‘Oy, sir—­you! my man!’ exclaimed the tallest of the pair, resolutely.  ’This won’t do.  Don’t you know driving this sort of conveyance slap along the gravel ’ere, up to the pillars, ’s unparliamentary?  Can’t be allowed.  Now, right about!’

This address, accompanied by a commanding elevation of the dexter hand, seemed to excite Mr. Raikes far more than Old Tom.  He alighted from his perch in haste, and was running up to the stalwart figure, crying, ‘Fellow!’ when, as you tell a dog to lie down, Old Tom called out, ’Be quiet, Sir!’ and Raikes halted with prompt military obedience.

The sight of the curricle acting satellite to the donkey-cart staggered the two footmen.

‘Are you lords?’ sang out Old Tom.

A burst of laughter from the friends of Mr. Raikes, in the curricle, helped to make the powdered gentlemen aware of a sarcasm, and one with no little dignity replied that they were not lords.

‘Oh!  Then come and hold my donkey.’

Great irresolution was displayed at the injunction, but having consulted the face of Mr. Raikes, one fellow, evidently half overcome by what was put upon him, with the steps of Adam into exile, descended to the gravel, and laid his hand on the donkey’s head.

‘Hold hard!’ cried Old Tom.  ’Whisper in his ear.  He’ll know your language.’

‘May I have the felicity of assisting you to terra firma?’ interposed Mr. Raikes, with the bow of deferential familiarity.

‘Done that once too often,’ returned Old Tom, jumping out.  ’There.  What’s the fee?  There’s a crown for you that ain’t afraid of a live donkey; and there ’s a sixpenny bit for you that are—­to keep up your courage; and when he’s dead you shall have his skin—­to shave by.’

‘Excellent!’ shouted Raikes.

‘Thomas!’ he addressed a footman, ’hand in my card.  Mr. John Feversham Raikes.’

‘And tell my lady, Tom Cogglesby’s come,’ added the owner of that name.

We will follow Tom Cogglesby, as he chooses to be called.

Lady Jocelyn rose on his entering the library, and walking up to him, encountered him with a kindly full face.

‘So I see you at last, Tom?’ she said, without releasing his hand; and Old Tom mounted patches of red in his wrinkled cheeks, and blinked, and betrayed a singular antiquated bashfulness, which ended, after a mumble of ‘Yes, there he was, and he hoped her ladyship was well,’ by his seeking refuge in a chair, where he sat hard, and fixed his attention on the leg of a table.

‘Well, Tom, do you find much change in me?’ she was woman enough to continue.

He was obliged to look up.

‘Can’t say I do, my lady.’

‘Don’t you see the grey hairs, Tom?’

‘Better than a wig,’ rejoined he.

Was it true that her ladyship had behaved rather ill to Old Tom in her youth?  Excellent women have been naughty girls, and young Beauties will have their train.  It is also very possible that Old Tom had presumed upon trifles, and found it difficult to forgive her his own folly.