amely, George Neville, Esq., Edward Peyton, Esq., and Miss Catherine
Peyton.

To all and each of the thirty-four young Gaunt wrote a formal letter,
inviting them to pay respect to their deceased friend, and to honor
himself, by coming to Bolton Hall at high noon on Saturday next. These
letters, in compliance with another custom of the time and place, were
all sent by mounted messengers, and the answers came on horseback, too;
so there was much clattering of hoofs coming and going, and much
roasting, baking, drinking of ale, and bustling, all along of him who
lay so still in an upper chamber.

And every man and woman came to Mr. Gaunt to ask his will and advice,
however simple the matter; and the servants turned very obsequious, and
laid themselves out to please the new master, and retain their old
places.

And, what with the sense of authority, and the occupation, and growing
ambition, love-sick Griffith grew another man, and began to forget that
two days ago he was leaving the country and going to give up the whole
game.

He found time to send Kate a loving letter, but no talk of marriage in
it. He remembered she had asked him to give her time. Well, he would
take her advice.

It wanted just three days to the funeral, when Mr. Charlton's own
carriage, long unused, was found to be out of repair. Griffith had it
sent to the nearest town, and followed it on that and other business.
Now it happened to be what the country folk called "justicing day"; and
who should ride into the yard of the "Roebuck" but the new magistrate,
Mr. Neville? He alighted off a great bony gray horse before Griffith's
very nose, and sauntered into a private room.

Griffith looked, and looked, and, scarcely able to believe his senses,
followed Neville's horse to the stable, and examined him all round.

Griffith was sore perplexed, and stood at the stable-door glaring at the
horse; and sick misgivings troubled him. He forgot the business he came
about, and went and hung about the bar, and tried to pick up a clew to
this mystery. The poor wretch put on a miserable assumption of
indifference, and asked one or two of the magistrates if that was not
Mr. Peyton's gray horse young Neville had ridden in upon.

Now amongst these gentlemen was a young squire Miss Peyton had refused,
and galled him. He had long owed Gaunt a grudge for seeming to succeed
where he had notably failed, and now, hearing him talk so much about the
gray, he smelt a rat. He