Charles was touched for a moment, but hardened himself as he thought of that wide staircase down which, clutching the balustrade with both hands, he had stumbled alone. A child does not easily forgive a slight, and Charles still regarded his uncle with the eyes of a child. "Did she speak of me before she died?" murmured the old man with a wistful eagerness. "She may have spoken," said Mr. Lovely, "the fever was high." "Or laugh--before she died? Nephew! to-night a young woman came to this inn alone. She smiled like my sister, she laughed like my--like your mother and like your mother she went away with the wrong man." "What do you mean?" cried Charles too much startled by the sudden violence of his uncle's speech to resent the criticism of his father. "And you have ridden in pursuit? Then you are her lover--eh? She's played you false as Joan played Roger false, and you are riding after her, and you will shoot him and marry her, and bring her to Repington Hall. 'Fore Heaven, I would give all my fortune to hear that laughter ripple along the lonely corridors of Repington Hall. They used to sit in the sunny window seat; and he would lean over the sill to pluck the roses that blew beneath. I cut the tree down when he was killed, and in the orchard where Lovely murdered him I planted cypresses." "Murdered him?" cried Charles impressed against his will by the old man's passion. "Aye, murdered him. Roger was no swordsman, he was a gentle kindly creature who loved old books and old friends, that's why I cannot understand Belladine, why did Belladine let him fight, and what became of--Good G----!" said the old man, "he's come back." Charles looked up and, seeing only Beau Ripple standing in the doorway, concluded that his uncle was gone mad. "A pinch of snuff, George?" said Mr. Ripple. "Thank'e, William," said Sir George. "This is my nephew, William--young Charles Lovely." "We are already very good friends," said the Beau. The exchange of courtesies effected by the Beau with that unfailing tact which characterized his least actions shed a new serenity over the situation and, though Charles was completely puzzled by a surprizing junction of personalities, he, too, with a profound instinct for the correct attitude, bore a part in what was apparently nothing more out of the way than a conversational episode in a social evening; yet three twigs in a whirlpool do not jostle one another much more roughly than the same three twigs in a puddle. "How's the gout, George? You threatened at one time to become an easy prey to our physical Alectro." "Better, William, thankee, far better. I found that hard work kept it off; or else I grew to drink less Port. I've dined solitary for a round number of years now." "Your uncle looks well, Charles. Egad, I believe after all gold is better than iron for a man's health whatever the apothecaries tell us. Where is Clare?--a good fellow that friend of yours, Charles. I like Mr. Clare."