The baronet now followed his uncle from the room to his library, entering it at the same moment with the steward, who had been summoned by his master to an audience.
Pointing to a chair for his nephew, Mr. Benfield commenced the discourse with saying,—
"Peter, you saw Mr. Denbigh; how did he look?"
"As usual, master," said Peter, laconically, still piqued at being likened to old Moses.
"And what did he say to the offer? did he not make any comments on it? He was not offended at it, I hope," demanded Mr. Benfield.
"He said nothing but what he has written to your honor," replied the steward, losing a little of his constrained manner in real good feeling to his master.
"May I ask what the offer was?" inquired Sir Edward.
Mr. Benfield regarding him a moment in silence, said, "Certainly, you are nearly concerned in his welfare; your daughter"—the old man stopped, turned to his letter-book, and handed the baronet a copy of the epistle he had sent to Denbigh. It read as follows:—
"Dear Friend Mr. Denbigh,—I have thought a great deal on the reason of your sudden departure from a house I had begun to hope you thought your own; and by calling to mind my own feelings when Lady Juliana became the heiress to her nephew's estate, take it for granted you have been governed by the same sentiments; which I know both by my own experience and that of the bearer, Peter Johnson, is a never-failing accompaniment of pure affection. Yes, my dear Denbigh, I honor your delicacy in not wishing to become indebted to a stranger, as it were, for the money on which you subsist, and that stranger your wife—who ought in reason to look up to you, instead of your looking up to her; which was the true cause Lord Gosford would not marry the countess—on account of her great wealth, as he assured me himself notwithstanding, envious people said it was because her ladyship loved Mr. Chaworth better: so in order to re-
