ANTHONY LYVEDEN

BY

DORNFORD YATES

WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED

LONDON AND MELBOURNE

Library Editions of "Anthony Lyveden"

 First Published . . 1921 Reprinted . . . . 1922 Reprinted . . . . 1923 Reprinted . . . . 1925 Reprinted . . . . 1928 Reprinted . . . . 1929 Reprinted . . . . 1932 Reprinted . . . . 1935 Reprinted . . . . 1939 Reprinted . . . . 1942 Reprinted . . . . 1943 Reprinted . . . . 1944 Reprinted . . . . 1945

MADE IN ENGLAND

Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd. , Frome and London

TO

ELM TREE ROAD

 whose high walls, if they could talk, would tell so many pretty tales. 

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

 I THE WAY OF A MAN II THE WAY OF A MAID III THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE IV THE GOLDEN BOWL V AN HIGH LOOK AND A PROUD HEART VI THE COMFORT OF APPLES VII NEHUSHTAN VIII THE POWER OF THE DOG IX VANITY OF VANITIES

CHAPTER I

THE WAY OF A MAN

Major Anthony Lyveden, D. S. O. , was waiting. 

For the second time in three minutes he glanced anxiously at his wristand then thrust his hand impatiently into a pocket. When you have worna wristwatch constantly for nearly six years, Time alone can accustomyou to its absence. And at the present moment Major Lyveden's watchwas being fitted with a new strap. The pawnbroker to whom he had soldit that morning for twenty-two shillings was no fool. 

The ex-officer walked slowly on, glancing into the windows of shops. He wanted to know the time badly. Amid the shifting press offoot-passengers a little white dog stuck to his heels resolutely. Thesudden sight of a clock-maker's on the opposite side of thethoroughfare proved magnetic. Pausing on the kerb to pick up theSealyham, Lyveden crossed the street without more ado.... 

Twenty-one minutes past three. 

Slowly he put down the terrier and turned eastward. It was clear thathe was expecting something or somebody. 

It was a hot June day, and out of the welter of din and rumble the coolplash of falling water came to his straining ears refreshingly. Atonce he considered the dog and, thankful for the distraction, steppedbeneath the portico of a provision store and indicated the marble basinwith a gesture of invitation. 

"Have a drink, old chap, " he said kindly. "Look. Nice cool water forPatch. " And, with that, he stooped and dabbled his fingers in the pool. 

Thus encouraged the little white dog advanced and lapped gratefully.... 

"Derby Result! Derby Result!"

The hoarse cry rang out above the metallic roar of the traffic. 

Lyveden caught his breath sharply and then stepped out of the shelterof the portico on to the crowded pavement. He was able to buy a paperalmost immediately. 

Eagerly he turned it about, to read the blurred words.... 

For a moment he stood staring, oblivious of all the world. Then hefolded the sheet carefully, whistled to Patch, and strode off westwardwith the step of a man who has a certain objective. At any rate, thesuspense was over. 

A later edition of an evening paper showed Major Anthony Lyveden thatthe horse which was carrying all that he had in the world had lost hisrace by a head. 

 * * * * *

By rights Anthony should have been born about the seventh of March. Ahunting accident to his father, however, ushered him into the middle ofthe coldest January ever remembered, and that with such scant ceremonythat his lady mother only survived her husband by six and a half hours. When debts, funeral and testamentary expenses had been deducted fromhis father's bank balance, the sum of twenty-three pounds nineshillings was all that was left, and this, with the threat of royaltiesfrom one or two books, represented the baby's fortune. Jonathan Roach, bachelor, had risen to the occasion and taken his sister's child. 

Beyond remembering that he did handsomely by his nephew, bred him asbecame his family, sent him to Harrow and Oxford, and procured him acommission in the Royal Regiment of Artillery before most of the boy'scompeers had posted their applications to the War Office, with theliving Jonathan Roach we are no further concerned. 

The old gentleman's will shall speak for itself and the man who made it. 

_THIS IS THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT of me, Jonathan Roach, of 75Princes Gardens, in the County of London, Esquire. I give, devise, andbequeath all my real and personal estate of every description unto mynephew Anthony Lyveden absolutely, provided that and so soon as my saidnephew shall receive the honour of Knighthood or some higherdignity.... _

Anthony received the news while the guns, which he was temporarilycommanding, were hammering at the gates of Gaza. He read the lettercarefully twice. Then he stuffed it into a cross-pocket andstraightway burst into song. That the air he selected was a music-hallditty was typical of the man. 

Curiously enough, it was the same number that he was whistling underhis breath as he strode into Hyde Park this June afternoon. 

Patch, who had never been out of London, thought the world of theParks. After the barren pavements, for him the great greenswards madeup a Land of Promise more than fulfilled. The magic carpet of thegrass, stuffed with a million scents, was his Elysium. A bookworm madefree of the Bodleian could not have been more exultant. The manytrees, too, were more accessible, and there were other dogs to frolicwith, and traffic, apparently, was not allowed. 

When he had walked well into the Park, Lyveden made for a solitarychair and sat himself down in the sun. For a while he remained wrappedin meditation, abstractedly watching the terrier stray to and fro, nosing the adjacent turf with the assiduity of a fond connoisseur. 

For nine long months the ex-officer had sought employment, indoor oroutdoor, congenial or uncongenial. The quest was vain. Once he hadbroached the matter haltingly to an influential acquaintance. Thelatter's reception of his distress had been so startlingly obnoxiousthat he would have died rather than repeat the venture. Then Smith ofDale's, Old Bond Street--Smith, who had cut his hair since he was aboy, and was his fast friend--had told him of Blue Moon. 

There is more racing chatter to be heard at the great hairdressers'than almost anywhere else outside a race-course. Some of it is worthhearing, most of it is valueless. The difficulty, as elsewhere, is tosift the wheat from the chaff. 

According to Smith, Blue Moon was being kept extremely quiet. Certainly the horse was little mentioned. Lyveden had never heard hisname. And thirty-three to one was a long price.... 

Lyveden pricked up his ears, and Smith became frightened. He wasgenuinely attached to his young customer, and knew that he was in lowwater. He begged him not to be rash.... 

After some careful calculations, which he made upon a sheet of clubnote-paper, Lyveden came to the conclusion that thirty-three birds inthe bush were better than one in the hand. Reckoning a bird at onehundred pounds and Lyveden's available assets at the same number ofguineas, who is to say he was wrong?

At twenty minutes to five on the eve of the Derby, Lyveden handed aprotesting Smith one hundred and one pounds, to be invested on BlueMoon--"to win only. " The odd note was to bring Smith his reward. 

A big bookmaker whom Smith was shaving as usual, at a quarter-past six, accepted the commission, pocketed the notes with a sigh, and gave themaster-barber forty to one. 

Four thousand pounds--in the bush. 

That his thirty-three nebulous birds had become forty before they tookflight, Anthony never knew. A man whose sole assets are a Sealyham, avery few clothes, and twenty-two shillings and sixpence, does not, as arule, go to Dale's. 

"Young fellow, come here. "

Patch came gaily, and Lyveden set him upon his knee. 

"Listen, " he said. "Once upon a time there was a fool, who came backfrom the War. It was extremely foolish, but then, you see, Patch, hewas a fool. Well, after a while he began to feel very lonely. He'd norelations, and what friends he'd had in the old days had disappeared. So he got him a dog--this fool, a little white scrap of a dog with ablack patch. " The terrier recognized his name and made a dab at thefirm chin. "Steady! Well, yes--you're right. It was a great move. For the little white dog was really a fairy prince in disguise--such apretty disguise--and straightway led the fool into Paradise. Indeed, they were so happy together, the fool and the dog, that, though no workcame along, nothing mattered. You see, it was a fool's paradise. Thatwas natural. The result was that one day the fool lifted up his eyes, and there was a great big finger-post, pointing the way they weregoing. And it said WAY OUT. The dog couldn't read, so it didn't worryhim; but the fool could, and fear smote upon his heart. In fact, hegot desperate, poor fool. Of course, if he'd had any sense, he'd 'vewalked slower than ever or even tried to turn round. Instead of that, he ran. Think of it, Patch. _Ran_. " The emotion of his speech wasinfectious, and the terrier began to pant. "Was there ever quite sucha fool? And before they knew where they were, the two were without thegates. And there"--the voice became strained, and Lyvedenhesitated--"there were ... Two paths ... Going different ways. And byeach path was a notice-board. And one said NO DOGS ALLOWED. And theother said NO FOOLS ALLOWED. And there were only the two paths. Patch... Going different ways.... "

The approach of a peripatetic tax-collector brought the allegory to anend. 

Anthony paid for his occupation of the chair in silence, and thecollector plodded off at a tangent in the direction of his next quarry. This appearing to be an old lady, he presently altered his course. With a caution bred of experience, he would approach her from behind. 

A convenient clock struck four, and Lyveden rose to his feet.... 

Two hours later he descended the area steps of a mansion in LancasterGate. 

