wit and high-bred geniality. It was, of course, inevitable that a career
such as this, marked by a madness which grew daily, should lead sooner
or later to tragedy. And tragedy was coming swiftly. It came early in
the year 1760, before Lord Ferrers had reached his fortieth birthday.
And this is how it came.

The Court of Chancery had ordered that his lordship's rents should be
received and accounted for by a receiver, who, by way of concession to
his feelings, was to be appointed by himself. The Earl, who rarely
lacked shrewdness, looked round for the most suitable person to fill
this delicate post--for a man who should be as clay in his hands; and
such a "tool" he thought he had found in his steward, Mr John Johnson,
who had known him since boyhood, and who had never thwarted him even in
his maddest caprices. Mr Johnson was duly appointed receiver; but the
Earl's self-congratulation was short-lived. The steward proved that he
was possessed of a conscience, and that neither cajolery nor threats
could make him swerve from the straight path of honesty.

In vain the Earl coaxed and blustered and bullied. The receiver was
adamant. He had a duty to perform, and at any cost he would discharge
it. His lordship's rage at such unlooked-for recalcitrancy was
unbounded. He began to hate the too honest steward with a murderous
hatred; behind his back he loaded him with abuse, and vowed that, of all
his enemies, the steward was the most virulent and implicable. But while
the Earl was nursing this diabolical hatred, he showed little sign of it
to Johnson, who was so unsuspectingly walking to meet tragedy.

One January day, in 1760, Lord Ferrers sent a polite message to his
steward to come to Staunton Harold on an urgent matter of business. It
was on a Friday; and punctually at two o'clock, the hour appointed, Mr