"A fine day, Mr. Sampson." The Dominie answered with something between an acquiescent grunt and an indignant groan.
"You never come down to see your old acquaintance on the Ellangowan property, Mr. Sampson--You would find most of the old stagers still stationary there. I have too much respect for--the late family to disturb old residenters, even under pretence of improvement. Besides, it's not my way--I don't like it--I believe, Mr. Sampson, Scripture particularly condemns those who oppress the poor--, and remove landmarks."
"Or who devour the substance of orphans." subjoined the Dominie. "Anathema, Maranatha!" So saying, he rose, shouldered the folio which he had been perusing, faced to the right about, and marched out of the room with the strides of a grenadier.
Mr. Glossin, no way disconcerted, or at least, feeling it necessary not to appear so, turned to young Hazlewood, who was apparently busy with the newspaper.--"Any news, sir?" Hazlewood raised his eyes, looked at him, and pushed the paper towards him, as if to a stranger in a coffee-house, then rose, and was about to leave the room. "I beg pardon, Mr. Hazlewood--but I can't help wishing you joy of getting so easily over that infernal accident."
This was answered by a sort of inclination of the head as slight and stiff as could be imagined. Yet it encouraged our man of law to proceed. "I can promise You, Mr. Hazlewood, few people have taken the interest in that matter which I have done, both for the sake of the country, and on account of my particular respect for your family, which has so high a stake in it; indeed, so very high a stake, that, as Mr. Featherhead is turning old now, and as there's a talk, since his last stroke, of his taking the Chiltern Hundreds', it might be worth your while to look about you. I speak as a friend, Mr. Hazlewood, and as one who understands the roll; and if in going over it together--"
"I beg pardon, sir, but I have no views in which your assistance could be useful."
"Oh very well--perhaps you are right--it's quite time enough, and I love to see a young gentleman cautious. But I was talking of your wound--I think I have got a clew to that business--I think I have--and if I don't bring the fellow to condign punishment!--"
"I beg your pardon, sir, once more; but your zeal outruns my wishes. I have every reason to think the wound was accidental--certainly it was not premeditated. Against ingratitude and premeditated treachery, should you find any one guilty of them, my resentment will be as warm as your own." This was Hazlewood's answer.