the hour for labor,
and no "Good morning, sir," greeted me on the road. Suddenly at a turn,
which an over-hanging beech-tree had before concealed, I came full upon
my Uncle Roland.

"What! you, sir? So early? Hark, the clock is striking five!"

"Not later! I have walked well for a lame man. It must be more than four
miles to--and back."

"You have been to--? Not on business? No soul would be up."

"Yes, at inns there is always some one up. Hostlers never sleep! I have
been to order my humble chaise and pair. I leave you today, nephew."

"Ah, uncle, we have offended you! It was my folly, that cursed print--"

"Pooh!" said my uncle, quickly. "Offended me, boy? I defy you!" and he
pressed my hand roughly.

"Yet this sudden determination! It was but yesterday, at the Roman Camp,
that you planned an excursion with my father, to C------ Castle."

"Never depend upon a whimsical man. I must be in London tonight."

"And return to-morrow?"

"I know not when," said my uncle, gloomily; and he was silent for some
moments. At length, leaning less lightly on my arm, he continued: "Young
man, you have pleased me. I love that open, saucy brow of yours, on
which Nature has written 'Trust me.' I love those clear eyes, that look
one manfully in the face. I must know more of you--much of you. You must
come and see me some day or other in your ancestors' ruined keep."

"Come! that I will. And you shall show me the old tower--"

"And the traces of the outworks!" cried my uncle, flourishing his stick.

"And the pedigree--"

"Ay, and your great-great-grandfather's armor, which he wore at Marston
Moor--"

"Yes, and the brass plate in the church, uncle."

"The deuce is in the boy! Come here, come here: I've three minds to
break your head, sir!"

"It is a pity somebody had not broken the rascally printer's, before he
had the impudence to disgrace us by having a family, uncle."

Captain Roland tried hard to frown, but he could not. "Pshaw!" said he,
stopping, and taking snuff. "The world of the dead is wide; why should
the ghosts jostle us?"

"We can never escape the ghosts, uncle. They haunt us always. We cannot
think or act, but the soul of some man, who has lived before, points the
way. The dead never die, especially since--"

"Since what, boy? You speak well."

"Since our great ancestor introduced printing," said I, majestically.

My uncle whistled "Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre."

I had not the heart to plague him f