in a smile, and the
distemper which afflicted him with incessant gloom had its paroxysms.
None of the domestics, except myself and Mr. Collins approached Mr.
Falkland but at stated seasons and then only for a very short interval.

Once after I had seen my patron in a strange fit of intolerable anguish,
I could not help confiding in Mr. Collins that I feared Mr. Falkland had
some secret trouble, and in answer to my communication Mr. Collins told
me the story of Tyrrel's murder.

Barnabas Tyrrel had been a neighbouring squire insupportably brutish and
arrogant, tyrannical to his inferiors, and insolent to his equals. From
the first he hated Falkland, whose dignity and courtesy were a constant
rebuke to the other's boorish ill-humours, and rejected with scorn all
proposals for civil intercourse.

The crisis came when Tyrrel, who had been expelled from the rural
assembly which met every week at the market-town, forced his way in. He
was intoxicated, and at once attacked Falkland, knocking him down, and
then kicking his prostrate enemy before anyone had time to interfere.

To Mr. Falkland disgrace was worse than death. This complication of
ignominy, base, humiliating, and public, stung him to the very soul, and
filled his mind with horror and uproar. One other event closed that
memorable evening. Mr. Tyrrel was found dead in the street, having been
murdered a few yards from the assembly-house.

From that day Falkland was a changed man. His cheerfulness and
tranquillity gave way to gloomy and unsociable melancholy, and, filled
with the ideas of chivalry, the humiliating and dishonourable situation
in which he had been placed could never be forgotten. To add to his
misfortunes, it was presently whispered that he was no other than the
murderer of his antagonist, and even the magistrates at length decided
that the matter must be investigated, and requested Falkland to appear
before them.

Mr. Falkland attended, and easily convinced the magistrates of his
innocence, pointing out that his one desire was to have called out the
man who had insulted him so horribly, and to have fought him to the
death. He was not only acquitted, but a public demonstration of sympathy
was arranged at once to show the esteem in which he was held.

A few weeks, and the real murderer was discovered. This was a man named
Hawkins, who, with his son, had been reduced from an honest livelihood
to beggary and ruin by Tyrrel. On circumstantial evidence,