Mr. Manners had not far to go before he reached his house, but he lingered somewhat on the road, wrapped in thought. Had what was passing within him been revealed to any person long familiar with him, it would have inspired feelings of wonder and surprise. In truth, a great change was taking place in this man's nature; he was no longer stern, self-willed, and arrogant; he was conscious of a certain humbleness of spirit, and he yielded to its influence. His thoughts were chiefly upon Kingsley and Nansie; what he had heard concerning them had touched him nearly; it had, as it were, opened a window in his soul which had been darkened all his life. But now and again his thoughts wandered to Mark Inglefield, and he dwelt upon the contrast between this man and his son. Kingsley so impetuous, open-minded, and frank, Inglefield so cool, methodical, and wary; the one wearing his heart upon his sleeve, the other keeping strict watch upon it, so that he might not be tempted to follow its impulses to his own disadvantage. The links which united Mr. Manners and Mark Inglefield were strong ones, and had been forged by Mr. Manners himself. When he discarded his son, and made up his mind to leave England, perhaps forever, he had made certain propositions to Mark Inglefield which had been eagerly accepted. Inglefield was to be his companion, his second son, and was to devote himself entirely to his patron, to be as it were at his beck and call, and subservient and obedient in all things. That the companionship had been productive of little pleasure was perhaps as much the fault of one as of the other. Disappointed in his dearest wishes, Mr. Manners's principal desire was to be left to himself, and Mark Inglefield humored him; careful ever to be ready when called upon to perform some duty, never contradicting his patron, never arguing with him; a willing, submissive slave, waiting for his reward in the future. This reward had been promised him; he was to be Mr. Manners's heir. The prospect was a glowing one, and he revelled in it, although there were occasions when a great wave of discontent swept over him. He was not a young man; how long would he have to wait? Mr. Manners was his senior by twenty-five years, but his health was perfect. It was his boast that he had never had a day's illness in his life, and his habits were such that there seemed little probability of his breaking down before he was a very old man. Luxuriousness of living had no temptations for him; plain fare sufficed for his needs. Mark Inglefield, on the contrary, was fond of rich food and rich wines, and he indulged in them; his tastes (in which may be included his vices) were the very reverse of Mr. Manners's, and if he chafed under the restraint in which he was held he was careful not to betray himself to his patron. He took his pleasures in secret, and was not sparing of them; and it was a proof that he was an able and astute man, cunning in device and richly