so; I shall drink of life even to
crime.

"The peasant and the card-sharper shall go high, this impetus shall
carry me very high; and Frank Escott, that mean cad, shall go to the
gutter; but he is already there, and I am here! I knew it would be
so; I felt my destiny, I felt it here--in my brain. I felt it even
when he scorned me in boyhood days. I believe that in those days he
expected me to touch my cap to him. But those days are over, new days
have begun. When to-morrow's sun rises it will shine on what is
mine--down-land, meadow-land, park-land, and wood-land. Strange is
the joy of possession; I did not know of its existence. The stately
house too is mine, and I would see it. But that infernal servant, I
suppose, is in bed. I would not have him find me. I shall get rid of
him. I can hear him saying in his pantry, 'He! I wouldn't give much
for him; I found him last night spying about, examining his fine
things, for all the world like a beggar to whom you had given an old
suit of clothes.'"

Mike took his bed-room candle, and having regard for surprises on the
part of the servants, he roamed about the passages, looking at the
Chippendale furniture on the landings and the pictures and engravings
that lined the walls. Fearing bells, he did not attempt to enter any
of the rooms, and it was with some difficulty that he found his way
back to the library. Throwing himself into the arm-chair, he wondered
if he should grow accustomed to spend his evenings in this
loneliness. He thought of whom he should invite there--Harding,
Thompson, John Norton; certainly he would ask John. He couldn't ask
Frank without his wife, and Lizzie would prejudice him in the eyes of
the county people. Then, as his thoughts detached themselves, he
exclaimed against the sepulchral solemnity of the library. The house
was soundless. At the window he heard the soft moonlight-dreaming of
the rooks; and when he threw open the window the white peacock
roosting there flew away and paraded on the pale sward like a Watteau
lady.

Next morning, rousing in the indolence of a bed hung with curtains of
Indian pattern, Mike said to the footman who brought in his hot
water--

"Tell the coachman that I shall go out riding after breakfast."

"What horse will you ride, sir?"

"I don't know what horses you have in the stable."

"Well, sir, you can ride either her ladyship's hunter or the mare
that brought you from the station in the dog-cart."

"Very well.