a reverend, gentle creature, with
white hair, blue eyes and great timidity; why, if a stranger put to him a
question he used to look all round the room before he ventured to answer.

Robert, his son, was a young man with a large brown eye, a mellow voice,
square shoulders and a prompt and vigorous manner. Cricketer. Scholar.
Parson.

They were talking hopefully together over a living Robert was going to
buy. It was near Oxford, he said, and would not prevent his continuing to
take pupils. "But, father," said he, "it will be a place to take my wife
to if I ever have one; and, meantime, I hope you will run down now and
then, Saturday to Monday."

"That I will, Robert. Ah! how proud _she_ would have been to hear you
preach; it was always her dream, poor thing."

"Let us think she _can_ hear me," said Robert. "And I have got _you_
still; the proceeds of this living will help me to lodge you more
comfortably."

"You are very good, Robert. I would rather see you spend it upon
yourself; but, dear me, what a manager you must be to dress so
beautifully as you do, and send your old father presents as you do, and
yet put by fourteen hundred pounds to buy this living."

"You are mistaken, sir, I have only saved four hundred; the odd
thousand-- But that is a secret for the present."

"Oh, I am not inquisitive. I never was."

They then chatted about things of no importance whatever, and the old
gentleman was just lighting his candle to go to bed, when a visitor was
ushered into the room.

The Penfolds looked a little surprised, but not much. They had no street
door all to themselves; no liveried dragons to interpose between them and
unseasonable or unwelcome visitors.

The man was well dressed, with one exception; he wore a gold chain. He
had a hooked nose, and a black, piercing eye. He stood at the door and
observed every person and thing in the room minutely before he spoke a
word.

Then he said, quietly, "Mr. Michael Penfold, I believe."

"At your service, sir.

"And Mr. Robert Penfold."

"I am Robert Penfold. What is your business?"

"Pray is the 'Robert Penfold' at the back of this note your writing?"

"Certainly it is; they would not cash it without that."

"Oh, you got the money, then?"

"Of course I did."

"You have not parted with it, have you?"

"No."

"All the better." He then turned to Michael and looked at him earnestly a
moment. "The fact is, sir," said he, "there is a little irregularity
a