“He's not too ill to hear a message. Go in and say that Commodore Graham wishes to have one word with him. Do you hear me, sir?” A flash of the old man's eye and a tighter grasp of his cane--very significant in their way--sent Mr. Raikes on his errand, from which, after a few minutes, he came back, saying, in a low whisper, “He's asleep, sir,--at least I think so; for the bedroom door is locked, and his breathing comes very long.” “This is about the most barefaced, the most outrageously impudent--” He stopped, checked by the presence of the servant, which he had totally forgotten. “Take my traps back into the hall,--do you hear me?--the hall.” “If you 'd allow me, sir, to show the yellow rooms upstairs, with the bow window--” “In the attics, I hope?” “No, sir,--just over the mistress's own room on the second floor.” “I 'll save you that trouble, Mr. Raikes; send Corrie here, my coachman,--send him here at once.” While Mr. Raikes went, or affected to go, towards the stables,--a mission which his dignity secretly scorned,--the Commodore called out after him, “And tell him to give the mare a double feed, and put on the harness again,--do you hear me?--to put the harness on her.” Mr. Raikes bowed respectfully; but had the Commodore only seen his face, he would have seen a look that said, “What I now do must not be taken as a precedent,--I do it, as the lawyers say, 'without prejudice.'” In a glow of hot temper, to which the ascent of two pairs of stairs contributed something, the old Commodore burst into the room where his daughters were engaged unpacking. Sofas, tables, and chairs were already covered with articles of dress, rendering his progress a matter of very nice steering through the midst of them. “Cram them in again,--stow them all away!” cried he; “we 're going back.” “Back where?” asked the elder, in a tone of dignified resistance years of strong opposition had taught her. “Back to Port-Graham, if you know such a place. I 've ordered the car round to the door, and I mean to be off in a quarter of an hour.” “But why--what has happened? what's the reason for this?” “The reason is that I 'm not going to be packed up in the top story, or given a bed in a barrack room. That fellow Raikes,--I 'll remember it to him next Christmas,--that fellow has gone and given the garden-house to that Mr. Maitland.” “Oh, is that all?” broke in Miss Graham. “All, all! Why, what more would you have? Did you expect that he had told me to brush his coat or fetch his hot water? What the d----l do you mean by 'all'?” “Then why don't you take Mrs. Chetwyn's rooms? They are on this floor. She's going now. They are most comfortable, and have a south aspect: by the way she was just talking of Maitland; she knows all about him, and he is the celebrated Norman Maitland.” “Ah, let us hear that. I want to unearth the fellow if I only knew how,” said he, taking a chair.