is a man to hate what is base, and to
stand apart from the mass, as one who will not have his virtue tainted.
He is a man, moreover, whose worldly craft may be so smothered and
suppressed, in the predominance of the household affections, that the
skilful and designing, alas, may ever practise with success their plans
against him.

CHAPTER IX.

AN INTRIGUE.

I must now introduce my reader to the library described in the last
chapter, where, beside a small table covered with papers, and lighted by
two tall candles, sate Philip Lindsay, with a perplexed and thoughtful
brow. Opposite to him, in an easy chair, reclined his guest, Mr. Tyrrel;
a man whose appearance might entitle him to claim something like
thirty-five years; and whose shrewd and intellectual expression of
countenance, to which an air of decision was given by what might be
called an intense eye, denoted a person conversant with the business of
life; whilst an easy and flexible address no less distinctly announced
him one habituated to the most polished society. The time of this
meeting corresponded with that of the interview of Arthur and Mildred,
beneath the Fawn's Tower.

It is necessary only to premise that these two had frequently conferred
together, within the last two or three days, upon the subject with which
they were now engaged.

"Sir Henry Clinton does me too much honor by this confidence," said
Lindsay. "He overrates my influence amongst the gentlemen of the
province. Truly, Mr. Tyrrel, I am well persuaded that neither my precept
nor my example would weigh a feather in the scale against the heady
course of this rebellion."

"We are seldom competent to judge of the weight of our own influence,"
said Tyrrel. "I might scarce expect you to speak otherwise than you do.
But I, who have the opportunity to know, take upon myself to say that
many gentlemen of note in this province, who are at present constrained
by the fear of the new government, look with anxiety to you. They repose
faith in your discretion, and would follow your lead. If an excuse be
necessary, you might afford them some pretext of pastime to visit the
Dove Cote. Here you might concert your plan to co-operate with our
friends in the south."

"Tis a rash thought," replied Lindsay. "This little nook of woodland
quiet has never yet been disturbed with the debates of men who meditated
the spilling of blood. God forbid that these peaceful walls should
hereafter echo back the