ir Hugh was again as usual busied with his state
intrigues and party politics, and absented himself for weeks together
from the Hall; riding post to London night and day, returning at all
sorts of unexpected hours, leaving again at a moment's notice, and
otherwise comporting himself in his usual mysterious reserved manner.
Yet those who knew him best opined there was something wrong about Sir
Hugh. He was restless and preoccupied; his temper less easily excited
about trifles than was his wont, but perfectly ungovernable when once
he gave way to it. No man dared to question him. He had not a friend
in the world who would have ventured to offer him a word of advice or
consolation; but it was evident to his servants and his intimates that
Sir Hugh was ill at ease. Who can tell the struggles that rent that
strong, proud heart? Who could see beneath that cold surface, and read
the intense feelings of love, hatred, jealousy, or revenge that
smouldered below, stifled and kept down by the iron will, the
stubborn, indomitable pride? There is a deep meaning in the legend of
that Spartan boy who suffered the stolen fox to gnaw his very vitals,
the while he covered him with his tunic and preserved on his brave
face a smile of unconcern. Most of us have a stolen fox somewhere; but
the weak nature writhes and moans, and is delivered from its torment,
while the bold, unflinching spirit preserves a gallant bearing before
the world, and scorns to be relieved from the fangs that are draining
its very life away.

Whatever Sir Hugh saw or suspected, he said not a word to Lucy, nor
was it until surmise had become certainty that he forbade "Cousin
Edward" the house. To him he would not condescend to explain his
motives; he simply wrote to him to say that on his return he should
expect to find that his guest had departed, and that he had sufficient
reasons for requesting his visits might not be repeated. With his wife
he was, if possible, more austere and morose than ever; so once more
the Hall resumed its old aspect of cheerlessness and desolation, and
its mistress went moping about, more than ever miserable and
broken-hearted. Such a state of things could not long go on; the
visits forbidden openly took place by stealth; and the climax rapidly
approached which was to result in the celebrated Dangerfield tragedy.

At this period there was set on foot another of those determined plots
which during the first two reigns of the house of Hanover