He was speedily admitted, and his heart bounded with delight, when, in answer to his questions, he was told that Learmont was up and in his own private room. With a palpitating heart, Albert followed the servant who went to announce him. He heard the deep sepulchral tones of Learmont’s voice say—
“Come in!” and he thought—
“How much now one may be deceived in estimating character. Who would suppose that voice belonged to so good a man? And the countenance, too, of this squire, it is certainly not prepossessing, and yet what a kind heart he has!”
Albert Seyton was a far better physiognomist than he thought himself.
In another moment he was in the presence of one who, most on earth, he felt grateful to—but really the man who, most on earth, he had reason to entertain the greatest indignation at.
Learmont received his young secretary cautiously; and, turning to the servant, then he said,—
“Lay breakfast for me and this gentleman in the small morning room.”
The servant bowed down to the very ground, and closed the door after him so gently and quietly, that one could hardly suppose Learmont was anything but some piece of workmanship that any sudden noise or concussion of the air would destroy.
“You are early,” said Learmont to Albert, with a sickly smile.
“I fear, sir,” said Seyton, “that I have intruded upon you too soon, but my great anxiety—”