The man's explanation was cut short by the appearance of the visitor himself; who had followed, without permission, from the room to which he had been shown: a tall, erect, elderly man, attired in an ample blue coat and top-boots. His white hair was long, his dark eyes were keen. The latter seemed to take in the room and its inmates; his glance passing rapidly from each to each, as he stood holding his broad-brimmed hat and his stout walking-stick. Ethel knew him. instantly for the stranger who had entered the Dolphin Inn while she was helping Mrs. Bent with the raisins an hour, or so, ago: and the probability was that he recognized her, for his eyes rested on her for a few seconds. Mr. Castlemaine had risen. He went a step or two forward as if about to speak, but seemed to be uncertain. The stranger abruptly forestalled him. "Do you know me, James Castlemaine?" "Why--yes--is it not Squire Dobie?" replied Mr. Castlemaine, holding out his hand. "Just so," replied the stranger, keeping his hands down. "Perhaps you won't care to take my hand when you know that I have come here as a foe." "As a foe?" repeated Mr. Castlemaine. "At present. Until I get an answer to the question I have come to put. What have you done with Basil's son?" A change passed over the face of Mr. Castlemaine: it was evident to anybody who might be looking at him; a dark look, succeeded by a flush. Squire Dobie broke the momentary silence. "My old friend Basil's son; Basil the Careless: young Anthony Castlemaine." The Master of Greylands was himself again. "I do not understand you," he said, with slow distinctness. "I have done nothing with the young man." "Then rumour belies you, James Castlemaine." "I assure you, Squire Dobie, that I know no more whither young Anthony Castlemaine went, or where he is now than you know. It has been a mystery to myself, as to every one else at Greylands." "I got home to Dobie Hall last week," continued the stranger; "mean to stay at it, now; have only made flying visits to it since it became mine through poor Tom's death. Drove into Stilborough yesterday for the first time; put up at the Turk's Head. Landlord, old Will Heyton, waited on me himself this morning at breakfast, talking of the changes and what not, that years have brought, since I and poor Tom, and Basil the Reckless, and other rollicking blades used to torment the inn in the years gone by. We got to speak of Basil; 'twas only natural; and he told me that Basil had died abroad about last Christmas tune; and that his son, named Anthony, had come over soon after to put in his claim to his patrimony, Greylands' Rest. He said that Anthony had suddenly disappeared one night; and was thought to have been made away with."