me local line of railroad. The opposition
had deeply offended him; and though he had crushed it, it had wounded
him. He was himself the bank!--its high repute, its great credit, its
large connection, were all of his making; and that same Mr. M'Candlish
who had dared to oppose him was a creature of his own,--that is, he had
made him a tithe-valuator, or a road-inspector, or a stamp distributor,
or a something or other of the hundred petty places which he distributed
just as the monks of old gave alms at the gates of their convents.

Sir Arthur whispered a word to Mr. Boyd, the secretary, as he passed
downstairs. "How does M'Candlish stand with the bank? He has had
advances lately; send me a note of them." And thus, bent on reprisals,
he stood waiting for that gorgeous equipage which was now standing fully
ready in the inn yard, while the coachman was discussing a chop and a
pot of porter. "Why is not he ready?" asked Sir Arthur, impatiently.

"He was getting a nail in Blenheim's off foreshoe, sir," was the ready
reply; and as Blenheim was a blood bay sixteen-three, and worth two
hundred and fifty pounds, there was no more to be said; and so Sir
Arthur saw the rest of the board depart on jaunting-cars, gigs, or
dog-carts, as it might be,--humble men with humble conveyances, that
could take them to their homes without the delays that wait upon
greatness.

"Anything new stirring, Boyd?" asked Sir Arthur, trying not to show that
he was waiting for the pleasure of his coachman.

"No, sir; all dull as ditch-water."

"We want rain, I fancy,--don't we?"

"We 'd not be worse for a little, sir. The after-grass, at least, would
benefit by it."

"Why don't you pave this town better, Boyd? I 'm certain it was these
rascally stones twisted Blenheim's shoe."

"Our corporation will do nothing, sir,--nothing," said the other, in a
whisper.

"Who is that fellow with the large whiskers, yonder,--on the steps of
the hotel? He looks as if he owned the town."

"A foreigner, Sir Arthur; a Frenchman or a German, I believe. He came
over this morning to ask if we knew the address of Mr. Norman Maitland."

"Count Caffarelli," muttered Sir Arthur to himself; "what a chance that
I should see him! How did he come?"

"Posted, sir; slept at Cookstown last night, and came here to
breakfast."

Though the figure of the illustrious stranger was very far from what Sir
Arthur was led to expect, he knew that personal appearance was not so
dis