The clock was striking two, when the steward, after leaving his horse in the stables of Clifford Park, walked hastily to the hall, and admitted himself by means of a private key, to the wing of the building occupied by the confessor and himself. On looking towards the chamber of the priest, as Morley approached the mansion, a thin stream of light escaped from an opening in the shutters, and told that the holy occupant had not yet retired to his pillow. The steward tapped gently at the churchman’s door, which was opened by the occupant himself. ‘Within, the room was in manifest confusion—several trunks and boxes were being packed—the grate was filled with the remains of burnt papers—and it was quite evident that the confessor was making such preparations as foreboded an immediate departure.
“How now, Morley,—What news? Has aught occurred since noon?” inquired the churchman.
“I have determined to run the risk, and nothing now can change this resolution. The arrangements are completed. To-morrow night—”
“Nay,” said the confessor—“I neither wish, nor will know any thing of what is to happen to-morrow. It is enough for me to know what has occurred this afternoon.”
“Has any thing important taken place?” asked the steward.
“Yes—two persons arrived this evening. They sleep to-night in the house. One I know to be Mr. Clifford’s legal adviser. The other I fancy is to be the successor to yourself.”
“To me?” exclaimed Morley in astonishment. “No, no! holy father! That will not be so hastily decided as you imagine.”
“Well—a short time will settle the question. After the strangers had been closeted with the old man for an hour, I framed an excuse, and requested to speak to Mr. Clifford for a minute. An answer was returned that he was engaged particularly, and orders issued that none should intrude upon him. There is a change indeed. I, refused admittance, who for years was constant at his side even as a shadow. I, who hitherto dictated who should be received and who rejected! Saints and angels! I can scarcely believe the thing myself.”
The steward had listened with an expression of countenance, which evinced a sort of stupid incredulity. “Father, are we both awake?” he inquired with a sickly smile, that betrayed the inward workings of a bosom racked with disappointment and despair.