I now recognized my companion.  I recognized him from the moment when he removed his hat and uncovered the lofty, furrowed, and somewhat narrow brow beneath.  I had met him, as I distinctly remembered, some three years before, at the very house for which, in all probability, he was now bound, like myself.  His name was Dwerrihouse; he was a lawyer by profession; and, if I was not greatly mistaken, was first-cousin to the wife of my host.  I knew also that he was a man eminently “well to do,” both as regarded his professional and private means.  The Jelfs entertained him with that sort of observant courtesy which falls to the lot of the rich relation; the children made much of him; and the old butler, albeit somewhat surly “to the general,” treated him with deference.  I thought, observing him by the vague mixture of lamplight and twilight, that Mrs. Jelf’s cousin looked all the worse for the three years’ wear and tear which had gone over his head since our last meeting.  He was very pale, and had a restless light in his eye that I did not remember to have observed before.  The anxious lines, too, about his mouth were deepened, and there was a cavernous, hollow look about his cheeks and temples which seemed to speak of sickness or sorrow.  He had glanced at me as he came in, but without any gleam of recognition in his face.  Now he glanced again, as I fancied, somewhat doubtfully.  When he did so for the third or fourth time, I ventured to address him.

“Mr. John Dwerrihouse, I think?”

“That is my name,” he replied.

“I had the pleasure of meeting you at Dumbleton about three years ago.”

Mr. Dwerrihouse bowed.

“I thought I knew your face,” he said.  “But your name, I regret to say—­”

“Langford,—­William Langford.  I have known Jonathan Jelf since we were boys together at Merchant Taylor’s, and I generally spend a few weeks at Dumbleton in the shooting-season.  I suppose we are bound for the same destination?”

“Not if you are on your way to the Manor,” he replied.  “I am travelling upon business,—­rather troublesome business, too,—­whilst you, doubtless, have only pleasure in view.”

“Just so.  I am in the habit of looking forward to this visit as to the brightest three weeks in all the year.”

“It is a pleasant house,” said Mr. Dwerrihouse.

“The pleasantest I know.”

“And Jelf is thoroughly hospitable.”

“The best and kindest fellow in the world!”

“They have invited me to spend Christmas week with them,” pursued Mr. Dwerrihouse, after a moment’s pause.

“And you are coming?”

“I cannot tell.  It must depend on the issue of this business which I have in hand.  You have heard, perhaps, that we are about to construct a branch line from Blackwater to Stockbridge.”

I explained that I had been for some months away from England, and had therefore heard nothing of the contemplated improvement.