I need hardly say that I never set the pendulum swinging again. Many
years after, I came upon it when searching for a key, and the thrill
which vibrated through my whole frame announced a strange and unwelcome
presence long before my memory could recall its origin.

It must not be supposed that I pretend to remember all the conversation
I have just set down. The words are but the forms in which, enlightened
by facts which have since come to my knowledge, I clothe certain vague
memories and impressions of such an interview as certainly took place.

In the morning, at breakfast, my aunt asked my uncle who it was that
paid such an untimely visit the preceding night.

'A fellow from Minstercombe' (the county town), 'an attorney--what did
he say his name was? Yes, I remember. It was the same as the steward's
over the way. Coningham, it was.'

'Mr Coningham has a son there--an attorney too, I think,' said my aunt.

My uncle seemed struck by the reminder, and became meditative.

'That explains his choosing such a night to come in. His father is
getting an old man now. Yes, it must be the same.'

'He's a sharp one, folk say,' said my aunt, with a pointedness in the
remark which showed some anxiety.

'That he cannot conceal, sharp as he is,' said my uncle, and there the
conversation stopped.