The change in his appearance was quite remarkable. The grey suit, softhat, golf collar and brown shoes, which he had worn in the afternoon, had been put off. In their stead Lyveden was wearing a bowler hat, black boots, a single collar, which stood up uncomfortably all the wayround his neck, and a dark blue suit. The latter was clean and hadbeen carefully brushed, but it was manifestly old. Besides, it wasobvious that the man who made them had meant the trousers to be wornturned up. Their owner's present disregard of such intention arguedhis humble respectability. 

Arrived at the foot of the steps, Anthony thrust a relieving fingerbetween his throat and the collar for the last time, raised his eyes toheaven, and rang the bell. 

After a moment or two the door was opened by a fair-haired girl in aprint dress. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her hands and armsdripping. 

"Afternoon, miss, " said Lyveden. He was determined to do the thingproperly. "Your lady still wanting a footman?"

The girl stared at him. Then--

"I dunno, " she said. "Better come in, an' I'll see. "

Anthony thanked her and entered. She shut the door and flung down thepassage and out of sight. A second later a momentary burst of chattersuggested that she had opened the door of the servants' hall. 

For a minute or two nothing happened, and Lyveden stood in the passagewith his hat in his hand, wondering whether his engagement was to restwith the butler. Then a door opened and closed, and a girl dressed asa parlour-maid appeared upon the scene. She was walking slowly, andseemed to be endeavouring to extricate something from the depths of hermouth. 

"Come in answer to the ad. ?" she queried. 

"That's right, " said Lyveden. 

"Oh. " She leaned against the wall and regarded a wet forefinger. "Gota bone in me gum, " she added abstractedly. 

Anthony wondered whether he was expected to offer assistance, but, deciding to risk a breach of etiquette, assumed a look of anxietyinstead. 

"How rotten!" he murmured. 

The girl looked at him curiously. Then--

"'Addock, too, " she said. "An' that's easy, reelly, as fish goes. Butthere, I ain't got much use for any fish, 'cept salmon. Shall I sayyou're 'ere?"

"Yes, please, miss. I've no appointment. "

"You're the firs', any way, " was the comforting reply. 

She left him standing. 

The inspection to which during her absence Lyveden was subjected wasonly less trying than the open secrecy with which it was conducted. Heads were thrust into the passage to be withdrawn amid a paroxysm ofgiggling. Somebody was pushed into full view to retire precipitatelyamid an explosion of mirth. Preceded by stifled expressions ofencouragement, a pert-looking lady's maid strolled leisurely past thenewcomer, opened the back door, closed it, and returned as haughtily asshe had gone. She was applauded ridiculously.... 

Anthony swore under his breath. 

At last the parlour-maid reappeared, finger in mouth. 

"Somethin' crool, this bone is, " she vouchsafed. "Come on. "

Anthony followed her gratefully upstairs and presently into a smallwithdrawing room upon the first floor. 

From an expensively hideous couch Mrs. Slumper regarded the fruit ofher advertisement. 

She was a large vulgar-looking woman of about fifty summers. Whosesoever the hair of her head, it was most elaborately dressed andcontained five combs. Anthony counted them. She was enclosed in adress which was at once highly fashionable and painfully unbecoming, and the pearls which rose and fell upon her tremendous bosom werealmost too good to be true. From beneath the short skirt a pair ofponderous legs terminated in all the anguish of patent-leather shoes. Anthony bowed. 

"'Oo 'ave you bin with?" said Mrs. Slumper. 

"If you take me, madam, this will be my first place. "

Mrs. Slumper choked with emotion. 

"Firs' place!" she cried. "Want ter try yer 'and on me?" She lookedround savagely. "Where's me lorenets?" she added furiously. 

Much as a victim-to-be might hand his dispatcher the knife, Anthonyplucked the eye-glasses from beneath a cushion and put them into herhand. 

His action took the wind out of her sails. Anthony saw this, andhastened to press his advantage. 

"I know it's unusual, madam, but I'm quite willing to leave at the endof a week without wages, if you're not satisfied. "

Mrs. Slumper grunted with astonishment. 

"Wot wages joo ask?"

"Seventy-two pounds a year, madam, and--er--all found. And oneafternoon a week, " he added boldly. 

Mrs. Slumper blinked at him curiously. 

"You don' look ser bad, " she said grudgingly. "An' I'm sick an' tiredof tryin' for a footman, or I'd see yer further. 'Owever.... " Shelooked up sharply. "Will yer put that in writin' abaout the week?"

"Certainly, madam. " And, with that, Lyveden stepped to a bureau andwrote his undertaking upon a sheet of note-paper. He was about toaffix his signature, when it occurred to him that footmen do not writeat their mistresses' bureaus except privily or by invitation. Heflushed furiously. There was, however, no help for it now. The thingwas done. Desperately he signed his name. He handed the paper to thelady humbly enough. 

Mrs. Slumper sighed. 

"In course, " she said, "we 'ave things very well done. The butler'saout naow, or I'd 'ave 'im up. But you'll 'ave ter wait, an' open thedoor, an' clean the boots, an' come aout on the car. I've got some noolivery--never bin worn yet--did ought ter fit you a treat. An'--'owsoon kin yer come?" she demanded suddenly. 

"To-morrow evening, madam. "

"Or-right. "

Anthony bowed himself out. 

If the parlour-maid had not been on the landing, he would have leanedagainst the wall and covered his face. 

The girl glanced at the door he had just closed. 

"Ain't she a little dream?"

Anthony grinned. 

"Might be worse, " he ventured, endeavouring to steer between therespective sandbanks of disloyalty and odium. "I've got the place, " headded ingenuously. 

The girl stared at him. 

That Anthony did not appreciate why she had remained upon the landingwas to her incredible. 

"I 'eard, " she said loftily. 

Anthony felt crushed. 

At his suggestion she let him out of the front door. 

"See yer to-morrow, " she cried. 

"That's right, miss. "

Anthony passed down the steps and walked quickly away. Before he hadcovered a hundred paces, he stopped and turned up his trousers. Thesartorial forfeit to respectability had served its turn. 

When Mr. Hopkins, the butler, returned a little unsteadily at a quarterto ten to learn that his mistress had engaged a "proper toff" as hisfootman, he was profoundly moved. 

 * * * * *

A visit to the West End offices of _Dogs' Country Homes, Ltd. _, whichhe made the next morning, satisfied Anthony that, by putting Patch intheir charge, he was doing the best he could. There was a vacancy atthe Hertfordshire branch, less than forty minutes from town, and hearranged to lodge the terrier there the same afternoon. For the sum ofa guinea a week the little dog would be fed and housed and exercised. A veterinary surgeon was attached to the staff, which was carefullysupervised. Patch would be groomed every day and bathed weekly. Visitors were welcomed, and owners often called to see their dogs andtake them out for a walk. It was quite customary. 

Lyveden emerged from the office a little comforted. 

He spent a busy morning. 

Deliberately he went to his club. There he wrote to the secretary, resigning his membership. When he had sealed the letter, he lookedabout him. The comfort--the luxury of it all was very tasty, veryappealing. He regretted that he had not used it more often. There wasa time when he had thought the place dull. Blasphemy! In his hungryeyes the house became a temple--its members, votaries, sworn to gosleepily about their offices--its rooms, upholstered shrines, chapelsof ease.... 

The door opened and a footman came in. 

The silver dream shivered into a million flinders. 

After the generous atmosphere of Pall Mall, the reek of the "oldclothes" shop was more offensive than usual. The six pounds ten, however, was worth fighting for. Then some cheap hosiery had to bepurchased--more collars of the bearing-rein type, some stiff shirts, made-up white ties, pinchbeck studs and cufflinks. As he emerged fromthe shop, Anthony found himself wondering whether he need have been soharsh with himself about the collars. After all, it was an age ofSocialism. Why should a footman be choked? He was as good as Mrs. Slumper--easily. And she wasn't choked. She was squeezed, though, andpinched.... 

He lodged his baggage--suit-case and hold-all--at the cloakroom, andtook Patch to lunch. 

It was by no means the first time that the Sealyham's lunch had beenthe more expensive of the two. Often and often he had fed well to theembarrassment of his master's stomach. To-day he was to haveliver--his favourite dish. Upon this Lyveden was resolved. 

The pair visited five restaurants and two public-houses in quest ofliver. At the eighth venture they were successful. At the sign of_The Crooked Billet_ liver and bacon was the dish of the day. So mucha blurred menu was proclaiming from its enormous brass frame. Beforethe two were half-way upstairs, the terrier's excitement confirmed itstale. 

Of the two portions, Patch consumed the liver and Anthony the bacon. This was rather salt, but the zest with which the Sealyham atefurnished a relish which no money could buy. 

Then came a ghastly train journey. Mercifully Patch could notunderstand.... 

A mile and a half from the station, the Dogs' Home stood in a pleasantplace under the lee of a wood. Fair meadows ringed it about, and inthe bright sunshine the red-brick house and out-buildings lookedcheerful and promising. 

Slowly the two passed up the well-kept drive. 

With his little white dog in his arms, Anthony Lyveden was showneverything. A jolly fair-haired girl--the superintendent--conductedhim everywhere. The dogs--all sizes and shapes--welcomed her coming. Of Patch she made a great deal. 

