upon Mr. Gray with a degree of surprise, which, considering the change in the young man’s appearance, was by no means extraordinary.  Whatever the topic of their conversation may have been, it is not our purpose at present to disclose; but one thing is certain, that the transition which took place in Gray’s features, as well as in his whole manner, was remarkable almost beyond belief.  This, as we have said, manifested itself in some degree, on hearing that Corbet and his sister had something to say to him in the next room.  Now, however, the change was decided and striking.  All symptoms of tipsy triumph, arising from his success in college, had completely disappeared, and were replaced by an expression of seriousness and mingled cunning, which could not possibly escape observation.  There was a coolness, a force of reflection, a keen, calm, but agitated lustre in his small eyes, that was felt by the schoolmaster to be exceedingly disagreeable to contemplate.  In fact, the face of the young man was, in a surprising degree, calculating and sinister.  A great portion of its vulgarity was gone, and there remained something behind that seemed to partake of a capacity for little else than intrigue, dishonesty, and villany.  It was one of those countenances on which, when moved by the meditations of the mind within, nature frequently expresses herself as clearly as if she had written on it, in legible characters, ‘Beware of this man’.

After a little time, now that the object of this mysterious meeting had been accomplished, the party separated.

We mentioned that Corbet and Sir Thomas Gourlay were foster-brothers—­a relation which, in Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland, formed the basis of an attachment, on the part of the latter, stronger, in many instances, than that of nature itself.  Corbet’s brother stood also to him in the same relation as he did to the late Sir Edward Gourlay, under whom, and subsequently under his widow, he held the situation of house-steward until his death.  Edward Corbet, for his Christian name had been given him after that of his master—­his mother having nursed both brothers—­was apparently a mild, honest, affectionate man, trustworthy and respectful, as far, at least, as ever could be discovered to the contrary, and, consequently, never very deep in the confidence of his brother Charles, who was a great favorite with Sir Thomas, was supposed to be very deeply in his secrets, and held a similar situation in his establishment.  It was known, or at least supposed, that his brother Edward, having lived since his youth up with a liberal and affectionate master, must have saved a good deal of money; and, as he had never married, of course his brother, and also his sister—­the fortune-teller—­took it for granted that, being his nearest relations, whatever savings he had put together, must, after his death, necessarily pass into their hands.  He was many years older than either, and as they maintained a constant and deferential intercourse with him—­studied