“Anthony,” said Frederic Wildegrave, as his cousin, in no very gentle mood, entered the house, “unexpected business calls me away for some weeks to a distant county.  You must make yourself as comfortable as you can during my absence.  Clary will do the honors of the house.  By-the-by, I have just received four hundred pounds for the sale of the big marsh.  I have not time to deposit the money in the bank; but will you see to it some time during the week.  There is the key of my desk.  You will find the money and the banker’s book in the second drawer.  And now, Clary, don’t look so grave, but give me a kiss, and wish me back.”

“I don’t think that you will have any,” said Clary flinging her arms round his neck.  “My heart fills with gloom at the thought of your going away—­and so suddenly.”

“I shall come back as soon as I possibly can.  What in tears.  Silly child!”

“Don’t go, dear Fred.”

“Nonsense!  Business must not be neglected.”

“Something tells me that this journey is not for good.”

“Dear Clary, I could quarrel with you for these superstitious fears.  Farewell, my own darling—­and joy be with you.”

Kissing again and again the tears from Clarissa’s cheek, and shaking Anthony warmly by the hand, the young master of the mansion sprang to his saddle and was gone, leaving Anthony and Clary to amuse themselves in the best manner they could.

“You must not forget, Anthony, that Fred has left you his banker.  He is so generous that the money will be safer in your hands than in his own.”

Anthony laughed, and put the key of the desk into his pocket.  What to him was the money? had it been four thousand, or forty thousand, he would not, in all probability have given it a second thought.

The next morning Clary was seriously indisposed, and her cousin took his breakfast alone.  After making many anxious inquiries about her, and being assured by old Ruth that she only required rest to be quite well again, he retired to Frederic’s study; and taking up a volume of a new work that was just out, he was soon buried in its contents.

A loud altercation in the passage, between some person who insisted upon seeing Mr. Hurdlestone and old Ruth, broke in upon his studies.

“Will you please to send up your name, sir?” said Ruth, in no very gentle tones; “Mr. Hurdlestone is busy.”

“No.  I told you before that I would announce myself.”

Anthony instantly recognised the voice, and before he could lay aside the book, Godfrey Hurdlestone stood before him.

How changed—­how dreadfully changed he was, since they last met.  The wicked career of a few months had stamped and furrowed his brow with the lines of years.  His dress was mean and faded.  He looked dirty and slovenly, and little of his former manly beauty and elegance of person remained.  So utterly degraded was his appearance, that a cry of surprise broke from Anthony’s lips, so inexpressibly shocked was he at an alteration so startling.