he learned that Mr Bellamy was within—­had made his appearance at home late on the evening before, and, at the present moment, was enjoying his breakfast.  Michael, for sudden joy and excitement, was wellnigh thrown from his equilibrium.  Here was confirmation stronger than ever!  Would he have returned to the estate upon the very eve of disposing of it, if he had not intended to deal well and honestly in the transaction?  Would he not have been ashamed to do it?  Would he have subjected himself to the just reproaches and upbraidings of his partner, when, by his absence, he might so easily have avoided them?  Certainly not.  Michael Allcraft, for a few brief seconds, was a happier man than he had been for years.  His eyes were hardly free of the tears which he had shed in the extremity of his distress, and he was now ready to weep again in the very exuberance and wildness of his delight.  He presented his card to the corpulent and powdered footman; he was announced; he was ushered in.  Walter Bellamy, Esquire, sitting in state, received his friend and partner with many smiles and much urbanity.  He was still at breakfast, and advancing slowly in the meal, like a gentleman whose breakfast was his greatest care in life.  Nothing could be more striking than the air of stately repose visible in the proprietor himself, and in the specious and solemn serving-man, who stood behind him—­less a serving-man than a sublime dumb waiter.  Michael was affected by it, and he approached his colleague with a rising sentiment of awe—­partly, perhaps, the effect of the scene—­partly the result of natural apprehension.

“Most glad to see you, my very good friend,” began the master—­“most glad—­most happy—­pray, be seated.  A lovely morning this!  A plate for Mr. Allcraft.”

“Thank you—­I have breakfasted,” said Michael, declining the kind offer.  “I had no thought of finding you at home.”

“Ay—­a mutual and unexpected pleasure.  Just so.  I had no thought of coming home until I started, and I arrived here only late last night.  Business seldom suites itself to one’s convenience.”

“Seldom, indeed—­very seldom,” answered Michael, with a friendly smile, and a look of meaning, which showed that he had taken hope from Mr Bellamy’s expression—­“and,” he continued, “having returned, I presume you spend some time amongst us.”

“Not a day, my friend.  To-morrow I am on the wing again.  I have left a dozen men behind me, who’ll hunt me over the country, if I don’t rejoin them without delay.  No.  I am off again to-morrow.” (Michael moved uneasily in his chair.) “But, how are you, Mr Allcraft?  How are all our friends?  Nothing new, I’ll venture to say.  This world is a stale affair at the best.  Life is seen and known at twenty.  Live to sixty, and it is like reading a dull book three times over.  You had better take a cup of coffee, Mr Allcraft!”

“Thank you—­no.  You surprise me by your determination.”