These were words to set me thinking.  And many a time they came back to me when the old man was laid away in the spot reserved for those who sailed the seas for Mr. Carvel.

Every week I drew up a report for my grandfather, and thus I strove by shouldering labour and responsibility to ease my conscience of that load which troubled it.  For often, as we walked together through the yellow fields of an evening, it had been on my tongue to confess the lie Mr. Allen had led me into.  But the sight of the old man, trembling and tremulous, aged by a single stroke, his childlike trust in my strength and beliefs, and above all his faith in a political creed which he nigh deemed needful for the soul’s salvation,—­these things still held me back.  Was it worth while now, I asked myself, to disturb the peace of that mind?

Thus the summer wore on to early autumn.  And one day I was standing booted and spurred in the stables, Harvey putting the bridle upon Firefly, when my boy Hugo comes running in.

“Marse Dick!” he cries, “Marse Satan he come in the pinnace, and young Marse Satan and Missis Satan, and Marse Satan’s pastor!”

“What the devil do you mean, Hugo?”

“Young ebony’s right, sir,” chuckled Harvey; “’tis the devil and his following.”

“Do you mean Mr. Grafton, fellow?” I demanded, the unwelcome truth coming over me.

“That he does,” remarked Harvey, laconically.  “You won’t be wanting her now, your honour?”

“Hold my stirrup,” I cried, for the news had put me in anger.  “Hold my stirrup, sirrah!”

I believe I took Firefly the best of thirty miles that afternoon and brought her back in the half-light, my saddle discoloured with her sweat.  I clanked into the hall like a captain of horse.  The night was sharp with the first touch of autumn, and a huge backlog lay on the irons.  Around it, in a comfortable half-circle sat our guests, Grafton and Mr. Allen and Philip smoking and drinking for a whet against supper, and Mrs. Grafton in my grandfather’s chair.  There was an easy air of possession about the party of them that they had never before assumed, and the sight made me rattle again, the big door behind me.

“A surprise for you, my dear nephew,” Grafton said gayly, “I’ll, lay a puncheon you did, not, expect us.”

Mr. Carvel woke with a start at the sound of the door and said querulously, “Guests, my lord, and I have done my poor best to make them welcome in your absence.”

The sense of change in him stung me.  How different would his tone have been a year ago!

He tattooed with his cane, which was the sign he generally made when he was ready for bed.  Toward night his speech would hurt him.  I assisted him up, the stairs, my uncle taking his arm on the other side.  And together, with Diomedes help; we undressed him, Grafton talking in low tomes the while:  Since this was, an office I was wont to perform, my temper was now overwhelming me.  But I kept my month closed.  At last he had had the simple meal Dr. Leiden allowed him, his candles were snuffed, and my uncle and I made our way to the hall together:  There my aunt and Mr. Allen were at picquet.