If Julia’s return in the middle of the night balked the curiosity of some who would fain have had her set down at the door that they might enjoy her confusion as she passed through the portico, it had the advantage, appreciated by others, of leaving room for conjecture.  Before breakfast her return was known from, one end of the Castle Inn to the other; within half an hour a score had private information.  Sir George had brought her back, after marrying her at Salisbury.  The attorney had brought her back, and both were in custody, charged with stealing Sir George’s title-deeds.  Mr. Thomasson had brought her back; he had wedded her at Calne, the reverend gentleman himself performing the ceremony with a curtain-ring at a quarter before midnight, in the presence of two chambermaids, in a room hung with drab moreen.  Sir George’s servant had brought her back; he was the rogue in the play; it was Lady Harriet Wentworth and footman Sturgeon over again.  She had come back in a Flemish hat and a white cloth Joseph with black facings; she had come back in her night-rail; she had come back in a tabby gauze, with a lace head and lappets.  Nor were there wanting other rumours, of an after-dinner Wilkes-and-Lord-Sandwich flavour, which we refrain from detailing; but which the Castle Inn, after the mode of the eighteenth century, discussed with freedom in a mixed company.

Of all these reports and the excitement which they created in an assemblage weary of waiting on the great man’s recovery and in straits for entertainment, the attorney knew nothing until he set forth to keep the appointment in Lord Chatham’s apartments; which, long the object of desire, now set his teeth on edge.  Nor need he have learned much of them then; for he had only to cross the lobby of the east wing, and was in view of the hall barely three seconds.  But, unluckily, Lady Dunborough, cackling shrewishly with a kindred dowager, caught sight of him as he passed; and in a trice her old limbs bore her in pursuit.  Mr. Fishwick heard his name called, had the weakness to turn, and too late found that he had fallen into the clutches of his ancient enemy.

The absence of her son’s name from the current rumours had relieved the Viscountess of her worst fears, and left her free to enjoy herself.  Seeing his dismay, ‘La, man!  I am not going to eat you!’ she cried; for the lawyer, nervous and profoundly dispirited, really shrank before her.  ’So you have brought back your fine madam, I hear?  And made an honest woman of her!’

Mr. Fishwick glared at her, but did not answer.

‘I knew what would come of pushing out of your place, my lad!’ she continued, nodding complacently.  ’It wasn’t likely she’d behave herself.  When the master is away the man will play, and the maid too.  I mind me perfectly of the groom.  A saucy fellow and a match for her; ’tis to be hoped he’ll beat some sense into her.  Was she tied up at Calne?’

‘No!’ Mr. Fishwick blurted, wincing under her words; which hurt him a hundred times more sharply than if the girl had been what he had thought her.  Then he might have laughed at the sneer and the spite that dictated it.  Now—­something like this all the world would say.