r newspapers. The servant there looked me
over with no great favour, but on telling him my business he went off,
and returned with a young man of a pink and white complexion, in a green
riding-frock, leather breeches, and top boots, who said:

"Well, my man, I am Mr. Dix."

There was a look about him, added to his tone and manner, set me strong
against him. I knew his father had not been of this stamp.

"And I am Mr. Richard Carvel, grandson to Mr. Lionel Carvel, of Carvel
Hall, in Maryland," I replied, much in the same way.

He thrust his hands into his breeches and stared very hard.

"You?" he said finally, with something very near a laugh.

"Sir, a gentleman's word usually suffices!" I cried.

He changed his tone a little.

"Your pardon, Mr. Carvel," he said, "but we men of business have need
to be careful. Let us sit, and I will examine your letters. Your
determination must have been suddenly taken," he added, "for I have
nothing from Mr. Carvel on the subject of your coming."

"Letters! You have heard nothing!" I gasped, and there stopped short
and clinched the table. "Has not my grandfather written of my
disappearance?"

Immediately his expression went back to the one he had met me with.
"Pardon me," he said again.

I composed myself as best I could in the face of his incredulity,
swallowing with an effort the aversion I felt to giving him my story.

"I think it strange he has not informed you," I said; "I was kidnapped
near Annapolis last Christmas-time, and put on board of a slaver, from
which I was rescued by great good fortune, and brought to Scotland. And
I have but just made my way to London."

"The thing is not likely, Mr.--, Mr.--," he said, drumming impatiently
on the board.

Then I lost control of myself.

"As sure as I am heir to Carvel Hall, Mr. Dix," I cried, rising, "you
shall pay for your insolence by forfeiting your agency!"

Now the roan was a natural coward, with a sneer for some and a smirk for
others. He went to the smirk.

"I am but looking to Mr. Carvel's interests the best I know how," he
replied; "and if indeed you be Mr. Richard Carvel, then you must applaud
my caution, sir, in seeking proofs."

"Proofs I have none," I cried; "the very clothes on my back are borrowed
from a Scotch seaman. My God, Mr. Dix, do I look like a rogue?"

"Were I to advance money upon appearances, sir, I should be insolvent
in a fortnight. But stay," he cried uneasily, as I flung back my cha