“That was bad blunder about the note,” muttered Linton, as he walked along towards home, “and might have lost the game, if the antagonist had any skill whatever.”
CHAPTER XXIII. LINTON VISITS HIS ESTATE.
Let's see the field, and mark it well,
For, here, will be the battle.
Ottocar.
“Does this path lead to the house, friend?” said a gentleman whose dress bespoke recent travel, to the haggard, discontented figure of a man who, seated on a stone beside a low and broken wicket, was lazily filling his pipe, and occasionally throwing stealthy glances at the stranger. A. short nod of the head was the reply. “You belong to the place, I suppose?”
“Maybe I do; and what then?”
“Simply that, as I am desirous of going thither, I should be glad of your showing me the way.”
“Troth, an' there's little to see when you get there,” rejoined the other, sarcastically. “What are you by trade, if it's not displeasin' to ye?”
“That's the very question I was about to ask you,” said Linton, for it was himself; “you appear to have a very easy mode of life, whatever it be, since you are so indifferent about earning half-a-crown.”
Tom Keane arose from his seat, and made an awkward attempt at saluting, as he said,—