cordially, shambled away without lighting a candle, and was engulfed in
the shadows of some mysterious corner.




CHAPTER IV.

The old world and the new.

It was long before Lionel could sleep. What with the strange house and
the strange master, what with the magic flute and the musician's
admonitory caution, what with tender and regretful reminiscences of
Sophy, his brain had enough to work on. When he slept at last, his
slumber was deep and heavy, and he did not wake till gently shaken by the
well-bred arm of Mr. Mills. "I humbly beg pardon: nine o'clock, sir, and
the breakfast-bell going to ring." Lionel's toilet was soon hurried
over; Mr. Darrell and Fairthorn were talking together as he entered the
breakfast-room,--the same room as that in which they had dined.

"Good morning, Lionel," said the host. "No leave-taking to-day, as you
threatened. I find you have made an appointment with Mr. Fairthorn, and
I shall place you under his care. You may like to look over the old
house, and make yourself"--Darrell paused "at home," jerked out Mr.
Fairthorn, filling up the hiatus. Darrell turned his eye towards the
speaker, who evidently became much frightened, and, after looking in vain
for a corner, sidled away to the window and poked himself behind the
curtain. "Mr. Fairthorn, in the capacity of my secretary, has learned to
find me thoughts, and put them in his own words," said Darrell, with a
coldness almost icy. He then seated himself at the breakfast-table;