"What is the use of this?" he exclaimed aloud. "No remonstrance will deter him. He will go on to destruction. The estates will pass away from us. Perchance a few words, written at the last moment, may change him! Heaven grant it. I will try. But now to complete my task. All will soon be over!" With this he sat down at the table, and with a strange composure resumed his writing. CHAPTER XXX. A TERRIBLE CATASTROPHE. On returning to the entrance-hall Atherton found Markland, the butler. The old man looked at him very wistfully, and said: "Excuse me, sir, if I venture to say a few words to you. Has an important communication been made to you by Sir Richard?" "A very important communication, indeed," replied Atherton. "And when I tell you what it is, I think I shall surprise you?" "No, you won't surprise me in the least, sir," replied Markland. "The moment I set eyes upon you I felt certain that you were the rightful heir of this property. You are the very image of my former master, Sir Oswald. I hope Sir Richard intends to do you justice and acknowledge you?" "Be satisfied, my good friend, he does," replied Atherton. "I am truly glad to hear it," said Markland. "This will take off a weight that has lain on his breast for years, and make him a happy man once more. Strange! I always felt sure the infant heir would turn up. I never believed he was dead. But I didn't expect to behold so fine a young gentleman. I hope you are not going to leave us again now you have come back." "I must leave you for a time, Markland, however inclined I may be to stay. I have joined the prince's army, and am a captain in the Manchester Regiment." "So I heard from the gallant Highlander who came with you. But things have changed now. Since you have become Sir Conway Rawcliffe----" "What mean you, Markland?" "Conway was the name of the infant heir who was stolen--he was so called after his mother, the beautiful Henrietta Conway." "For the present I must remain Captain Legh," interrupted the young man. "Nor would I have a word breathed on the subject to your fellow-servants till I have spoken with Sir Richard. You understand?" "Perfectly," replied the old butler. "You may rely on my discretion." But though Markland was forbidden to give the young baronet his proper title, he could not be prevented from showing him the profoundest respect, and it was with great reverence that he conducted him to the dining-room, where they found Sergeant Dickson seated at a table with a cold sirloin of beef before him, flanked by a tankard of strong ale. Atherton--as we shall still continue to call our hero--desired the sergeant not to disturb himself, but declined to follow his example, though urged by Markland to try a little cold beef. The butler, however, would not be denied, but disappearing for a minute or two returned with a cobwebbed flask, which he uncorked, and then filling a big glass to the brim, handed it to the young gentleman with these words: