The Adventures of Harry Richmond | Page 5

then? all right!'
The squire had fallen back on his pillow and was relapsing to sleep.
Sewis spoke impressively: 'There's a gentleman downstairs; a
gentleman downstairs, sir. He has come rather late.'
'Gentleman downstairs come rather late.' The squire recapitulated the
intelligence to possess it thoroughly. 'Rather late, eh? Oh! Shove him
into a bed, and give him hot brandy and water, and be hanged to him!'
Sewis had the office of tempering a severely distasteful announcement
to the squire.
He resumed: 'The gentleman doesn't talk of staying. That is not his
business. It 's rather late for him to arrive.'
'Rather late!' roared the squire. 'Why, what's it o'clock?'
Reaching a hand to the watch over his head, he caught sight of the
unearthly hour. 'A quarter to two? Gentleman downstairs? Can't be that
infernal apothecary who broke 's engagement to dine with me last night?
By George, if it is I'll souse him; I'll drench him from head to heel as
though the rascal 'd been drawn through the duck-pond. Two o'clock in
the morning? Why, the man's drunk. Tell him I'm a magistrate, and I'll
commit him, deuce take him; give him fourteen days for a sot; another
fourteen for impudence. I've given a month 'fore now. Comes to me, a
Justice of the peace!--man 's mad! Tell him he's in peril of a lunatic
asylum. And doesn't talk of staying? Lift him out o' the house on the
top o' your boot, Sewis, and say it 's mine; you 've my leave.'

Sewis withdrew a step from the bedside. At a safe distance he fronted
his master steadily; almost admonishingly. 'It 's Mr. Richmond, sir,' he
said.
'Mr. . . .' The squire checked his breath. That was a name never uttered
at the Grange. 'The scoundrel?' he inquired harshly, half in a tone of
one assuring himself, and his rigid dropped jaw shut.
The fact had to be denied or affirmed instantly, and Sewis was silent.
Grasping his bedclothes in a lump, the squire cried:
'Downstairs? downstairs, Sewis? You've admitted him into my house?'
'No, sir.'
'You have!'
'He is not in the house, sir.'
'You have! How did you speak to him, then?'
'Out of my window, sir.'
'What place here is the scoundrel soiling now?'
'He is on the doorstep outside the house.'
'Outside, is he? and the door's locked?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Let him rot there!'
By this time the midnight visitor's patience had become exhausted. A
renewal of his clamour for immediate attention fell on the squire's ear,
amazing him to stupefaction at such challengeing insolence.
'Hand me my breeches,' he called to Sewis; 'I can't think brisk out of

my breeches.'
Sewis held the garment ready. The squire jumped from the bed, fuming
speechlessly, chafing at gaiters and braces, cravat and coat, and allowed
his buttons to be fitted neatly on his calves; the hammering at the hall-
door and plucking at the bell going on without intermission. He wore
the aspect of one who assumes a forced composure under the infliction
of outrages on his character in a Court of Law, where he must of
necessity listen and lock his boiling replies within his indignant bosom.
'Now, Sewis, now my horsewhip,' he remarked, as if it had been a
simple adjunct of his equipment.
'Your hat, sir?'
'My horsewhip, I said.'
'Your hat is in the hall,' Sewis observed gravely.
'I asked you for my horsewhip.'
'That is not to be found anywhere,' said Sewis.
The squire was diverted from his objurgations against this piece of
servitorial defiance by his daughter Dorothy's timid appeal for
permission to come in. Sewis left the room. Presently the squire
descended, fully clad, and breathing sharply from his nostrils. Servants
were warned off out of hearing; none but Sewis stood by.
The squire himself unbolted the door, and threw it open to the limit of
the chain.
'Who's there?' he demanded.
A response followed promptly from outside: 'I take you to be Mr. Harry
Lepel Beltham. Correct me if I err. Accept my apologies for disturbing
you at a late hour of the night, I pray.'
'Your name?'

'Is plain Augustus Fitz-George Roy Richmond at this moment, Mr.
Beltham. You will recognize me better by opening your door entirely:
voices are deceptive. You were born a gentleman, Mr. Beltham, and
will not reduce me to request you to behave like one. I am now in the
position, as it were, of addressing a badger in his den. It is on both sides
unsatisfactory. It reflects egregious discredit upon you, the
householder.'
The squire hastily bade Sewis see that the passages to the sleeping
apartments were barred, and flung the great chain loose. He was acting
under strong control of his temper.
It was a quiet grey night,