It was dark long before Tony and I were marched up the drive to the Hall.  The great house stood out a grey mass against the starry sky; the windows fronting us were golden with light; and light flowed from the open door and down the steps.  I heard loud laughter; the Squire had company, as he might any night of the week.  He favoured fox-hunting gentlemen of a like pattern to himself, seasoned to drink under the table any gentleman of fashion and Tory out of session who should quit the Town for the hospitality of Chelton.  Hearing the voices and the laughter, and seeing the blaze of light from the dining-room, I had little fear of the temper of Mr. Chelton, before whom Tony and I were presently to be haled.  None the less, for the thought that the Squire might think fit to parade us before his company to provide sport for them, I would have begged Tim Kerrick to deal with us summarily; I would have endured the ash-plant about me for all my seventeen years of age but that the sudden interest of Mr. Bradbury p. 16had excited my natural curiosity.  I pictured Mr. Bradbury standing by us, chuckling to himself, and his piercing look, while the lantern light was playing across my face; and I recalled his queer, sharp tone when he ordered me to be brought on to the Hall.  What should the gentleman want with me?  Squire’s family lawyer, Tim told me, gruffly, in answer to my eager question.  How we should fare with Mr. Chelton was of less concern.