"You must be very proud of him, " she said to Anthony. 

"I am. And--we're great friends. I hope he won't fret much. "

"A little at first, probably. You'll be coming to see him?"

"Once a week, always, " said Lyveden. "Oftener if I can. "

Presently they returned to the office, where Anthony paid four guineasand received a receipt. Patch was entered in a big book, together withhis age and description. Another column received his owner's name andaddress. The girl hesitated. 

"We like, " she said, "to have the telephone number, in case ofaccidents. "

"I'll send it to you to-night. "

The entry was blotted, and the girl rose. The formalities were at anend. 

Lyveden picked up his hat. 

Patch greeted the familiar signal joyously. Clearly the call was over. It had been a good visit--the best they had ever paid. No other placethey had been to was full of dogs. Yet to be out and about with hismaster was better still. He leapt up and down, rejoicing. 

Anthony caught him from one of his bounds, held the white scrap veryclose and let him lick his nose. Then he bade him be a good dog andhanded him to the girl. She received him tenderly. 

"I'm very much obliged to you, " he said. "Good day. I'll let myselfout. It--it'll be better. "

One more caress, and he passed out into the hall--blindly. There hadbeen a look in the bright brown eyes that tore his heart. 

For a moment Patch fought desperately. Then he heard a door opened andlistened intently. A draught swept, and the door closed heavily. Witha sudden wrench he was out of the girl's arms and across the shadowyhall. For a moment he stood sniffing, his nose clapped to the sill ofthe front door. Then he lifted up his voice and wept bitterly. 

 * * * * *

In the long mirror, half-way up the front staircase, Major AnthonyLyveden, D. S. O. , surveyed himself stealthily. 

"Not much the matter with the kit, " he said grudgingly. 

That was largely because there was nothing the matter with the man. 

Six feet one in his socks, deep-chested and admirably proportioned, Lyveden cut a fine figure. His thick dark hair was short and carefullybrushed, and his lean face was brown with the play of wind and rain andsun. Such features as his broad forehead, aquiline nose, and strongwell-shaped mouth, would have distinguished any countenance. Yet thewhole of it was shapely and clean-cut, and there was a quietfearlessness about the keen grey eyes that set you thinking. As afootman he looked magnificent. But he would have killed any masterstone dead. Royalty itself could not have borne such a comparison. 

As we have seen, the strain of the last fortnight, culminating in BlueMoon's failure and his parting with Patch, had played the deuce withhis temperament. The man had gone all to pieces. That, now that aweek had gone by, he was himself again, the following letter will show. It will serve also as a record, and so, gentlemen, spare both of us. 

_DEAR TOBY, _

_Before you sailed you were urgent upon me that I should constantlyreport progress. Nine months have gone by, and I have not writtenonce. Still, my conscience is clear. Hitherto I have had no progressto report. _

_Now, however, I have news for you. _

_You are friends with a footman, Toby. You need not deny it, because Iknow better. You see, I have been in service for one week to-day. _

_My mistress is indescribable--a very mammoth among women. Exceptduring prohibited hours, her replica may be seen behind the saloon-barof any public-house in, say, Bethnal Green. Below stairs she is knownas "the dream-child. " My master appears to have married, not so muchbeneath him as beyond him. He is "something in the City. " This is aswell, for he is nothing in Lancaster Gate. I like him rather. _

_You would get on with the butler, who is addicted to drink. Theladies of the servants' hall are rather trying, but mean well. Thechauffeur is a most superior man. In fact, except that he has beentwice convicted of felony and continually boasts of his successfuldesertion from the Army in 1917, there is nothing against him. My workwould be comparatively light if the unfortunate resemblance, to which Ihave alluded above, were less pronounced. In a word, the butler'sworking day finishes at 2 p. M. , and on two occasions I have had torepair to "The Blue Goat" as late as seven-thirty to hale him out ofthe tap-room in time for dinner. His carriage in the dining-room, whenhe can hardly see, is one of the wonders of the world. _

_Of course I go out with the car--usually to a wedding. Thesolemnization of matrimony, especially if one of the parties is ofnoble birth, draws the dream-child as a magnet the steel. Need I saythat she is an uninvited guest? Yesterday, at the wedding of a youngMarquess, she was stopped at the doors. "Lef me card at 'ome, " was hermajestic reply. Before they had recovered she was in the aisle. Having regard to her appearance, I am of opinion that such conduct islibellous. _

_On Monday she gave what she calls a "Serciety Crush. " This was wellattended, chiefly by aliens, many of whom wore miniature decorations, to which, I fear, they were not entitled. These were, I fancy, hiredwith the dress-coats to which they were fastened. That they enjoyedthe viands is emphasized by the fact that, prior to their departure, several of the guests concealed about their persons such delicacies asthe flight of time alone had prevented them from consuming. But forthe indisposition of the butler, I should have spent a most amusingevening. _

_Little altercations between my master and mistress are of frequentoccurrence. Occasionally they appeal to me to settle the dispute. Once I actually took the liberty of separating them. Indeed, asrecently as yesterday evening the dream-child, who had been keeping upher reading, observed that "the rilewise was thinkin' of givin' up thenarrer gorge. "_

_"Gage, me dear--gage, " says Mr. Slumper. _

_"That's right, " says his wife with hideous irony. "Put yer betters torights, Schooly. Ugh, I wonder yer dare! An' wot do you know aboutit, you hugly worm?"_

_Stung to the quick by the painful accuracy of this appellative, herhusband was understood to mutter that he had rather be an ill-favouredworm than an overdressed parrot with a swollen head. _

_Only waiting to throw a glass of water in his direction, thedream-child demanded my ruling in a voice shaking with indignation. _

_I immediately declared in favour of "gouge"--a decision for which Mr. Slumper, to whom victory is even more terrible than defeat, will thankme yet. _

_Of such is my life. Either Saturday or Sunday afternoon I go offduty. Then I dive into the country and visit my dog, who is well caredfor. We spend a hilarious few hours, and Lancaster Gate is nevermentioned. In the servants' hall, by the way, I am credited with adelicate wife--an impression which I have taken care not to correct, for where there are gathered together eight single ladies, _ lesavantages de manage _cannot be over-estimated. _

_And now I must take up the tea. _

_If ever you receive this letter, find time to reply. I know I havespoken ill of your hand-writing, but I take it all back. _

Bien à toi, vieux sot, _ANTHONY LYVEDEN. _

Anthony, then, was surveying himself, if you remember, in a longmirror. He had just taken up the tea. He was taking a second look atwhat he could see of his back, when the front-door bell rang. Even atthis elevation there was no mistaking its deep peremptory note. Lyveden descended the stairs. 

He opened the door faultlessly to find himself face to face with a manwho had been his first servant when his battery had been in France. 

For a moment the two footmen stared at one another. Then--

"Glad to see you, Walters, " said Lyveden heartily. 

"Same to you, sir, " said Walters, touching his hat. "An', beggin' yourpardon, sir, is Lady 'Elen at 'ome?"

"There's no Lady Helen here, " said Lyveden. "This is Mrs. Slumper'shouse. "

"Oh, very good, sir, " said Walters jerkily. "Sorry to 'ave troubledyou, sir. " He touched his hat and turned away nervously.... 

Anthony continued to hold the door open till the car should have passedon. 

Walters was making his report. It appeared that this wasunsatisfactory, for a moment later he was again at the door. 

"Excuse me, sir, but would you speak to my lady?"

Lyveden descended the steps. 

From the luxury of a smart landaulette a dame of some consequenceregarded him shrewdly. She had, of course, witnessed the comedy uponthe steps. 

"Who lives here?" she demanded haughtily. 

Lyveden drew himself up. 

"Mrs. Slumper, madam. "

His statement was received with an irrational suspicion. 

"Indeed! I didn't know that Lady Helen Amiens had let her house. "

"Neither, madam, did I. "

The great lady stared at Anthony, who looked straight ahead. Then--

"I--I beg your pardon, " she murmured. 

Anthony bowed and turned on his heel. As he passed Walters, who wasstanding wide-eyed, the latter touched his hat faithfully. 

When the car had passed on, Anthony closed the door thoughtfully. Ithad not occurred to him that the house had been hired as it stood. Certainly the Slumpers had given no hint of such a state of affairs. Probably they felt it to be beneath their dignity. It being no affairof his, Lyveden decided to keep his own counsel. 

 * * * * *

Two days later Anthony visited Patch for the second time. 

The same relentless train that had rushed the two down to Hertfordshirethat dreadful Thursday had become an easy-going friend. By pocketinghis lunch, Lyveden could catch it with anything under five minutes tospare. This gave the two another three-quarters of an hour. 

Their second meeting was a replica of the first. 

Anthony was admitted, announced his desire, and sat down in the dimhall. Presently a brisk familiar step made itself heard--firm littlepaws meeting the tough linoleum squarely--and Anthony rose to his feet. Out of a passage came Patch readily, the fair-haired girl behind himbidding him go ahead. For a moment he looked about him. Then he sawLyveden, stiffened and stood stock still. The next second, with hisbody clapped to the floor, he had darted sharply across and, laying hishead sideways, crouched at his idol's feet--an adoring suppliant, craving to be raised. 

