The development of such traits in the peasant might be owing to his early life. When Margaret Basset sorrowfully obeyed the order which seemed to make her mistress of Trevethlan Castle, her family conceived great hopes from her elevation, instead of sympathising in her grief. Her nephew, Michael, was trained in the habits they fancied most likely to conciliate the favour of their lord, vulgar obsequiousness and fawning dissimulation. For some time after Mrs. Trevethlan's death, he was allowed to hang about the castle, enjoying the benefit of Polydore's instruction, and encouraged in the idea, that he might grow to be the confidant and companion of the youthful heir. Those who thought so, little knew Mr. Trevethlan. Pride hates the sycophancy which is acceptable to vanity. He was simply disgusted by the offered homage; and at once perceiving its drift, excluded his wife's relations from all connexion with his household, and ejected them from their little farm. They settled upon the neighbouring estates of Pendarrel, cherishing a natural enmity against their late landlord, and beholding his ruin with a certain exultation. They also chose to consider that poor Margaret had been aggrieved by the compulsion in which they themselves participated, and thus sharpened craft and malice with the feeling of injury. With such spiteful mind old Maud Basset came to the funeral, and flung in Randolph's teeth a prophecy, which had been much recited of late years among the peasantry of the neighbourhood. And now Trevethlan Castle re-assumed its usual appearance. One of Randolph's first cares after the funeral was to warn Jeffrey, the porter, that all visitors whatsoever who might present themselves at the gates, were to be informed neither he nor his sister was at home, and were not to be admitted on any pretence. Archbishop Secker is reported to have said, that the _first_ person who used this excuse told a lie. It sorely puzzled old Jeffrey's notions of morality. "Not at home, Master Randolph," he said; "and are ye and my young lady to leave us so soon?" "No, Jeffrey," was the answer; "we are not going away immediately. But we desire to see no company, and this is the usual mode of saying so." "Good truth, Master Randolph, 'twill be a strange thing for company to come to Trevethlan," said the porter. "And where shall I say you are gone?" "Nowhere," replied Randolph. "Say no more than that we are not at home; and do not open the gates, whoever may ask." "Trust old Jeffrey to obey a Trevethlan," the retainer said as his master retired; "and faith, we want no fine folks here spying out the nakedness of the land. Jeffrey will send them away with a flea in their ear." CHAPTER III. "Nature never framed a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice: Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising what they look on; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak."