castle."

Her cheeks burned with anger.

"That's my lord's chay," the man continued, nodding at the chaise, "Lord
Windermoor's. Came all in a fluster--dinner, bowl of punch, and put the
horses to. For all the world like a runaway match, my dear--bar the
bride. He brought Mr. Archer in the chay with him."

"Is that Holdaway?" cried the landlord from the lighted entry, where he
stood shading his eyes.

"Only me, sir," answered Nance.

"O, you, Miss Nance," he said. "Well, come in quick, my pretty. My lord
is waiting for your uncle."

And he ushered Nance into a room cased with yellow wainscot and lighted
by tall candles, where two gentlemen sat at a table finishing a bowl of
punch. One of these was stout, elderly, and irascible, with a face like
a full moon, well dyed with liquor, thick tremulous lips, a short,
purple hand, in which he brandished a long pipe, and an abrupt and
gobbling utterance. This was my Lord Windermoor. In his companion Nance
beheld a younger man, tall, quiet, grave, demurely dressed, and wearing
his own hair. Her glance but lighted on him, and she flushed, for in
that second she made sure that she had twice betrayed herself--betrayed
by the involuntary flash of her black eyes her secret impatience to
behold this new companion, and, what was far worse, betrayed her
disappointment in the realisation of her dreams. He, meanwhile, as if
unconscious, continued to regard her with unmoved decorum.

"O, a man of wood," thought Nance.

"What--what?" said his lordship. "Who is this?"

"If you please, my lord, I am Holdaway's niece," replied Nance, with a
curtsey.

"Should have been here himself," observed his lordship. "Well, you tell
Holdaway that I'm aground, not a stiver--not a stiver. I'm running from
the beagles--going abroad, tell Holdaway. And he need look for no more
wages: glad of 'em myself, if I could get 'em. He can live in the castle
if he likes, or go to the devil. O, and here is Mr. Archer; and I
recommend him to take him in--a friend of mine--and Mr. Archer will pay,
as I wrote. And I regard that in the light of a precious good thing for
Holdaway, let me tell you, and a set-off against the wages."

"But O, my lord!" cried Nance, "we live upon the wages, and what are we
to do without?"

"What am I to do?--what am I to do?" replied Lord Windermoor with some
exasperation. "I have no wages. And there is Mr. Archer. And if Holdaway
doesn't like it, he can go to the devil, and you wit