wondered what could detain him at Burleigh."

Vargrave was all this while breaking open seals and running his eyes over
sundry scrawls with the practised rapidity of the man of business; he
came to the last letter. His countenance brightened.

"Royal invitation, or rather command, to Windsor," he cried. "I am
afraid I, too, must leave you, this very day."

"Bless me!" exclaimed Mrs. Merton; "is that from the king? Do let me
see!"

"Not exactly from the king; the same thing though:" and Lord Vargrave,
carelessly pushing the gracious communication towards the impatient hand
and loyal gaze of Mrs. Merton, carefully put the other letters in his
pocket, and walked musingly to the window.

Aubrey seized the opportunity to approach him. "My lord, can I speak
with you a few moments?"

"Me! certainly; will you come to my dressing-room?"



CHAPTER VIII.

. . . THERE was never
Poor gentleman had such a sudden fortune.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: _The Captain_, Act v. sc. 5.