A few minutes of brisk driving brought them to Wyndham village, which consisted merely of one long straggling street, lined with houses and gardens. In the very centre of the street, upon four corners formed by the intersection of a country road, was gathered the business portion of the hamlet. Upon the corner was the village smithy, from whose open door came the ringing sound of hammer upon anvil. A group of countrymen were gathered about the door of the smithy, and a few carts stood before it on the paved street. Upon a second corner was a general shop and postoffice in one. Upon a third corner was a rival establishment, of the same description, but without the advantage and prestige of the postoffice, and on the fourth corner stood the Wyndham Inn, with its swinging sign, ample court-yard and hospitable look.
It was an old stone building, with a wide portico in front, on which were tables and chairs. Rufus Black was driven into the court, and sprang out of the cab, at the same moment that the portly, rubicund landlord came out to receive him. The young man inquired for his father, and was informed that he was in his rooms at the inn. Rufus paid and dismissed the cabman, and followed the landlord into the inn.
He was conducted up a flight of uncarpeted stairs, and the landlord pointed out to him the door of a front chamber as the one at which he was to knock. Rufus quietly lifted the latch and ushered himself into the room, closing the door behind him.
The room was a pleasant little country parlor, with three casement windows, a faded carpet on the floor, cane-seated furniture, and a jug of flowers on the mantel-shelf. The sunlight streamed in, but its heat was tempered by the delicious breeze. The Honorable Craven Black was not in the room, but there were vestiges of his occupancy on every side. Upon a small table stood his massive dressing case with mirror and brushes mounted in exquisitely carved ivory, and with boxes and bottle-stoppers of finely chased and solid gold. All the appointments of the large case were luxurious in the extreme, and Rufus thought bitterly that the sum which that Sybaritic affair had cost would be a fortune to him in his own present destitution.
A beautiful inlaid writing case, a tobacco jar of the finest Sevres porcelain, a Turkish pipe mounted in gold and amber, a liqueur case, and various other costly trifles, were scattered lavishly about. The Honorable Craven Black had never denied himself a luxury in his life, and these things he carried with him wherever he went, as necessary to his comfort and happiness.
Rufus Black’s lips curled as he looked on these luxuries and mentally calculated their cost. He was in the midst of his calculation when the door of the adjoining bedroom was opened from within, and his father came out, habited in slippers and dressing-gown, and with an Indian embroidered cap of scarlet and gold poised lightly on his fair head.
His light eyes opened a little wider than usual as he beheld his son, and his usual cynical smile showed itself disagreeably around his white teeth.
“So you’ve come at last, have you?” he exclaimed. “I expected you yesterday.”
“I received your letter this morning, soon after breakfast, sir,” answered Rufus, “and I came on at once in the express train. I have changed my lodgings from the one you knew, and the letter was sent on from my old to my new address.”
Mr. Black eyed his son critically, his cynical smile deepening.