He stood gazing out of the window, tapping the panes lightly with his fingers and smiling to himself, lost in dreams. "My uncle will see you," said Ella, as she re-entered the room. "Thank you for your kind intervention." "He is in one of his more gracious moods to-day; but you must be careful not to contradict him if you wish to obtain his sanction to what you require. And now I will show you to his room." After traversing two or three flagged passages, Conroy was ushered into a room which might have been an enlarged copy of the one he had just left. It was the same room in which Captain Lennox's interview took place on the night of his return from London. Aaron Stone was coming out as Conroy went in. The old man greeted him with a queer, sour look, and some uncomplimentary remark, muttered to himself. Then he went out, and banged the heavy door noisily behind him. "S--s--s--s! That confounded door again!" exclaimed a rasping, high-pitched voice from behind the screen at the farther end of the room. "Will that old rapscallion never remember that I have nerves? Ah--ha! if I could but cuff him as I used to do!" added the Squire, breaking off with a fit of coughing. Ella held up a warning finger, and waited without moving till all was quiet again. She then glided across the polished, uncarpeted floor, and passed in front of the screen. Conroy waited in the background. "I have brought Mr. Conroy to see you, Uncle Gilbert--the gentleman who wants to take some sketches of the Hall," said Ella, in tones a little louder than ordinary. "And who gave you leave, young lady, to introduce any strangers here? You know--" "You yourself gave me leave, uncle, not many minutes ago," she quietly interposed. "You said that you would see Mr. Conroy." "Did I, child?" "Certainly you did." "Then my memory must be failing me faster than I thought it was." Here came a deep sigh, followed by a moment or two of silence. "You are right, Ella. I remember it now. Let us see what this bold intruder is like." Conroy stepped forward in front of the screen, and saw before him the Master of Heron Dyke. He looked to-day precisely as he had looked that evening, now several weeks ago, when Captain Lennox called at the Hall. It might be that his face was a little thinner and more worn, but that was the only difference. "So! You are the young jackanapes who wants to sketch my house--eh?" said Mr. Denison, as he peered into Conroy's face with eager, suspicious eyes. "How do I know that you are not a spy--a vile spy?" He ground out the last word from beneath his teeth, and craned his long neck forward so as to bring it closer to Conroy's face. "Do I look like a spy, sir?" asked Conroy calmly, as he went a pace nearer to the old man's chair.