somewhat carried you away--"

"Well, then, Doctor Danvers," interrupted Marston, drily, and without
heeding his concluding remark, "if you really have business with me, it
is, at all events, of no very pressing kind, and may be as well told
after supper as now. So, pray, go into the house and rest yourself: we
can talk together in the evening."

"My horse is not tired," said the clergyman, patting his steed's neck;
"and if you do not object, I will ride by your side for a short time, and
as we go, I can say out what I have to tell."

"Well, well, be it so," said Marston, with suppressed impatience, and
without more ceremony, he rode slowly along the avenue, and turned off
upon the soft sward in the direction of the wildest portion of his wooded
demesne, the clergyman keeping close beside him. They proceeded some
little way at a walk before Doctor Danvers spoke.

"I have been twice or thrice with that unhappy man," at length he said.

"What unhappy man? Unhappiness is no distinguishing singularity, is it?"
said Marston, sharply.

"No, truly, you have well said," replied Doctor Danvers. "True it is that
man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward. I speak, however, of
your servant, Merton--a most unhappy wretch."

"Ha! you have been with him, you say?" replied Marston, with evident
interest and anxiety.