So he stormed on till Tupcombe, who had been alarmedly listening in
the next room, entered suddenly, declaring to Reynard that his
master's life was in danger if the interview were prolonged, he
being subject to apoplectic strokes at these crises. Reynard
immediately said that he would be the last to wish to injure Squire
Dornell, and left the room, and as soon as the Squire had recovered
breath and equanimity, he went out of the inn, leaning on the arm of
Tupcombe.

Tupcombe was for sleeping in Bristol that night, but Dornell, whose
energy seemed as invincible as it was sudden, insisted upon mounting
and getting back as far as Falls-Park, to continue the journey to
King's-Hintock on the following day. At five they started, and took
the southern road toward the Mendip Hills. The evening was dry and
windy, and, excepting that the sun did not shine, strongly reminded
Tupcombe of the evening of that March month, nearly five years
earlier, when news had been brought to King's-Hintock Court of the
child Betty's marriage in London--news which had produced upon
Dornell such a marked effect for the worse ever since, and
indirectly upon the household of which he was the head. Before that
time the winters were lively at Falls-Park, as well as at King's-
Hintock, although the Squire had ceased to make it his regular
residence. Hunting-guests and shooting-guests came and went, and
open house was kept. Tupcombe disliked the clever courtier who had
put a stop to this by taking away from the Squire the only treasure
he valued.

It grew darker with their progress along the lanes, and Tupcombe
discovered from Mr. Dornell's manner of riding that his strength was
giving way; and spurring his own horse close alongside, he asked him