this feeling, for he said at once:

'I could easily, from your manner, surmise as much, you know. Perhaps I
might even have foretold it, years ago.'

'Foretold--what? Not the murder of Lord Pharanx?'

'Something of that kind,' he answered with a smile; 'but proceed--tell
me all the facts you know.'

Word-mysteries of this sort fell frequent from the lips of the prince.
I continued the narrative.

'The two, then, met, and were reconciled. But it was a reconciliation
without cordiality, without affection--a shaking of hands across a
barrier of brass; and even this hand-shaking was a strictly
metaphorical one, for they do not seem ever to have got beyond the
interchange of a frigid bow. The opportunities, however, for
observation were few. Soon after Randolph's arrival at Orven Hall, his
father entered on a life of the most absolute seclusion. The mansion is
an old three-storied one, the top floor consisting for the most part of
sleeping-rooms, the first of a library, drawing-room, and so on, and
the ground-floor, in addition to the dining and other ordinary rooms,
of another small library, looking out (at the side of the house) on a
low balcony, which, in turn, looks on a lawn dotted with flower-beds.
It was this smaller library on the ground-floor that was now divested
of its books, and converted into a bedroom for the earl. Hither he
migrated, and here he lived, scarcely ever leaving it. Randolph, on his
part, moved to a room on the first floor immediately above this. Some
of the retainers of the family were dismissed, and on the remaining few