Mr. Norreys at home?" asked Harley.

"He is at home--to his friends, my Lord," answered the man,
majestically; and he stalked across the hall with the step of a Dangeau
ushering some Montmorenci into the presence of Louis le Grand.

"Stay; show this gentleman into another room. I will go first into the
library; wait for me, Leonard." The man nodded, and conducted Leonard
into the dining-room. Then pausing before the door of the library, and
listening an instant, as if fearful to disturb some mood of inspiration,
opened it very softly. To his ineffable disgust, Harley pushed before,
and entered abruptly. It was a large room, lined with books from the
floor to the ceiling. Books were on all the tables, books were on all
the chairs. Harley seated himself on a folio of Raleigh's "History of
the World," and cried, "I have brought you a treasure!"

"What is it?" said Norreys, good-humouredly, looking up from his desk.

"A mind!"

"A mind!" echoed Norreys, vaguely.

"Your own?"

"Pooh! I have none,--I have only a heart and a fancy. Listen. You
remember the boy we saw reading at the book stall. I have caught him for
you, and you shall train him into a man. I have the warmest interest in
his future, for I know some of his family, and one of that family was
very dear to me. As for money, he has not a shilling, and not a shilling
would he accept gratis from you or me either. But he comes with bold
heart to work,--and work you must find him." Harley then rapidly told
his friend of the two offers he had made to Leonard, and Leonard's
choice.

"This promises very well; for letters a man must have a strong vocation,
as he should have for law. I will do all that you wish."

Harley rose with alertness, shook Norreys cordially by the hand, hurried
out of the room, and returned with Leonard.

Mr. Norreys eyed the young man with attention. He was naturally rather
severe than cordial in his manner to strangers,--contrasting in this, as
in most things, the poor vagabond Burley; but he was a good judge of the
human countenance, and he liked Leonard's. After a pause he held out his
hand.

"Sir," said he, "Lord L'Estrange tells me that you wish to enter
literature as a calling, and no doubt to study it as an art. I may help
you in this, and you meanwhile can help me. I want an amanuensis,--I
offer you that place. The salary will be proportioned to the services
you will render me. I have a room in my house at your disposal. When
I