"Why, Patch----"

The white scrap quivered and flung up a panting visage. Lyvedenstooped and gathered him in his arms. The terrier licked his facefrantically. Then he squirmed like a mad thing till he was down, toreto a basket of logs, and of his strength brought a billet gripped inhis big mouth and laid it at Anthony's feet. 

The girl laughed merrily. 

"What did I tell you?" said Lyveden. "It's just the way of his heart. I must always have a present when I have been away. "

Lord and squire went for a wonderful walk. The woodland and meadows ofHertfordshire fairly beggared the Parks.... 

Tea at a tiny inn sunk in a dell through which a sleepy lane trickledbetween high banks--tea in the pocket garden under sweet-smellinglimes, where stocks stood orderly and honeysuckle sprawled over thebrick-nogging, brought back old days of happy fellowship, just tooutshine their memory. 

From the cool of the house came on a sudden the click of metal and theswift whirr of wheels. Somewhere a clock was in labour--an old, oldtimepiece, to whom the telling of the hours was a grave matter. Amoment later a thin old voice piped out the birth of a new period. 

Five o'clock. 

Peacefully Lyveden expelled a cloud of smoke. He need not be movingfor another quarter of an hour. Upon the warm red bricks at his feetPatch lay dozing after his dish of weak tea. 

"Could you give it me in the garden?"

The fresh clear voice floated out of the doorway just in front of mylady herself. Arrived there, she stood for a moment looking pleasedlyround. It is doubtful whether the old woodwork had ever before framedsuch a picture. 

There was nothing remarkable about the dress, except her wearing of it. There is a grace of carriage that will make purple of sackcloth. Still, the gown was well cut of fawn-coloured stuff, which herstockings and shoes matched. Her face was generous--proud, too, yettender and very beautiful. The soft rose of her cheeks, the misty blueof her eyes stood there for gentleness, the curve of the red lips forpride. Wisdom sat in her temples under the thick dark hair. Strengthherself had moulded the exquisite chin. And a rogue of a dimple wasthere to mock the lot of them--the print of the delicate finger ofLaughter herself, set in a baby's cheek twenty-five years before. Atiny watch upon a silk strap served to enhance the slenderness of awhite wrist. Against the dark cloud of hair, which they were settingstraight, the pointed fingers stood out like living statuary. Liftedelbows gave you the graceful line of her figure: the short skirt, ankles to match the wrists.... 

Looking upon her, Lyveden forgot the world. He may be forgiven, forshe was a sight for sore eyes. 

Having set her hair to her liking she put on her hat, pulling it downwith a fine careless confidence such as no manner of mirror could give. 

She had not seen Lyveden when Patch, counting her Irish terrier anintruder, took him suddenly by the throat.... 

In an instant the place was Bedlam. 

My lady hovered about the combatants, one hand to her breast, the othersnatching frantically at her favourite's tail: Lyveden leapt to hisfeet and, cramming his pipe into a pocket, flung himself forward: themistress of the inn and her maid crowded each other in the doorway, emitting cries of distress: and the now ravening flurry of brown andwhite raged snarling and whirling upon the brick pavement with all thefinished frightfulness of the _haute école_. 

Arrived at close quarters, Anthony cast a look round. Then he pickedup the pair anyhow and swung them into the water-butt two paces away. 

For a moment the contents boiled, seething as if possessed. Then, witha fearful convulsion, the waves parted and the water gave up its prey. Two choking, gasping, spluttering heads appeared simultaneously: withone accord four striving paws clawed desperately at the rim of thebutt. The fight was off. 

Intelligently the girl stepped up on to a convenient bench, and Anthonylifted the Irish terrier out of his watery peril. As was to beexpected, he shook himself inconsiderately, and Anthony, who was not onthe bench, was generously bedewed. Then Patch was hauled out by thescruff of his neck.... So far as could be seen, neither of the dogswas one penny the worse. There had been much cry, but little wool. 

Lyveden turned to my lady and raised his hat. 

"I'm awfully sorry, " he said. "My dog was entirely to blame. "

"D'you mind controlling him now?" she said coldly. 

Lyveden called Patch, and the Sealyham trotted up, shaking the waterout of his ears as he came. Wet as he was, the man picked him up andput him under his arm. 

"I hope your dog isn't hurt, " he said quietly. "I'm very sorry. "

The girl did not deign to answer, but, stepping down from her perch, summoned her terrier and strolled down the little greensward with herchin in the air. 

Anthony bit his lip. Then he turned on his heel and, clapping his haton his head, tramped into the inn. A moment later he had paid hisreckoning and was out on the road. After all, he reflected, Patchwasn't to blame. He had acted according to his lights. 

When he was out of sight of the inn, Anthony sat down by the waysideand dried his terrier's ears with his pocket-handkerchief and theutmost care. 

 * * * * *

The rain was coming down in sheets, and, in spite of the mackintoshwhich he was wearing above his livery, drops were beginning to maketheir unpleasant way down Anthony's neck. His feet had been wet forhours. The violence of the language employed by the press of groomsand footmen huddled about him at the doors of the Opera House suggestedthat their plight was no less evil. 

It was a big night, and of "the distinguished audience" Mr. And Mrs. Slumper were making two. They were inexpressibly bored, but that wasbeside the point. By occupying two stalls, Mrs. Slumper was sure theywere doing the right thing. A box would have been better, of course, but there had been some difficulty, and Slumper, being a weak-kneedfool, had been bluffed into taking the stalls. Mrs. Slumper would liketo see the clerk who could bluff her. By dint of concentrating uponher grievance, she had worked herself into a passion by the end of thesecond act.... 

It continued to rain copiously. 

At last flunkeys appeared and set the inner swing-doors wide open. Ablasphemous murmur of relief went up from the company of servants. 

"Bet yer my gint's fust, " squeaked a little bow-legged Cockney. "'E'sa fair winner, 'e is. " A pompous prelate appeared in the lobby, walking with an air of having just consecrated the building free ofcharge, and followed by a nervous-lipped lady and a deacon who lookedlike a startled owl. "There y'are! Wot 'd I s'y?" he added, turningto scuttle off to his car. 

"Ser long, 'Arry!" cried somebody. "See yer at Giro's. "

There was an explosion of mirth. 

The rain, the discomfort, the waiting--three familiar malefactors--allin a moment discomfited by a sudden guffaw, reminded Lyveden vividly ofhis service in France. His thoughts ramped back to the old days, whenthere was work and to spare--work of a kind. Of course, thecompetition was not so keen.... 

People were coming fast now, and the entrances to the lobby weregetting choked. Attendants were bellowing big names, innumerableengines were running, the police were shouting orders, gears were beingchanged. 

"Number a nundred and one!" thundered a voice. 

"Right!" cried Anthony, elbowing his way out of the crush. 

He made his way quickly to where he had left the car. 

The information that his employers were awaiting his services wasreceived by the chauffeur with a volley of invective, which dealt moreparticularly with Mrs. Slumper's pedigree, but touched lightly upon awhole variety of subjects, including the ultimate destination of allcomposers and the uses of rain. 

It was full five minutes before the limousine was able to be broughtclose enough to the entrance for Anthony to leave the running-board andadvise his master. When it was next in order but two, he stepped on tothe pavement and struggled towards the entrance. As he was about totell an attendant to summon "101, " a car slid into position, and thefellow set his hand on the door. 

"Forty-six waiting!" he bawled. 

A glance at the steps showed the approach of quality--all cloaks andsoft hair and slim silk stockings--the attendant threw open the doorand Lyveden stood still. 

The taller of the two women was the second to enter the car. As shestood waiting, she glanced round quickly. Her eyes met Anthony's, rested a moment of time, and then swept on without a flicker.... Asecond later the door had slammed upon her high heels. 

Lyveden was left to feel the blood come flaming into his face, towonder whether my lady had known him again, and to stuff the breath ofan exquisite perfume into the same reliquary as held the picture of atall dark figure setting her hair to rights in the mouth of an inn. 

 * * * * *

Upon the next Saturday a particularly smart wedding was to take place. Anthony, who had seen the announcements, was prepared for the worst. Sure enough, on Friday afternoon as he was clearing the table of tea--

"I shall want yer to-morrow, " said Mrs. Slumper. "I 'ave to go to theweddin' o' that there Finnigan boy. I'm sure I'm sick o' crushes, but'er ladyship would never fergive me if I diddun show up. "

Anthony hesitated with the tray in his hands. 

"Mr. Hopkins is taking Sunday, madam, so I can't go out then. "

"I can't 'elp that, " was the testy reply. 

"I don't wish to inconvenience you, madam, but, as it was arranged thatI should always have----"

"Subjec' to _my_ convenience, " snapped Mrs. Slumper. "That's wot Isaid. " She had said nothing of the sort. "An' am I to go pushin' orfto a dandy crush without a servant? Hopenin' me own dores, an'fetchin' me own car, an' wot not, jus' like a common beggar in a 'iredfly? Look 'ere, young man, I didn't ought to 'ave took you at all, reelly. Wot with no refs an' no experience, yer might 'ave walked thesoles orf of yer perishin' boots before yer got into a 'ouse like this. But I gave you a chance, I did. An' if you think ter try an' turn meown words agains' me an' talk 'igh about contrax, yer kin jus' shoveorf. " She regarded him furiously. "Ugh! I'm fed up with the bunchof yer. Nasty, ungrateful swabs! I serpose yer kin 'ave Monday, can'tyer?"

