form also was shapely and athletic, though not very tall, giving promise
of more than common strength, and the bearing that of a gentleman who
had not brought himself up to the belief that ancient blood can cover
modern deficiencies of mind and manner. Such was the outward appearance
of Leonard Outram as he was then, in his twenty-third year.



While Leonard watched and hesitated on the roadway, unable, apparently,
to make up his mind to pass those iron gates, and yet desirous of doing
so, carts and carriages began to appear hurrying down the avenue towards
him.

"I suppose that the sale is over," he muttered to himself. "Well, like
death, it is a good thing to have done with."

Then he turned to go; but hearing the crunch of wheels close at hand,
stepped back into the shadow of the gateway pillar, fearing lest he
should be recognised on the open road. A carriage came up, and, just as
it reached the gates, something being amiss with the harness, a footman
descended from the box to set it right. From where he stood Leonard
could see its occupants, the wife and daughter of a neighbouring squire,
and overhear their conversation. He knew them well; indeed, the younger
lady had been one of his favourite partners at the county balls.

"How cheap the things went, Ida! Fancy buying that old oak sideboard for
ten pounds, and with all those Outram quarterings on it too! It is as
good as an historical document, and I am sure that it must be worth at
least fifty. I shall sell ours and put it into the dining-room. I have
coveted that sideboard for years."