nd pushing back his hair with an almost
fine-ladylike affectation. "I 'm glad you say so. It always rallies me a
little to hear I 'm better. You had my letter about the fish?"

"Ay, and I'll give you such a treat."

"No, no, my dear Harcourt; a fried mackerel, or a whiting and a few
crumbs of bread,--nothing more."

"If you insist, it shall be so; but I promise you I'll not be of your
mess, that's all. This is a glorious spot for turbot--and such oysters!"

"Oysters are forbidden me, and don't let me have the torture of
temptation. What a charming place this seems to be!--very wild, very
rugged."

"Wild--rugged! I should think it is," muttered Harcourt.

"This pathway, though, does not bespeak much care. I wish our friend
yonder would hold his lantern a little lower. How I envy you the kind of
life you lead here,--so tranquil, so removed from all bores! By the way,
you get the newspapers tolerably regularly?"

"Yes, every day."

"That's all right. If there be a luxury left to any man after the age
of forty, it is to be let alone. It's the best thing I know of. What a
terrible bit of road! They might have made a pathway."

"Come, don't grow faint-hearted. Here we are; this is Glencore."

"Wait a moment. Just let him raise that lantern. Really this is very
striking--a very striking scene altogether. The doorway excellent, and
that little watch-tower, with its lone-star light, a perfect picture."

"You 'll have time enough to admire all this; and we are keeping poor
Glencore waiting," said Harcourt, impatiently.

"Very true; so we are."

"Glencore's son, Upton," said Harcourt, presenting the boy, who stood,
half pride, half bashfulness, in the porch.

"My dear boy, you see one of your father's oldest friends in the
world," said Upton, throwing one arm on the boy's shoulder, apparently
caressing, but as much to aid himself in ascending the stair. "I'm
charmed with your old Schloss here, my dear," said he, as they moved
along. "Modern architects cannot attain the massive simplicity of these
structures. They have a kind of confectionery style with false ornament,
and inappropriate decoration, that bears about the same relation to the
original that a suit of Drury Lane tinfoil does to a coat of Milanese
mail armor. This gallery is in excellent taste."

And as he spoke, the door in front of him opened, and the pale,
sorrow-struck, and sickly figure of Glencore stood before him. Upton,
with all his self-command