"I will take Monday, madam. "

The malevolent pig's eyes followed him in silence till he was out ofthe room.... 

It was on Monday, then, that Lyveden called for his dog. 

His decision to revisit the scene of his encounter with my lady was notfully formed until it was time to act upon it. He had deliberatelywalked in the direction of the inn, so that, when the hour came, hecould, if he chose, indulge the inclination of which he was whollyashamed. Honestly, he reflected, he had not a good word to say for thegirl. (Observe, please, that the fact that the pleasaunce was to hisliking did not weigh with him. The little inn and its curtilage hadbecome but environs. ) She had been unreasonable and worse thanchurlish. There was no getting away from it--she had been aggressivelyrude, administering a rebuff though he had made no advance. To pileOssa upon Pelion, she now knew him for what he was--a flunkey, actingthe gentleman and sporting a dog. And was not that a dainty dish forhim to digest, sitting under the lime-trees in full view of that gardendoorway which nine days ago had been so honoured? That, of course, wasthe trouble. Anthony had seen a picture which he could not forget. The girl had done her best to efface it, but had only succeeded inclouding a sunny memory. 

With something of the _mauvaise honte_ with which a player of"Patience" corrects a mistake he has made by restoring some cards, Anthony took Ossa off Pelion, said to himself, "I don't believe sherecognized me, " and, walking into the inn, desired the mistress tobring him some tea. 

By the time he had finished his meal he had sunk so low in his owneyes--lost so much self-respect, that the rest did not seem worthkeeping, and he inquired whether anything had been seen of the ladywhose dog his had fought, in much the same spirit of recklessness asmoves a bravo to toss his last piece to a beggar. 

"She had tea here the day before yesterday, sir, " replied his hostess. "All alone, with her little dog. I don't think he's none the worse, sir. Thank you. Good day, sir. "

Anthony left the house like a man in a dream.... 

Why had she come?

To this question the answer which his heart vouchsafed was vain and avanity. His head, however, gave innumerable replies--all of themobvious and none of them flattering. A hundred times Reason drove Hopeheadlong, but always the baggage returned.... 

By way of relieving his feelings, Anthony cursed Mrs. Slumper withearnest bitterness. He began to feel that there was much in what thechauffeur had said about her forbears. At the time he had secretlydeplored his epithets, but now.... Certainly he had misjudged thefellow. He was quite right. 

As for Patch, he had never been paid so little attention. Not that hecared. The country was full of scents.... 

By a quarter past seven Lyveden was back at Lancaster Gate. 

The first thing he saw below stairs was the library silver, which hehad cleaned that morning and the parlour-maid should have restored toits place. Without waiting to change, he picked up the tray andcarried it upstairs, intending, if the room was unoccupied, to replaceit at once. 

As he gained the hall, the twitch of an inserted latchkey came to hisears. Then pressure was put upon the front door. This, however, remained fast shut. The key was withdrawn violently, reinserted, andwrenched. The pressure upon the door being maintained, the lock wasjammed. Whosoever was there had lost his temper and was kickingagainst the pricks. This was unlike Mr. Slumper, but it could benobody else. Lyveden set down his tray and stepped to the door.... 

His master came in with a rush, stumbling. Anthony caught him, and herecovered his balance. There was running sweat upon his face, whichwas all grey, and he was shaking fearfully. Holding on to thefurniture as he went, he tottered as far as the library, clawed at theswitch by the door, missed it, and swayed out of sight into the blackof the room. 

Anthony stood spellbound. The spectacle of a bunch of keys danglingidly from the keyhole of the door, which he was still holding open, brought him to his senses, and, drawing the key from the lock, heclosed the door swiftly and ran for brandy.... 

Mr. Slumper was sitting in the dark, with his head plunged between hisknees. At Anthony's coming he started up and would have gone back, butthe seat of his chair catching him under the hocks, he subsided againalmost immediately. Anthony went to his side and held the glass to hislips. As he drank, his teeth chattered upon the rim of the tumbler, and some of the spirit ran over his chin. Twice he made a gesture formore. After the third dose he had swallowed more than a tumblerful.... Presently he began to look less grey, and the trembling abated. Inthree or four minutes he was quite calm. Anthony was about to ask ifhe should help him upstairs, when he spoke suddenly. 

"Shut t' door. "

Anthony did his bidding. When he came back, his master had aletter-case in his hand. 

"What are your wages?" he said. 

"Seventy-two pounds a year, sir. "

Mr. Slumper put a hand to his brow and knitted this wearily, as if theeffort of calculation was more than he could bear. Then he took outtwo five-pound notes and two one-pound notes. 

"There's twelve pound, " he said slowly. "One month's wages, andanother's in lieu of notice. "

Anthony stared at the money. 

"I haven't been here a month yet, sir. "

His master waved aside the objection. 

"Only honest servant I've ever had, " he said shortly. "Gentleman, aren't you? Never mind. Couldn't let you down. Others can go tohell, but not you. And now--better clear out. Right away. Get yourbox and go. Don't let the others see you. Give 'em the slip. "

"But--but won't you be dining, sir?" said Anthony desperately. He wastrying instinctively to grapple with a situation which had put him uponhis back. 

At the mention of dinner Mr. Slumper laughed hideously. The brandy wasgetting into its stride now, and colour was beginning to climb into hischeeks. 

"Dining?" he croaked. "Dining?"

In a deliberate, imperturbable tone a clock upon the mantelpiece chimedthe half-hour, and the laugh snapped off short. The next moment theman had Lyveden's arm in a grip of iron. 

"Listen, " he breathed. "I'm broke ... Ruined ... Got to run for it. Couldn't stand gaol at my age. It ain't pretty, I know, but I'mfifty-nine, Lyveden, fifty-nine. " The tense utterance broke into awhimper. "An'--an' that's too old for prison, Lyveden, an' theywouldn't give me a chance. The lawyers 'd make it out bad. You cangamble with others' money as long as you win, Lyveden, but you mustn'tlose ... Mustn't ever lose. There's a law against that. "

All the soldier in Anthony came to his aid. 

"Are you going now, sir?" The other nodded, "Shall I get you a taxi?"

"Yes. " Mr. Slumper jerked a contemptuous head at the ceiling. "She'llhave to go with me, " he added thickly. "Can't leave the old fool. "

"I'll keep your keys, sir, " said Anthony, "to let myself in. "

With that he was gone. 

Mrs. Slumper was in the midst of a very delicate operation, to wit, theobliteration of her natural complexion--obsequies which not even hermaid was permitted to attend. Consequently she was anything butpleased when her husband entered the room. Such procedure was out ofall order and convenience. That he came in suddenly and without firstknocking upon the door was insufferable. She turned herself round onher seat, bristling.... 

There was no time for a scene, and, when Mrs. Slumper hurled herselfagainst Necessity, she fell back bruised and broken. 

When she would have screamed, a hand was clapped over her mouth, breaking her false teeth, and all her stifled shrieks, queries andexpostulations were literally cuffed into a whimper. Five minuteslater, toothless, half-dressed and trembling, she thrust a few thingsinto a dressing-case, struggled into a fur coat, and passed withsagging knees downstairs, clinging to the arm of a bully whom she hadknown as a worm. 

Lyveden was waiting in the hall, beside him his case and hold-all--whatbelongings he had thrust into them anyhow. He was intending to see thecouple into the cab and then go quietly away, for he was determined toavoid the loathsome saturnalia with which his colleagues were certainto signalize the _débâcle_. When the two appeared, he startedinvoluntarily. He had been prepared for violence, he had expectedtears.... The vision of a blubbering idiot, that mowed and mumbled, its wig awry, its dreadful face blotched, like a clown's, with paint, swaddled from head to toe in gorgeous furs, leaning desperately uponthe very reed it had broken--this was unearthly, hellish. He foundhimself praying that it might not visit him in his dreams.... 

It is to his credit that Anthony, having helped Mr. Slumper into hishat and overcoat and Mr. And Mrs. Slumper into the taxi, flung his ownkit upon the canopy and accompanied the fugitives to Charing Cross. 

The horror of that drive revisited him for months. The awful pregnantsilence, broken only by the sound of rapid irregular respiration, gaveto the cab the air of a death-chamber. 

Arrived at the station, by his advice the two remained in the taxiwhilst he procured tickets which would take them to the coast by thefirst available train. At the booking-office he learned, to hisinexpressible relief, that they had but ten minutes to spare. Hebought the tickets feverishly.... 

As his master emerged from the cab, Lyveden perceived with a shock thathis nervousness had begun to return. Terror was riding behind, comingup, overhauling him fast. The blood which had flooded his face hadbegun to recede. The hand that received the tickets and change wastrembling. In a fever of anxiety the ex-officer hustled his chargestowards the platform.... 

