The servant silently departed.  Hubert walked across the hall, giving a glance here and there, and entered the library.  Nothing had been altered here since his father’s, nay, since his grandfather’s time.  That grandfather—­his name Hubert—­had combined strong intellectual tendencies with the extravagant tastes which gave his already tottering house the decisive push.  The large collection of superbly-bound books which this room contained were nearly all of his purchasing, for prior to his time the Eldons had not been wont to concern themselves with things of the mind.  Hubert, after walking to the window and looking out for a moment on the side lawn, pushed a small couch near to the fireplace, and threw himself down at full length, his hands beneath his head.  In a moment his position seemed to have become uneasy; he turned upon his side, uttering an exclamation as if of pain.  A minute or two and again he moved, this time with more evident impatience.  The next thing he did was to rise, step to the bell, and ring it violently.

The same servant appeared.

‘Isn’t the bath ready?’ Hubert asked.  His former mode of speaking had been brief and decided; he was now almost imperious.

‘I believe it will be in a moment, sir,’ was the reply, marked, perhaps, by just a little failure in the complete subservience expected.

Hubert looked at the man for an instant with contracted brows, but merely said—­’Tell them to be quick.’

The man returned in less than three minutes with a satisfactory announcement, and Eldon went upstairs to refresh himself.

Two hours later he had dined, with obvious lack of appetite, and was deriving but slight satisfaction from a cigar, when the servant entered with a message from Mrs. Eldon:  she desired to see her son.

Hubert threw his cigar aside, and made a gesture expressing his wish to be led to his mother’s room.  The man conducted him to the landing at the head of the first flight of stairs; there a female servant was waiting, who, after a respectful movement, led the way to a door at a few yards’ distance.  She opened it and drew back.  Hubert passed into the room.

It was furnished in a very old-fashioned style—­heavily, richly, and with ornaments seemingly procured rather as evidences of wealth than of taste; successive Mrs. Eldons had used it as a boudoir.  The present lady of that name sat in a great chair near the fire.  Though not yet fifty, she looked at least ten years older; her hair had streaks of white, and her thin delicate features were much lined and wasted.  It would not be enough to say that she had evidently once been beautiful, for in truth she was so still, with a spiritual beauty of a very rare type.  Just now her face was set in a sternness which did not seem an expression natural to it; the fine lips were much more akin to smiling sweetness, and the brows accepted with repugnance anything but the stamp of thoughtful charity.