The surprise, indeed, was not confined to the individuals who sat at the upper table; gradually, as the purport of Sir Robert's words was whispered about, did the hall become hushed, and the eyes of those who sat below, and of those who were in attendance, were fixed with a kind of painful expectation upon the baron's guest. The domestics, however, were not so entirely engrossed by Sir Robert as to be wholly unmindful of Calverley; and significant nods and smiles were exchanged, as they saw, or fancied they saw, evidences of extreme agitation in the steward. After a few minutes' expectation, John Byles and his wife were ushered in by the page.In the afternoon Lucy Hartwell came in to see Margaret, bringing some little gift, and asking how she fared. Wells could distinctly hear all that passed in the room below; and soon collected, from the conversation, that the visitor was the daughter of old Hartwell the ale-seller. He remembered her a pretty little girl when he had left the villagewith hazel eyes twinkling and brightening like a star; with a step as light, and a form as delicate and graceful as the greenwood fairy to whom she used to be likened. Her voice had deepened a little, but it had still much of the sprightly animation of her childhood."Nonsense!" interrupted Calverley. "Hear me, or you will be hanged! If you hope to save your life, Mary Byles, you must swear that you gave it according to Edith's directionsbreathe not a syllable of the drops!""Backfield's after him!"