People turned and stared as they passed. One woman screamed.... 

At the sudden cry Mr. Slumper started violently. His face was verypale now, and there were tiny beads of sweat upon the side of his nose. His mouth was working painfully. It was a question whether they couldboard the train before he collapsed. The idiot upon his arm could haveshambled another mile. 

They came to the barrier. 

Anthony had no ticket and could not pass, but he put them into thequeue and steered them up to the gate. 

The passenger behind Mr. Slumper turned suddenly and brushed againsthim. At the touch on his shoulder the poor devil started frightfullyand drew in his breath with a hoarse whoop. The face that he turned tothe offender was a wet grey.... 

In front of them there were only two, now--one. They were in the jawsof the barrier.... Mr. Slumper had not the power to present histickets, and the inspector took the pasteboard out of his shaking hand. He clipped it and handed it back, staring. Mr. Slumper fumbled, andthe tickets fell to the ground. He stooped drunkenly, and theinspector put a hand under his arm. 

"Gent ill 'ere, Joe, " he threw over his shoulder, apparently addressinga colleague, whom Anthony could not see. "Give 'im a 'and up theplatform. "

Anthony heaved a sigh of relief. 

The next moment he saw a burly station-constable--presumably"Joe"--step into view and put a broad arm tenderly about his master'sback... 

Mr. Slumper stiffened and stood quivering with the peculiar vibrationof a wire that is taut. The ridiculous figure attached to him stoodstill also, rolling its head foolishly. 

"Come along, sir, " urged the official in a kindly tone. 

Mr. Slumper stopped shaking, took out his handkerchief, and wiped hisface. Then he turned to the speaker. 

"It's all right, " he said. "_I'll go quietly. _"

Anthony turned on his heel and walked out of the station. 

There was no more to be done. 

CHAPTER II

THE WAY OF A MAID

A footman looked out of an attic in Eaton Square with his pen in hismouth. After a moment's reflection he returned to his letter, added asentence or two, and signed his name. Then he restored its cork to hisbottle of ink, blotted the lines he had written, and, gathering theflimsy pages into his hand, leaned back in his loose-limbed chair withthe consideration which that exacting skeleton required of its patrons, and proceeded to read. 

This, then, is our chance; and, since Lyveden will be none the wiser, let us forget our manners and look over his shoulder. 

_DEAR TOBY, --_

_By extracting a promise that I would write to you you did me a goodturn, for, while my first report was rendered, from a sense of duty, Iam making this one with a sense of relief--a somewhat scandalousadmission. Of course a really good footman would keep his mouth shut. But then I am but an indifferent lackey. _

_To say that I left my first place would be untrue. In fact, the placeleft me--rather tragically, as it happened: which reminds me that Imust withdraw anything which I have written to you in disparagement ofmy late master. The poor man had worries I did not know of, andbehaved to me very handsomely at the last, remembering that I mighthave troubles, when he could not think straight, so sore were his own. _

_For a week, then, I became a country gentleman, living with my dog ata little inn where no ways met. By the end of that time I had got meanother place. _

_Yes, sir, I am in the service of the Marquess of Banff, sir. Thereare times when I go powdered. I have even hobnobbed with the scarletlivery of Royalty. I am, I assure you, a very deuce of a fellow. _

_With the Marquess, who resembles an irritable baboon, I have little todo. The marchioness--a strong woman is also, mercifully, too muchengaged upon works of supererogation, which, in a rich bass, she styles"her manifold duties, " to observe my existence. Lord Pomfret Fresne, however, a gilded youth with three thousand a year, finds me extremelyuseful. I bet for him, I make appointments for him to have his hairtrimmed, I retain stalls for him, and occasionally I admit him to thehouse at an unlawful hour. In fact, he is a confounded nuisance. Heis impertinent, grossly ignorant, and a niggard. Moreover, Toby, hehath an eye whose like I have seen before--once. Then it was set inthe head of a remount which, after it had broken a shoeing-smith's leg, was cast for vice at Kantara in 1917. _

_"Lyveden, " says he one day, "you're a gentleman, aren't you?"_

_It seemed easiest to say "Yes. "_

_"Why?" says his lordship. _

_"It's a family failing, " said I. _

_"How beastly! You mean, like drink?"_

_"Exactly, my lord. We never mention it. "_

_"No, don't, " says he. "My mother's very hot on that sort of thing. Hullo!" He peers into a gold cigarette-case. "I had four pounds inhere. I'll swear I had. "_

_Considering that I had found the case in the library, and had restoredit to him five minutes before, his ejaculation was not in the best oftaste. His lordship, however, must whet his point upon the grindstoneof insult. _

_"You're not hard up, are you?" says he. _

_"I can pay my way, my lord. "_

_"Well, I know there was four pounds there, because---- No. Wait aminute. It's all right. I remember I put it in my coat. Whichreminds me--I want a couple of stalls at Daly's. You might ring up andget them. How much is the pit?"_

_"I'm not quite sure, my lord. It used to be half-a-crown. "_

_"Half-a-crown!" cries he. "I thought it was a shilling. "_

_"That's the gallery, my lord. "_

_"Oh, yes. Well, I can't afford the pit, Lyveden, but you can go tothe gallery if you like, " and he produces a shilling. _

_I shake my head. _

_"I'm much obliged to your lordship, but I seldom go out. "_

_"Right-o, " he says, with ill-concealed relief. "Don't forget thosestalls. "_

_It is pathetic, Toby, but it is true. And when I was at Harrow, hiseldest brother, who is one of the best, was my fag. _

_When I say that, compared with the butler, Respectability itself seemsraffish, you will understand. He is a monument, massive, meaningless, and about as useful as a fan in a cyclone. Yet the household revolvesabout him. He came in, I fancy, with the spittoon.... _

_And now I will show you that the cassock of the confessor has indeedfallen upon you. _

_Listen. I have been disdained--given the cold shoulder. Such abeautiful shoulder, Toby. Such a shoulder as Artemis presented toActaeon. But there was good reason for that. It fell on this wise. Isat in a garden and mufti and looked at an aged doorway, thinking howfair a frame it would make. And when next I looked, lo! there was thepicture, all warm and smiling, her little white hands about her dark, dark hair. I was overwhelmed. I would have slain dragons, levelledcastles, broken the backs of knights for her sake. But before I wasgiven the chance, I was given the shoulder. Now mark how a maliciousFate maketh a mock of me. But three days later I run full tilt into mylady, I, the same Anthony Lyveden--but with my livery on. In case thatshould not be enough, I presently return to the inn, to learn that Ihave missed her by forty-eight hours. _ Veux-tu m'en croire?

_Beneath the unfair strain my poor vocabulary broke down. Indeed, Isoon had no alternative but to repeat myself, thus violating what Iknow to be one of your most sacred rules. _

Assez, j'en finis. 

_You are so distant and it will be so long before this letter reachesyou, that it requires an effort steadily to regard you as a confidant. Already that impression of you is fainter than it was when I picked upmy pen. A reply from you, Toby, would do much to revive it--would, infact, turn into substance the shadow with which I am, ratherdesperately, cheating my common-sense. _

 A toi, mon beau, _ANTHONY LYVEDEN. _

Having addressed this letter to Australia, Lyveden made the best of anenamelled basin and a mirror, which was not quite so good as one which, once upon a time, his servant had purchased in Port Said for fivepiastres. Then he put on his very expensive plum-coloured coat anddescended twelve flights of stairs. 

Five minutes later he opened the front door, confessed to an irreverentgentleman in blue and yellow that "Ole Flat-Feet" was at home, and, after conducting them to the first floor, ushered "The Honourable Mrs. George Wrangle, Miss Wrangle, Miss Sarah Wrangle" into the presenceitself. With a contempt for tradition, the Marchioness not onlyextended to each of the ladies her large right hand, but withheld noone of its fingers. 

The identity of the guests was then communicated to the butler, whosesupervision of the service of tea depended upon the visitor's positionin the table of precedence. That of Mrs. Wrangle, apparently, felldismally short of the standard which the great man imposed, for, uponhearing her name, he stared indignantly upon a cat which was cleaningitself upon the hearth of his parlour, and then resumed the perusal ofthe _Morning Advertiser_ in contemptuous silence. 

Without more ado, Anthony repaired to the pantry. Five minutes laterhe and the second footman took up the tea. 

"Is Lord Pomfret in?" said the Marchioness. 

"I will see, my lady, " said Lyveden. 

"Desire him to come in to tea. "

"Very good, my lady. "

Lord Pomfret had just returned from a luncheon-party, and was preparingto attend a _thé dansant_. His mother's command was abusivelyreceived. At length--

"Tell her I'm out, Lyveden. "

Anthony hesitated. 

"Her ladyship was very definite, my lord. "

"D'you hear what I say?"

"Very good, my lord. "

The scepticism with which his mistress received Anthony's report wasdistressingly obvious. Also the faces of Mrs. And Miss Wrangle fellnoticeably. Indeed, the bell which summoned Lyveden to speed theirdeparture rang but a few minutes later. 

As they descended the stairs, Lord Pomfret emerged from the library, cramming cigarettes into his case with the dishevelling manipulation ofthe belated swain. 

