“I scarcely can separate the two in my mind,” said Jack, doubtingly.
“Can't you, sir? Why, nature is your skin, temper only your great-coat.” And the old lawyer laughed heartily at his own conceit. “But here comes the postman.”
The double knock had scarcely reverberated through the spacious hall when the servant entered with a letter.
“Ah! Barry Martin's hand. What have we here?” said Repton, as he ran his eyes over it. “So-so; just as I was saying this minute, only that Barry has the good sense to see it himself. 'My nephew,' he writes, 'has his own ideas on all these subjects, which are not mine; and as it is no part of my plan to hamper my gift with conditions that might impair its value, I mean to leave this at once.
“'I have had my full share of calamity since I set foot in this land; and if this rugged old nature could be crushed by mere misfortune, the last two months might have done it. But no, Repton, the years by which we survive friends serve equally to make us survive affections, and we live on, untouched by time!
“'I mean to be with you this evening. Let us dine alone together, for I have much to say to you.
“' Yours ever,
“'Barry Martin.
“'I hope I may see Massingbred before I sail. I 'd like to shake hands with him once again. Say so to him, at all events.'”
“Come in to-morrow to breakfast,” said Repton; “by that time we'll have finished all mere business affairs.” And Massingbred having assented, they parted.