"A gentleman, sir, is asking to see Mr. Rupert." "What gentleman?" interposed Miss Diana, before Chattaway could move or look. "I don't know him, ma'am. He seems strange to the place; has a white beard, and looks foreign." "He wants Mr. Rupert, did you say?" "When I opened the door, first, ma'am, he asked if he could see young Squire Trevlyn; so I wanted to know who he meant, and said my master, Mr. Chattaway, was the Squire, and he replied that he meant Master Rupert, the son of Squire Trevlyn's heir, Mr. Joe, who had died abroad. He is waiting, ma'am." Chattaway turned his white face upon the man. His trembling hands, his stealthy movements, showed his abject terror; even his very voice, which had dropped to a whisper. "Mr. Rupert's in bed, and can't be seen, James. Go and say so." Miss Diana had stood in amazement--first, at James's message; secondly, at Mr. Chattaway's strange demeanour. "Why, who is it?" she cried to the servant. "He didn't give his name, ma'am." "Will you go, James?" hoarsely cried Mr. Chattaway. "Go and get rid of the man." "But he shall not get rid of him," interrupted Miss Diana. "I shall see the man. It is the strangest message I ever heard in my life. What are you thinking of, Squire?" "Stop where you are!" returned Mr. Chattaway, arresting Miss Diana's progress. "Do you hear, James? Go and get rid of this man. Turn him out, at any cost." Did Mr. Chattaway fear the visitor had come to take possession of the house in Rupert's name? Miss Diana could only look at him in astonishment. His face wore the hue of death; he was evidently almost beside himself with terror. For once in her life she did not assert her will, but suffered James to leave the room and "get rid" of the visitor in obedience to Mr. Chattaway. He appeared to have no trouble in accomplishing it. A moment, and the hall-door was heard to close. Chattaway opened that of the dining-room. "What did he say?" "He said nothing, sir, except that he'd call again." "James, does he--does he look like a madman?" cried Mr. Chattaway, his tone changing to what might almost be called entreaty. "Is he insane, do you think? I could not let a madman enter the house, you know." "I don't know, sir, I'm sure. His words were odd, but he didn't seem mad." Mr. Chattaway closed the door and turned to his sister-in-law, who was more puzzled than she had ever been in her life. "I think it is you who are mad, Chattaway." "Hush, Diana! I have heard of this man before. Sit down, and I will tell you about him." He had come to a rapid conclusion that it would be better to confide to her the terrible news come to light. Not his own fears, or the dread which had lain deep in his heart: only this that he had heard.