The encounter was not a success. 

Reason suggested to Mrs. Wrangle that the episode could be far moreeffectively dealt with if and when the offender became her son-in-law. Impulse, however, clamoured for immediate and appropriate action. Between the two stools her display of emotion fell flat. As forPomfret, the knowledge that he had just induced the lady's footman togo for a taxi did not contribute to his peace of mind, and his mannersbecame conspicuously devoid of that easy grace which should have gonewith his title. 

After the mechanical issue and acknowledgment of a few ghastlypleasantries, Lord Pomfret muttered something about "hearing his mothercalling" and fled with precipitate irrelevance in the direction of theback stairs, leaving Mrs. Wrangle speechless with indignation andbitterly repenting her recent indecision. She swept past Anthony as ifshe were leaving a charnel-house. Her daughters, who took after theirfather, walked as though they were being expelled.... 

When their mother found herself confronted with the choice of leavingwithout her footman or awaiting that gentleman's successful return fromthe mission upon which he had been dispatched, it required their uniteddiplomacy to deter her from there and then returning to lay theoutrageous facts before Lady Banff. 

Mrs. Wrangle's complaint, however, was posted that evening. 

By the time it arrived, Lord Pomfret had prepared his defence. This heconducted so skilfully that the Marchioness, who believed in redjustice, sent for Lyveden and told him two things. The first was thatin future, when she sent him for anyone, he would be good enough tolook for them before returning to say they were out. The second wasthat when he was told to fetch a cab, he would be good enough to do so, instead of persuading other people's servants to do his work. LordPomfret, who was present at the arraignment, supported his motherdutifully. Anthony said nothing at all. Four and a half years in theArmy had left their mark. 

 * * * * *

If Lyveden was a Conservative, so was his dog. For the two there wasonly one walk in all Hertfordshire, and that, after six fair miles, brought them thirsty or wet, as the weather might order, to the shadeor shelter of _The Leather Bottel_. This was, in fact, Anthony'scountry house. Here for one glorious week the two had shared the samebed. Heaven only knew when such a prolonged visit would be repeated. It had cost two whole pounds, and, do what he would, Anthony could savevery little out of his wages. Of his six pounds a month the Dogs' Hometook four precious guineas. Then there were railway fares at threeshillings a time--twelve shillings a month. Teas, clothes, and alittle--a very little--tobacco had to be paid for. It was a tight fit. 

With his back to a beech tree, Lyveden thought upon these things. Theweather, perhaps, invited Melancholy. 

Without the wood a sudden shower was falling down from heaven, drenching anew wet pastures, thinning the mud upon brown lanes, poppling upon the washed highway. Dainty scale-armour of a millionleaves protected Anthony. Ere this was penetrated, the fusillade wouldhave stopped. 

It was more than a month now since he had seen the lady. At the momenthe supposed gloomily that she had gone out of his life. Consideringwhat his life was, it was just as well. (Melancholy smiled to herself, sighed sympathetically, and laid her dark head upon Anthony'sshoulder. ) His thoughts flew over the blowing country to Eaton Square. The squalor of his bedroom rose up before him. The walls were peeling, and upon one there was a vast brown stain. The floor was bare. Thecracked American cloth upon the chest of drawers made this a washstand. The fact that the ensemble had lost a foot made it unsteady. True, some one had placed a Bradshaw under the bereaved corner, but the piecelisted heavily. The Bradshaw, by the way, was out of date. In fact, its value as a guide to intending passengers had expired on thethirty-first of October, 1902. That looked as if the chest were anantique. Three of the china knobs, however, which served as handleswere unhappily missing. Then there was a flap beneath the windowwhich, when raised, arrested the progress of such smuts as failed toclear it in their descent to the boards. (Melancholy smothered a laughand laid a wet cheek against her victim's. ) The smuts weredevilish--the terror by night, the arrow that flieth by day. Anthonybelieved in fresh air. Also he believed in cleanliness. His twofoldfaith cost his convenience dear. He had begged a dust-sheet from thehousekeeper with which to cover his bed during the day, and regularly, before retiring, shook an ounce of soot out of his window. The bed, bythe way, was overhung by the wall, which, for some reason best known tothose who built it, deserted the perpendicular for an angle offorty-five, three inches from Anthony's nose. The candlestick had seenmerrier days: that there might be no doubt about the matter, it said asmuch, announcing in so many words that it was "A Present from Margate. "... 

Scaramouche Melancholy fairly squirmed with delight. Then she turnedupon Anthony eyes swimming with tenderness, put up consoling lips.... The entrance of Polichinelle, however, cudgel and all, in the shape ofa little white dog, dragging a bough with him, spoiled her game. Harlequin Sun, too, flashed out of hiding--before his cue, really, forthe shower was not spent. 

Scaramouche fled with a snarl. 

At Polichinelle's obvious request, Anthony seized the spare end of thebough, and the two tugged with a will--an agreeable tourney, which wasalways eventually settled in the lists of Frolic itself. And, whilesthey strove, Harlequin danced in and out the trees, with magic touch ofbat making the mizzle shimmer and the meadows gleam, and finally, withrare exuberance, breaking his precious colours overhead, to say themasque was over and bid the racing winds hustle away the fretfulscenery and clear the stage of sky for his possession. 

Master and dog made their way to the inn jubilantly enough. 

As he devoured his tea, Lyveden thought again of the girl--morecheerfully. Indeed, he made bold to decide that she was interested inhim. That such interest sprang from the loins of Curiosity he admittedreadily. Its origin did not matter; the trouble was to keep it alive. 

It is obvious that he himself was more than interested. He was, Isuppose, in love. At the moment when he had looked upon her for thefirst time his heart had leaped. Instantly the man knew that he hadseen his maid. He had no doubt of it at all, but was quite positive. If a million Archangels had appeared and with one voice told him thathe was wrong, he would have shaken his head with a smile. His hearthad leaped, and there was an end of it. He just knew. In view of theprospective failure of so many Archangels, it is not surprising that mylady herself, whatever she did, would not be able to erase thisimpression. Consequently though she had behaved to his face with amanner which it was a Quixotic courtesy to style "disdain, " Anthonynever wavered. For a second of time he had seen beyond the veil--atleast, his heart had--and, now that he knew what it hid, allreinforcement of that veil was out of date. My lady might line it withoak, with brass, with masonry miles thick--and all her labour would bein vain. All the same, Anthony hoped devoutly that she would donothing of the kind.... 

With a sigh he drank to their next meeting. 

Then he called the terrier and set him upon his knee. 

"My fellow, " said he, "listen. In these very precincts you committedan aggravated assault upon an Irish terrier. I don't blame you. Heprobably deserved it. But--he belongs to the lady--my lady, Patch, theonly lady in the world. And she didn't like it, my boy. She didn'tlike it at all. So remember, if ever we meet her again, you mustn'tfight. I don't want to be hard on you, but you mustn't. Of course, ifyou could show him a little courtesy--indicate a scent which will repayinvestigation, or something--I should be exalted. But I don't pressthat. A strictly non-committal attitude will serve. Butaggression--no. Patch, I trust you. I know it's difficult for you tounderstand, but you'll be a good dog and try, won't you? For my sake, Patch?"

Whether the Sealyham in fact appreciated the nature and gravity of therequest is a matter which cannot be decided upon this side of thegrave. The fact remains that when, upon entering the grounds of theDogs' Home some thirty-five minutes later, he encountered that veryIrish terrier, looking rather sorry for himself and attached to the endof a long lead, he walked straight up to him and bestowed upon him asgenerous a greeting as his nostrils and tail could convey. 

Anthony could hardly believe his eyes.... 

At the other end of the lead was a kennelman, who spoke quickly and tothe point. 

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I wouldn't let 'im talk to 'im. 'E'snot very grand--this little dog ain't. I think it's only a chill, butwe've hisolated 'im, in case... "

Patch was summoned peremptorily, to come running wide-eyed. Happily inhis sight his master could do no wrong; otherwise it is possible thathe might have thought himself hardly used and love's labour lost indeed. 

Anthony passed into the hall, thinking furiously. With Patch under hisarm, he spoke to the fair-haired girl in charge of the office. 

"I've seen a dog out there that I recognize--an Irish terrier. He'snot very well, your man said. May I know whose he is?"

"Oh, yes. He belongs to Miss French--Miss Valerie French. He's a nicelittle dog, isn't he?"

If Anthony Lyveden had reflected, it would have occurred to him thathis informant had been, as they say, "very quick in the uptake. " Thetruth was that less than a week ago Miss Valerie French had recognizedPatch and had asked the same girl for the name of his owner. 

"He's a beauty, " said Anthony. "Does she keep him here all the time?"

"When she's in London, " said the girl. "I expect you've seen her. She's very often down. "

Anthony nodded. 

"I think I must have, " he said. 

Then he made much of Patch and handed him over. 

"See you next week, little Patch. Next Saturday. Only a week fromto-day. Good-bye, little fellow. "

He ruffled the tousled head with a last caress, smiled at the puzzledbrown eyes, and turned away.... 

