? Who sent
this letter?"

At the first question Martin only shrugged his shoulders; in answer to
the second he replied that the steward of the estate had given it to
him.

The bailiff broke open the letter, and green wheels danced before his
eyes as he peered into it. The letter, which was in old John Karpathy's
own handwriting, begged to inform the bailiffs, heydukes, and domestics
assembled round Abellino that he had so far recovered as to be able to
rise from his bed and write them a letter, and that he was very glad to
hear that they had found so much better a master than himself, for which
reason he advised them to remain where they were, for on no account were
they to think of coming back to him.

The bailiff pulled the sort of face a man would naturally have who was
compelled to make merry on a diet of crab-apples, and as he had no
desire to keep the joyful intelligence all to himself, he passed the
letter on from hand to hand amongst his colleagues, the other bailiffs,
factors, doorkeepers, shepherds, scribes, and heydukes, till it had gone
the round of them all. Under similar circumstances men often find a
great consolation in twirling their moustaches; but now, alas! there was
not a single moustache to twirl among the lot of them. They had neither
places nor moustaches left. Some of them scratched their heads, some
burst into tears, others cursed and swore. In their first fury they knew
not which to turn upon first, Abellino for not inheriting, or Master
Jock for not dying as he ought to have done. To make such fools of so
many innocent men! It was scandalous!

Abellino was the last to whom, with tearful faces, they carried the glad
tidings. The philosophical youth, who happened at that moment to be
sipping an egg beaten up in his tea, received the intelligence with the
utmost _sang-froid_.

"Enfin!" cried he, "I verily believe the old chap means to live for
ever!"

CHAPTER VIII.

AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE.

A month later John Karpathy was to be met with once more at Pressburg.
It made him angry now when people called him "Master Jock."

A great change had come over the Nabob both externally and internally.
His frame had grown so meagre of late that he was unable to wear his
former clothes; the fiery flush had disappeared from his face, the
drunken puffiness from around his eyes; he spoke gravely with his
fellow-men, busied himself about political and national matters, looked
into the affairs o