ached his
room. The Yorkshire spirit which Ethel had declared found him out once
in three hundred and sixty-four days and twenty-three hours was then in
full pos-session. The American Judge had disappeared. He looked as like
his ancestors as anything outside of a painted picture could do. His
flushed face, his flashing eyes, his passionate exclamations, the stamp
of his foot, the blow of his hand, the threatening attitude of his
whole figure was but a replica of his great-grandfather, Anthony Rawdon,
giving Radicals at the hustings or careless keepers at the kennels "a
bit of his mind."

"'Mostyn, seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon! Rawdon Court lies
at Mostyn's gate! Natural that the Mostyns should succeed the Rawdons!
Bought the right by a dozen intermarriages!' Confound the impudent
rascal! Does he think I will see Squire Rawdon rogued out of his home?
Not if I can help it! Not if Ethel can help it! Not if heaven and
earth can help it! He's a downright rascal! A cool, unruffled, impudent
rascal!" And these ejaculations were followed by a bitter, biting,
blasting hailstorm of such epithets as could only be written with one
letter and a dash.

But the passion of imprecation cooled and satisfied his anger in this
its first impetuous outbreak, and he sat down, clasped the arms of his
chair, and gave himself a peremptory order of control. In a short time
he rose, bathed his head and face in cold water, and began to dress for
dinner. And as he stood before the glass he smiled at the restored color
and calm of his countenance.

"You are a prudent lawyer," he said sarcastically. "How many actionable
words have you just uttered! If the devil and Fred Mostyn have been
listening, they can, as mother says, 'get the law on you'; but I think
Ethel and I and the law will be a match even for the devil and Fred
Mostyn." Then, as he slowly went downstairs, he repeated to himself,
"Mostyn seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon. No, sir, neither
natural nor legal owner. Rawdon Court lies at Mostyn gate. Not yet.
Mostyn lies at Rawdon gate. Natural that the Mostyns should succeed the
Rawdons. Power of God! Neither in this generation nor the next."

And at the same moment Mostyn, having thought over his interview with
Judge Rawdon, walked thoughtfully to a window and muttered to himself:
"Whatever was the matter with the old man? Polite as a courtier, but
something was wrong. The room felt as if there was an iceberg in it, and