand, casting strange shadows upon the lower portions of his countenance. "Fool--fool--fool! No," he said softly, as he shook his head. "I have a few failings: I am a little weak. I admire a soft, plump, pleasant-looking widow--with money--like Mrs Berens. I like money--plenty of money, and I like Duke's Hampton; but those are only amiable weaknesses, and I don't think I'm a fool." He held up the candle and looked round as if enjoying the sense of possession, and his eyes rested on the good old-fashioned furniture, the choice selection of books, a bronze or two, and a couple of paintings by a master hand: all of which his twinkling eyes seemed to appraise and catalogue at a glance. "Yes," he said, smiling softly, "things look a good deal brighter now, and I like Duke's Hampton quite well enough to come and live in--with a wife." He took a step or two towards the door, and paused once more, evidently enjoying his self-communings. "_No_! There was a decision about that _no_ which I liked, my dear cousin. No: he has not made his will. But it does not matter, my dear boy--not in the least, for, as far as I know, you are not going to die." His face lost its smile here, and he took the little bottle he had received softly from his pocket, and held it to the light. "_Poison. For outward application only_." He read the words slowly.