What Lord Saltire and Father Mackworth said when they looked out of the window.

“And how do you do, my dear sir?” said Lord Saltire.

“I enjoy the same perfect health as ever, I thank you, my lord,” said Father Mackworth. “And allow me to say, that I am glad to see your lordship looking just the same as ever. You may have forgotten that you were the greatest benefactor that I ever had. I have not.”

“Nay, nay,” said Lord Saltire. “Let bygones be bygones, my dear sir. By-the-by, Mr. Mackworth — Lord Hainault.”

“I am delighted to see you at Casterton, Mr. Mackworth,” said Lord Hainault. “We are such rabid Protestants here, that the mere presence of a Catholic ecclesiastic of any kind is a source of pleasurable excitement to us. When, however, we get among us a man like you — a man of whose talents we have heard so much, and a man personally endeared to us, through the love he bore to one of us who is dead, we give him a threefold welcome.”

Lord Saltire used, in his tete-a-tetes with Lady Ascot, to wish to Gad that Hainault would cure himself of making speeches. He was one of the best fellows in the world, but he would always talk as if he was in the House of Lords. This was very true about Lord Hainault; but, although he might be a little stilted in his speech, he meant every word he said, and was an affectionate, good-hearted man, and withal, a clever one.

Father Mackworth bowed, and was pleased with the compliment. His nerve was in perfect order, and he was glad to find that Lord Hainault was well inclined towards him, though just at this time the Most Noble the Marquis of Hainault was of less importance to him than one of the grooms in the stable. What he required of himself just now was to act and look in a particular way, and to do it naturally and without effort. His genius rose to the situation. He puzzled Lord Saltire.”

“This is a sad business,” said Lord Saltire.

“A bitter business,” said Mackworth. “I loved that man, my lord.”

He looked suddenly up as he said it, and Lord Saltire saw that he was in earnest. He waited for him to go on, atching Min intently with his eyelids half dropped over his grey eagle eyes.

“That is not of much consequence, though,” said Father Mackworth. “Speaking to a man of the world, what is more to the purpose is, to hear what is the reason of your lordship’s having sought this interview? I am very anxious to know that, and so, if I appear rude, I must crave forgiveness.”

Lord Saltire looked at him minutely and steadily. How Mackworth looked was of more importance to Lord Saltire than what he said. On the other hand, Mackworth every now and then calmly and steadily raised his eyes to Lord Saltire’s, and kept them fixed there while he spoke to him.

“Not at all, my dear sir,” said Lord Saltire. “If you will have business first, however, which is possibly the best plan, we will have it, and improve our acquaintance afterwards. I asked you to come to me to speak of family matters. You have seen our advertisement?”

“I have, indeed,” said Mackworth, looking up with a smile. “I was utterly taken by surprise. Do you think that you can be right about this marriage?”

“Oh! I am sure of it,” said Lord Saltire.

“I cannot believe it,” said Mackworth. “And I’ll tell you why. If it ever took place, I must have heard of it. Father Clifford, my predecessor, was Petre Ravenshoe’s confessor. I need not tell you that he must have been in possession of the fact. Your knowledge of the world will tell you how impossible it is that, in a house so utterly priest-ridden as the House of Ravenshoe, an affair of such moment could be kept from the knowledge of the father-confessor. Especially when the delinquent, if I may so express myself, was the most foolishly bigoted, and cowardly representative of that house which had appeared for many generations. I assure you, upon my honour, that Clifford must have known it. And, if he had known of it, he must have communicated it to me.!N“o priest could possibly have died without leaving such a secret to his successor; a secret which would make the owner of it — that is, the priest — so completely the master of Ravenshoe and all in it. I confessed that man on his deathbed, my lord,” said Mackworth, looking quietly at Lord Saltire, with a smile, “and I can only tell you, if you can bring yourself to believe a priest, that there was not one word said about his marriage.”

“No?” said Lord Saltire, pensively looking out of the window. “And yet Lady Ascot seems so positive.”

“I sincerely hope,” said Mackworth, “that she may be wrong. It would be a sad thing for me. I am comfortable and happy at Ravenshoe. Poor dear Cuthbert as secured my position there during my lifetime. The present Mr. Ravenshoe is not so tractable as his brother, but I can get on well enough with him. But, in case of this story being true, and Mr. Charles Horton coming back, my position would be untenable, and Ravenshoe would be in Protestant hands for the first time in history. I should lose my home, and the Church would lose one of its best houses in the west. The best, in fact. I had sooner be at Ravenshoe than at Segur. I am very much pleased at your lordship’s having sought this conference. It shows you have some trust in me, to consult me upon a matter in which my own interests are all on one side.”

