"And give me to drink, Nick.

'Tis what I most require." "I've brewed ee a posset o' canary sack," announced Nicholas; "there'm no better supping o' a frosty winter's night, Sir Oliver." He departed to return presently with a black jack that was steaming fragrantly.

He found his master still in the same attitude, staring at the fire, and frowning darkly.

Sir Oliver's thoughts were still of his brother and Malpas, and so insistent were they that his own concerns were for the moment quite neglected; he was considering whether it was not his duty, after all, to attempt a word of remonstrance.

At length he rose with a sigh and got to table.