This old man, already ill, liable at any moment to the accidents of age, and still madly absorbed, to the full extent of his powers and his time, in the pursuits of connoisseurship—­what could he really do in the way of effective supervision of his agent?  A little tact, a little prudent maneuvering; some money here, possibly out of his, Faversham’s, own pocket; judicious temporizing there; white lying when necessary—­a certain element of intrigue in Faversham rose to the business with alacrity.  In the pride of his young brain and his recovered strength he did not regard it as possible that he should fail in it.  After all, the law was now squeezing Melrose; and might be gently and invisibly assisted.  If, as to the will itself, his lips were sealed, it would be possible to give some hint to Lydia, for friendship to interpret; to plead with her for patience, in view of the powers, the beneficent powers, that must be his—­aye and hers—­the darling!—­some day.

The thought of them was intoxicating!  A man to whom wealth had always appeared as the only gate of opportunity, was now to be rich beyond the utmost dream of his ambition.  The world lay at his feet.  He would use it well; he would do all things honourably.  Ease, travel, a political career, wide influence, the possession of beautiful things—­in a very short time they would all be in his grasp; for Melrose was near his end.  Some difficulty first, but not too much; the struggle that leads to the prize!

As he softly let himself in at the side door of the Tower, and mounted to his new room, his whole nature was like a fiercely sped arrow, aflight for its goal.  Of what obstacles might lie between him and his goal he had ceased to take account.  Compunctions had disappeared.

Only—­once—­as he stood dreamily looking round the strange bedroom to which his personal possessions had been transferred, an image crossed his mind which was disagreeable.  It was that of Nash, the shady solicitor in Pengarth, Melrose’s factotum in many disreputable affairs, and his agent in the ruin of the Brands.  A little reptile if ever there was one!  Faversham had come across the creature a good deal since his appointment as agent; and was well aware that he had excited Nash’s jealousy and dislike.  A man to be guarded against no doubt; but what could he do?  Faversham contemptuously dismissed the thought of him.

A charming old room!—­though the height and the dark tone of the oak panelling sucked all the light from his pair of candles.  That would be altered as soon as the electric installation, for which Melrose had just signed the contract, was complete.  In the centre of the wall opposite the window, through which a chill dawn was just beginning to penetrate, stood a fine armoire of carved Norman work.  Faversham went to look at it, and vaguely opened one of its drawers.

There was something at the back of the drawer, a picture, apparently an old photograph, lying face downward.  He drew it out, and looked at it.