Brandon's dark eye glanced quickly from the signature of the premier,
affixed to this communication, towards the mirror opposite him. He
strode to it, and examined his own countenance with a long and wistful
gaze. Never, we think, did youthful gallant about to repair to the
trysting-spot, in which fair looks make the greatest of earthly
advantages, gaze more anxiously on the impartial glass than now did the
ascetic and scornful judge; and never, we ween, did the eye of the said
gallant retire with a more satisfied and triumphant expression.

"Yes, yes!" muttered the judge, "no sign of infirmity is yet written
here; the blood flows clear and warm enough; the cheek looks firm too,
and passing full, for one who was always of the lean kine. Aha! this
letter is a cordial, an elixir vitro. I feel as if a new lease were
granted to the reluctant tenant. Lord Warlock, the first Baron of
Warlock, Lord Chief Baron,--what next?"

As he spoke, he strode unconsciously away, folding his arms with that
sort of joyous and complacent gesture which implies the idea of a man
hugging himself in a silent delight. Assuredly had the most skilful
physician then looked upon the ardent and all-lighted face, the firm
step, the elastic and muscular frame, the vigorous air of Brandon, as he
mentally continued his soliloquy, he would have predicted for him as fair
a grasp on longevity as the chances of mortal life will allow. He was
interrupted by the servant entering.

"It is twenty-five minutes after nine, sir," said he, respectfully.

"Sir,--sir!" repeated Brandon. "Ah, well! so late!"

"Yes, sir, and the sheriff's carriage is almost at the door."