"
"Mr. Scrivener will tell you, sir, that there was no justice in the
eye of the law," said the Major.
"_Summum jus, summa injuria_," quoted, _sotto voce_, Mr. Arden, a minor
canon who, being well born, scholarly, scientific and gentlemanly,
occupied a middle place between his colleagues and the grandees. He
was not listened to. Each knot of speakers was becoming louder in
debate, and Dr. Boltby's voice was hardly heard when he announced that
a rain of blood had fallen on the Macgillicuddy mountains in Ireland,
testified to by numerous respectable Protestant witnesses, and
attributable, either to the late comet, or to the Pretender.
At that moment the letters were brought in by the postman, and each
recipient had--not without murmurs--to produce his purse and pay
heavily for them. There were not many. The Doctor had two, Mr.
Arden one, Mr. Scrivener no less than five, but of them two were
franked, and a franked letter was likewise handed over to Major
DeLavie, with the word "Aresfield" written in the corner.
"From my Lady," said an unoccupied neighbour.
"Aye, aye," said the Major, putting it into his pocket, being by no
means inclined to submit the letter to the general gaze.
"A good omen," said Canon Boltby, looking up from his paper.
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