He took them both, dismissed the messenger, and
opening that addressed to himself, read as follows, while he slowly
retraced his steps towards the house:--

Dear Richard,

I am a whimsical fellow, as you doubtless remember, and have lately
grown, they tell me, rather hippish besides. I do not know to which
infirmity I am to attribute a sudden fancy that urges me to pay you a
visit, if you will admit me. To say truth, my dear Dick, I wish to see a
little of your part of the world, and, I will confess it, en passant, to
see a little of you too. I really wish to make acquaintance with your
family; and though they tell me my health is very much shaken, I must
say, in self-defense, I am not a troublesome inmate. I can perfectly take
care of myself, and need no nursing or caudling whatever. Will you
present this, my petition, to Mrs. Marston, and report her decision
thereon to me. Seriously, I know that your house may be full, or some
other contretemps may make it impracticable for me just now to invade
you. If it be so, tell me, my dear Richard, frankly, as my movements are
perfectly free, and my time all my own, so that I can arrange my visit to
suit your convenience. --Yours, &c.,

WYNSTON E. BERKLEY

P.S.--Direct to me at ---- Hotel, in Chester, as I shall probably be
there by the time this reaches you. "Ill-bred and pushing as ever," quoth Mr. Marston, angrily, as he thrust
the unwelcome letter into his pocket. "This fellow, wallowing in wealth,
without one nearer relative on earth than I, and associated more nearly
still with me the--pshaw! not affection--the recollections of early and
intimate companionship, leaves me unaided, for years of desertion and
suffering, to the buffetings of the world, and the troubles of all but
overwhelming pecuniary difficulties, and now, with the cool confidence of
one entitled to respect and welcome, invites himself to my house. Coming
here," he continued, after a gloomy pause, and still pacing slowly
towards the house, "to collect amusing materials for next season's
gossip--stories about the married Benedick--the bankrupt beau--the outcast
tenant of a Cheshire wilderness"; and, as he said this, he looked at the
neglected prospect before him with an eye almost of hatred. "Aye, to see
the nakedness of the land is he coming, but he shall be disappointed. His
money may buy him a cordial welcome at an inn, but curse me if it shall
purchase him a reception here." He again opened and glanced through the letter. "Aye, purposely put in such a way that I can't decline it without
affronting him," he continued doggedly. "Well, then, he has no one to
blame but himself--affronted he shall be; I shall effectually put an end
to this humorous excursion. Egad, it is rather hard if a man cannot keep
his poverty to himself." Sir Wynston Berkley was a baronet of large fortune--a selfish,
fashionable man, and an inveterate bachelor. He and Marston had been
schoolfellows, and the violent and implacable temper of the latter had as
little impressed his companion with feelings of regard, as the frivolity
and selfishness of the baronet had won the esteem of his relative. As
boys, they had little in common upon which to rest the basis of a
friendship, or even a mutual liking. Berkley was gay, cold, and
satirical; his cousin--for cousins they were--was jealous, haughty, and
relentless. Their negative disinclination to one another's society, not
unnaturally engendered by uncongenial and unamiable dispositions, had for
a time given place to actual hostility, while the two young men were at
Oxford. In some intrigue, Marston discovered in his cousin a
too-successful rival; the consequence was, a bitter and furious quarrel,
which, but for the prompt and peremptory interference of friends, Marston
would undoubtedly have pushed to a bloody issue. Time had, however,
healed this rupture, and the young men came to regard one another with
the same feelings, and eventually to re-establish the same sort of cold
and indifferent intimacy which had subsisted between them before their
angry collision. Under these circumstances, whatever suspicion Marston might have felt on
the receipt of the unexpected, and indeed unaccountable proposal, which had
just reached him, he certainly had little reason to complain of any
violation of early friendship in the neglect with which Sir Wynston had
hitherto treated him. In deciding to decline his proposed visit, however,
Marston had not consulted the impulses of spite or anger. He knew the
baronet well; he knew that he cherished no good will towards him, and
that in the project which he had thus unexpectedly broached, whatever
indirect or selfish schemes might possibly be at the bottom of it, no
friendly feeling had ever mingled. He was therefore resolved to avoid the
trouble and the expense of a visit in all respects distasteful to him,
and in a gentlemanlike way, but, at the same time, as the reader may
suppose, with very little anxiety as to whether or not his gay
correspondent should take offence at his reply, to decline, once for all,
the proposed distinction. With this resolution, he entered the spacious and somewhat dilapidated
mansion which called him master; and entering a sitting room,
appropriated to his daughter's use, he found her there, in company with
her beautiful French governess. He kissed his child, and saluted her
young preceptress with formal courtesy. "Mademoiselle," said he, "I have got a letter for you; and, Rhoda," he
continued, addressing his pretty daughter, "bring this to your mother,
and say, I request her to read it." He gave her the letter he himself had just received, and the girl tripped
lightly away upon her mission. Had he narrowly scrutinised the countenance of the fair Frenchwoman, as
she glanced at the direction of that which he had just placed in her
hand, he might have seen certain transient, but very unmistakable
evidences of excitement and agitation. She quickly concealed the letter,
however, and with a sigh, the momentary flush which it had called to her
cheek subsided, and she was tranquil as usual. Mr. Marston remained for some minutes--five, eight, or ten, we cannot say
precisely--pretty much where he had stood on first entering the chamber,
doubtless awaiting the return of his messenger, or the appearance of his
wife. At length, however, he left the room himself to seek her; but,
during his brief stay, his previous resolution had been removed. By what
influence we cannot say; but removed completely it unquestionably was,
and a final determination that Sir Wynston Berkley should become his
guest had fixedly taken its place. As Marston walked along the passages which led from this room, he
encountered Mrs. Marston and his daughter. "Well," said he, "you have read Wynston's letter?" "Yes," she replied, returning it to him; "and what answer, Richard, do
you purpose giving him?"