"My dear old friend," said Bayle, shaking his hand warmly, "I pray that the day may be very far distant. When it does come, as it comes to us all, I shall be able to think that the selfishness of which you speak was mere outside show. Gordon Bourne, I seem to be a simple kind of man, but I think I have learned to read men's hearts." The old man's lip quivered a little, and he tried vainly to speak. Then, giving his stout ebony cane a stamp on the floor, he raised it, and shook it threateningly. "Confound you, Bayle! I wish you were as poor as Job." "Why?" "So that I might leave you all I've got. Perhaps I shall." "No, no, don't do that," said Bayle seriously, and his frank, handsome face looked troubled; "I have more than I want. But, come, tell me; you have been down to Castor, then?" "Yes, I was there a week." "And how are they all?" "Older, of course, but things seem about the same. Place like that does not change much." "But the people do." "Not they. By George! sir, one of the first men I saw as I limped down the street in a pair of confoundedly tight Hessians Hoby made for me-- punish my poor corns horribly. What with them and the stiff cravats a gentleman is forced to wear, life is unendurable. Ah! you don't study appearances at sea. Wish I could wear boots like those, Bayle." "You were saying that you saw somebody." "Ah, yes; to be sure, I trailed off about my boots. Why, I am getting into--lose leeway, sir. But I remember now. First man I saw was old Gemp, sitting like a figure-head outside his cottage. Regular old mummy; but he seemed to come to life as soon as he heard a step, and turned his eyes towards me, looking as inquisitive as a monkey. Poor old boy--almost paralysed, and has to be lifted in and out. I often wonder what was the use of such men as he." Christie Bayle's broad shoulders gave a twitch, and he looked up in an amused manner. "Ah, well, what was the use of me, if you like? Doctor looked well; so does the old lady. Said they were up here three months ago, and enjoyed their visit I say, Bayle, you'd better have the living. Mrs Hallam might be disposed to go down to the old home again, eh?" A quiet, stern look, that made Christie Bayle appear ten years older, and changed him in aspect from one of thirty-five to nearer fifty, came over his face. "No," he said, "I am sure Mrs Hallam would never go back to Castor to live." "Humph! Well, you know best. I say, Bayle, does she want help? It is such a delicate matter to offer it to her, especially in our relative positions." "No, I am sure she does not," said Bayle quickly; "you would hurt her feelings by the offer." Sir Gordon nodded, and sat gazing at one particular flower in the carpet of his host's simply-furnished room, which he poked and scraped with his stick. "How was Thickens?"