"What! you, sir? So early? Hark, the clock is striking five!"
"Not later! I have walked well for a lame man. It must be more than four miles to —— and back."
"You have been to ——: not on business? No soul would be up."
"Yes, at inns there is always some one up. Ostlers never sleep! I have been to order my humble chaise and pair. I leave you to day, nephew."
"Ah, uncle, we have offended you. It was my folly—that cursed print—"
"Pooh!" said my uncle, quickly. "Offended me, boy! I defy you!" and he pressed my hand roughly.
"Yet this sudden determination! It was but yesterday, at the Roman Camp, that you planned an excursion with my father to C—— Castle."
"Never depend upon a whimsical man. I must be in London to-night."
"And return to morrow?"
"I know not when," said my uncle, gloomily; and he was silent for some moments. At length, leaning less lightly on my arm, he continued—"Young man, you have pleased me. I love that open saucy brow of yours, on which nature has written 'Trust me.' I love those clear eyes that look man manfully in the face. I must know more of you—much of you. You must come and see me some day or other in your ancestor's ruined keep."