This set him talking of the great world of London, telling my father about the men who were his masters at the Admiralty, and my mother about the beauties of the town, and the great ladies at Almack’s, but all in the same light, fanciful way, so that one never knew whether to laugh or to take him gravely.  I think it flattered him to see the way in which we all three hung upon his words.  Of some he thought highly and of some lowly, but he made no secret that the highest of all, and the one against whom all others should be measured, was Sir Charles Tregellis himself.

“As to the King,” said he, “of course, I am l’ami de famille there; and even with you I can scarce speak freely, as my relations are confidential.”

“God bless him and keep him from ill!” cried my father.

“It is pleasant to hear you say so,” said my uncle.  “One has to come into the country to hear honest loyalty, for a sneer and a gibe are more the fashions in town.  The King is grateful to me for the interest which I have ever shown in his son.  He likes to think that the Prince has a man of taste in his circle.”

“And the Prince?” asked my mother.  “Is he well-favoured?”

“He is a fine figure of a man.  At a distance he has been mistaken for me.  And he has some taste in dress, though he gets slovenly if I am too long away from him.  I warrant you that I find a crease in his coat to-morrow.”

We were all seated round the fire by this time, for the evening had turned chilly.  The lamp was lighted and so also was my father’s pipe.

“I suppose,” said he, “that this is your first visit to Friar’s Oak?”

My uncle’s face turned suddenly very grave and stern.

“It is my first visit for many years,” said he.  “I was but one-and-twenty years of age when last I came here.  I am not likely to forget it.”

I knew that he spoke of his visit to Cliffe Royal at the time of the murder, and I saw by her face that my mother knew it also.  My father, however, had either never heard of it, or had forgotten the circumstance.

“Was it at the inn you stayed?” he asked.

“I stayed with the unfortunate Lord Avon.  It was the occasion when he was accused of slaying his younger brother and fled from the country.”

We all fell silent, and my uncle leaned his chin upon his hand, looking thoughtfully into the fire.  If I do but close my eyes now, I can see the light upon his proud, handsome face, and see also my dear father, concerned at having touched upon so terrible a memory, shooting little slanting glances at him betwixt the puffs of his pipe.

“I dare say that it has happened with you, sir,” said my uncle at last, “that you have lost some dear messmate, in battle or wreck, and that you have put him out of your mind in the routine of your daily life, until suddenly some word or some scene brings him back to your memory, and you find your sorrow as raw as upon the first day of your loss.”