in company with other persons, and seemed to avoid being alone with him.  Nor did he ride any distance with Lord Mohun, as his custom was with most of his friends, whom he was always eager to welcome and unwilling to lose; but contented himself, when his lordship’s horses were announced, and their owner appeared, booted for his journey, to take a courteous leave of the ladies of Castlewood, by following the Lord Mohun down stairs to his horses, and by bowing and wishing him a good-day, in the court-yard.  “I shall see you in London before very long, Mohun,” my lord said, with a smile, “when we will settle our accounts together.”

“Do not let them trouble you, Frank,” said the other good-naturedly, and holding out his hand, looked rather surprised at the grim and stately manner in which his host received his parting salutation; and so, followed by his people, he rode away.

Harry Esmond was witness of the departure.  It was very different to my lord’s coming, for which great preparation had been made (the old house putting on its best appearance to welcome its guest), and there was a sadness and constraint about all persons that day, which filled Mr. Esmond with gloomy forebodings, and sad indefinite apprehensions.  Lord Castlewood stood at the door watching his guest and his people as they went out under the arch of the outer gate.  When he was there, Lord Mohun turned once more, my Lord Viscount slowly raised his beaver and bowed.  His face wore a peculiar livid look, Harry thought.  He cursed and kicked away his dogs, which came jumping about him—­then he walked up to the fountain in the centre of the court, and leaned against a pillar and looked into the basin.  As Esmond crossed over to his own room, late the chaplain’s, on the other side of the court, and turned to enter in at the low door, he saw Lady Castlewood looking through the curtains of the great window of the drawing-room overhead, at my lord as he stood regarding the fountain.  There was in the court a peculiar silence somehow; and the scene remained long in Esmond’s memory:—­the sky bright overhead; the buttresses of the building and the sun-dial casting shadow over the gilt memento mori inscribed underneath; the two dogs, a black greyhound and a spaniel nearly white, the one with his face up to the sun, and the other snuffing amongst the grass and stones, and my lord leaning over the fountain, which was bubbling audibly.  ’Tis strange how that scene, and the sound of that fountain, remain fixed on the memory of a man who has beheld a hundred sights of splendor, and danger too, of which he has kept no account.

It was Lady Castlewood—­she had been laughing all the morning, and especially gay and lively before her husband and his guest—­who as soon as the two gentlemen went together from her room, ran to Harry, the expression of her countenance quite changed now, and with a face and eyes full of care, and said, “Follow them, Harry, I am sure something has gone wrong.”  And so it was that Esmond was made an eavesdropper at this lady’s orders and retired to his own chamber, to give himself time in truth to try and compose a story which would soothe his mistress, for he could not but have his own apprehension that some serious quarrel was pending between the two gentlemen.