Lord Saltire bowed. “There is another way to look at the matter, too, my dear sir. If we prove our case, which is possible, and in case of our poor dear Charles dying or getting killed, which is probable, why then William comes in for the estate again. Suppose, now, such a possibility as his dying without heirs; why, then. Miss Ravenshoe is the greatest heiress in the west of England. Have you any idea where Miss Ravenshoe is?”

Both Lord Saltire and Lord Hainault turned on him as the former said this. For an instant Mackworth looked inquiringly from one to the other, with his lips slightly parted, and said, “Miss Ravenshoe?” Then he ave a half-smile of intelligence, and said, “All! yes; I was puzzled for a moment. Yes, in that case poor Ellen would be Miss Ravenshoe. Yes, and the estate would remain in Catholic hands. What a prospect for the Church! A penitent heiress! The management of ￡12,000 a year! Forgive my being carried away for a moment. You know I am an enthusiastic Church-man. I have been bound, body and soul, to the Church from a child, and such a prospect, even in such remote perspective, has dazzled me. But I am afraid I shall see rather a large family of Ravenshoes between me and such a consummation. William is going to marry.”

“Then you do not know where poor Ellen is?” said Lord Saltire.

“I do not,” said Mackworth; “but I certainly shall try to discover, and most certainly I shall succeed. William might die on this very expedition. You might prove your case. If anything were to happen to William, I most certainly hope you may, and will give you every assistance. For half a loaf is better than no bread. And beside, Charles also might be killed, or die of cholera. As it is, I shall not move in the matter. I shall not help you to bring a Protestant to Ravenshoe. Now don’t think me a heartless man for talking like this; I am nothing of the kind. But I am talking to wo very shrewd men of the world, and 1 talk as a man of the world; that is all.”

At this point, Lord Hainault said, “What — is that?” and left the room. Lord Saltire and Mackworth were alone together.

“Now, my dear sir,” said Lord Saltire, “I am glad you have spoken merely as a man of the world. It makes matters so much easier. You could help us if you would.”

Mackworth laughed. “Of course I could, my lord. I could bring the whole force of the Catholic Church, at my back, to give assistance. With our powers of organization, we could discover all about the marriage in no time (if it ever took place, which I don’t choose to believe just now). Why it would pay us to search minutely every register in England, if it were to keep such a house in the hands of the Church. But the Catholic Church, in my poor person, politely declines to move all its vast machinery, to give away one of its best houses to a Protestant.”

“I never supposed that the dear old lady would do anything of the kind. But, as for Mr. Mackworth, will nothing induce him to move his vast machinery in our cause?”

“I am all attention, my lord.”

“In case of our finding Charles, then?”

“Yes,” said Mackworth, calmly.

“Twenty thousand?”

“No,” said Mackworth. “It wouldn’t do. Twenty million wouldn’t do. You see there is a difference between a soldier disguising himself, and going into the enemy’s camp, to lie, and it may be, murder, to gain information for his own side, and the same soldier deserting to the enemy, and giving information. The one is a hero, and the other a rogue. I am a hero. You must forgive me putting matters so coarsely, but you distrust me so entirely that I am forced to do so.”

“I do not think you have put it so coarsely,” said Lord Saltire. “I have to ask your forgiveness for this offer of money, which you have so nobly refused. They say, every man has his price. If this is the case, yours is a very high one, and you should be valued accordingly.”

“Now, my lord, before we conclude this interview, let me tell you two things, which may be of advantage to you. The first is, that you cannot buy a Jesuit.”

“A Jesuit!”

“Ay. And the next thing is this. This marriage of Petre Ravenshoe is all a fiction of Lady Ascot’s brain. I wish you good morning, my lord.”

There are two sides to every door. You grant that. A man cannot be in two places at once. You grant that, without the exception made by the Irish member. Very well then. I am going to describe what took place on both sides of the library door at the conclusion of this interview. Which side shall I describe first?

That is entirely as I choose, and I choose to describe the outside first. The side where Father Mackworth was. This paragraph and the last are written in imitation of the Shandean–Southey-Doctorian style. The imitation is a bad one, I find, and approaches nearer to the lower style known among critics as Swivellerism; which consists in saying the first thing that comes into your head. Any style would be quite allowable, merely as a rest to one’s aching brain, after the dreadful............