There was no sweet sorrow about these partings. They were purelyabominable. 

At the very hour that Lyveden walked heavily down the wet lanes on hisway to the station, Valerie French, who was to dine early and go to theplay, was sitting before her dressing-table in an apricot kimono. 

The evening sun stared into her bedroom mercilessly and found no faultin it. It was a broad low room, full of soft colours and the warm glowof highly polished wood. Walls, curtains, and carpet were all ofpowder-blue; an old rose fabric covered what seats there were; anapple-green coverlet filled up the symphony. That taper elegance whichmodern craftsmanship can give mahogany was most apparent, lending theusual suite unusual comeliness. A great pier-glass flashed in acorner, upon a little table beside a deep chair a bowl of rosessweetened the London air, above the well-found bed dangled an ivoryswitch. 

If the chamber was fair, so was my lady. 

Looking upon her beauty, as she sat at the glass, Valerie French mighthave felt very proud. But, if we pry into her mind, it will be seenthat her thoughts were otherwise occupied. Indeed, the fixing of herhair--usually so simple a matter--was making her knit her brow. Thefact that the soft dark tresses had been washed that morning made themunruly. In vain the pointed fingers strove to secure and order them totheir mistress's liking.... 

At length, with a sigh, she brought her hands to her lap. 

Then she made a mouth at the reflection of her labours. 

"I look like his Sealyham, " she said. 

 * * * * *

It was on Monday morning that Lord Pomfret suggested to Lyveden thepropriety of putting a pound each way on Slip Along. 

"I don't suppose the swine's any good, " said his lordship moodily. "But he'll probably start at twenty, so I may as well have a dart. Iforget who told me about him. "

"Very good, my lord, " said Anthony. 

To receive this commission, he had been summoned from the drawing-room, whose floor he was engaged in leathering to the requisite degree oflustre. He had had to remove an apron, turn down his sleeves, and puton his plum-coloured coat. So soon as his lordship, who was yet atbreakfast, released him, he would reverse the procedure and return tohis floor. 

Lord Pomfret peered muttering into his cigarette case. Then he pluckedout a ten-shilling note and flicked it across the tablecloth. 

"That's all I appear to have, " he said sulkily. "I'll have to owe youthe thirty shillings. "

Anthony braced himself. 

"I'm afraid I haven't any money at all, my lord. "

The other looked up sharply. 

"What? ... Oh, nonsense, Lyveden. "

Anthony said nothing. He was not anxious to repeat the lie, but he wasdetermined not to lend to Lord Pomfret. That the loan would loseitself was much too probable, and the construction of his slenderresources would not stand such a strain. 

"Of course you've got thirty shillings. But you don't like parting. "Lord Pomfret laughed rather nastily. "I'll pay you back, man, ifthat's your trouble. "

"I haven't the money, my lord. "

The youth stared at Anthony furiously. Then--

"Oh, go to hell!" he said thickly. 

Anthony picked up the note and placed it beside his lordship. Then heleft the room and returned to his work. 

Lord Pomfret was exceedingly wrath. In fact, he brooded over theincident. This augured ill for Anthony. The cold fact that in dueseason--to be precise, at eleven minutes to four that sameafternoon--Slip Along won his race easily did not improve matters. That he started at thirty-three to one was still less digestible.... 

When his lordship read the news at half-past five, he broke into a coldsweat. Then he bit savagely at the nail of his favourite thumb. Considering that, so recently as that morning, he had reluctantlydecided that that toothsome _entremet_ must be allowed to go unmolestedfor at least a week, his action was indicative of an emotion which knewno rules. That he made no mention of the matter to Anthony, was theugliest omen of all. 

Two days later the second footman called Anthony, who was crossing thehall. 

It was a fine July morning, and the famous square was full of sunlightand clear-cut shadows and the soft swish of leaves. All this could bemarked from the hall, for the front door stood wide open, and a freshcool breeze came floating into the mansion, to flirt with the high andmighty curtains upon the landing, jostle the stately palms, and ruffleup the pompous atmosphere with gay irreverence. The air itself wouldhave told you the hour. The intermittent knocks of a retreatingpostman declared the time even more accurately. 

"'Ere's a letter fer you, mate, " said the second footman. "'A. Lyveden, Esquire, ' it says, all bald-like. No C. M. G. , no B. F. , nonothin'. I should 'ave a raow abaout this. "

Anthony came grinning. 

"P'r'aps their _Who's Who's_ out of date, " he said. 

The other shook his head. 

"It's the deecay of menners, mate, " he said sorrowfully, turning toresume the sorting operation upon which he was engaged. 

The letter bore the postmark of a village in Hertfordshire, and provedto be a communication from the Dogs' Home at which Patch was lodged. 

_DEAR SIR, _

_I am sorry to inform you that your Sealyham has contracted distemper. There is at present no reason to think that he will be seriously ill, and, the veterinary surgeon is quite satisfied with his condition. _

 _Yours faithfully, _ _N. DAWES, _ _Supt. _

Anthony stared at the sheet as it had been a death-warrant. It must beremembered that Patch was all that he had in the world. 

The second footman, who had been perusing a postcard addressed to theMarchioness, placed the missive upon the top of his mistress's lettersand fell to whistling softly between his teeth. When he glanced roundto see Anthony so still, he stopped his fluting in the midst of a bar. 

"Wot's up, mate?" he said eagerly. "'Ad some bad noos?"

Anthony folded the sheet and put a hand to his head. 

"My little dog's ill, " he said. "He's down in the country, and--it'srather worrying. "

The other looked at him curiously. Then--

"That's the worst o' dawgs, " he said sagely. "Yer goes an' gets fon'of 'em, an' then they gets run over, or dies, or somethin'. Cats isthe same. My sister's little gurl 'ad a kitten with one eye. Thortthe world o' that cat, she did. 'Adn't got no use fer dolls nornothin'. 'Moses, ' she called it. One day a bull-terrier does it in. "He paused dramatically, raising his eyes to heaven with an air ofreminiscent resignation which spoke volumes. "Me sister thort thekid'd go aout of 'er mine. In the en' they 'ad to send 'er away. "

Anthony listened to the anecdote with what politeness he could, hopingdesperately that time would prove its irrelevance. 

"Poor little girl, " he said quietly. 

"But she got over it orright, mate. Same as wot you will. You see. 'Sides, " he added, with the gesture of one who adduces a still strongerargument, "'e ain't dead yet. Don't you meet trouble 'alf-way, mate. It ain't good enough. "

For this philosophy there was much to be said, and Anthony did his bestto practise it. When he had sent a telegram, asking to be informeddaily of his dog's progress, and advised by wire or telephone if therewas any danger, he felt more comfortable. The day, however, draggedheavily.... 

Happily Lord Pomfret made few demands upon his patience. For all that, his lordship had formed a new habit, which Anthony--partly because hewas preoccupied, partly because he had but two eyes--failed to observe. This was a pity, for while it was not a pretty habit, it happened toconcern Anthony pretty closely. The trick was this. So often as heand Lyveden were in the same room, his lordship's watery eyes wouldfollow the footman wheresoever he moved. 

It may be urged that a cat may look at a king. True. 

But if a cat were detected in the act of looking at a king as LordPomfret Fresne had come to look at Anthony Lyveden, it is safe topredict not only that the animal would be afforded no furtheropportunity of inspecting his majesty, but that in about two minutes hewould, like poor Moses, be put to sleep with his fathers. 

 * * * * *

By the same post which so discomfited Anthony, came to Miss ValerieFrench two letters, one at least of which must be set out. 

_c/o Joseph Bumble, Esq. , The Shrubbery, Hawthorne. _

_DEAR VAL, _

_Send your pal along. The Bumbles will jump at him. As for us, if ourpresent colleague wasn't under notice to leave, we should be. Ofcourse he can have his dog here. Haven't I got José? And if aparlour-maid can keep one, d'autant plus a footman. Pending thedismissal of the colleague referred to, Anne and I have to do more thanwe should, and are a little bored with Life. George has the best timewith the car, but we make him help in the house. When are you comingto Bell Hammer? George and I were there on Sunday, and it lookstopping. _

 _Love from us all, BETTY. _

The other dispatch was from Printing House Square. Its envelope, beingopened, was found to contain three other envelopes, each bearing thesame superscription, viz. , "Box Y779, c/o _The Times_. "

Valerie opened them eagerly. 

They were, all three, applications for the post of a gentleman-footman. 

After satisfying herself that no one of these was signed by Lyveden, Valerie tossed them aside unread. Then she propped herself on herelbow and poured out a cup of tea. 

That Fate buffets her favourites is sometimes true. Here we catch thebaggage red-handed. With one cold relentless palm she threatens totake from Anthony, who hath not, even that which he hath: with theother she is strewing blossoms upon what is to be his path. With herright hand she robs the beggar, with the left she prepares for him abed of roses. 

The lady of Anthony's heart loved him. It is no good beating about thebush. Pity may be akin to Love, but Interest is the boy's firstcousin. Whether her heart had leaped, when she saw him, is not for meto say. She looked upon him, saw that he was good, made up hermind--and that was settled. The fact that she immediately turned herback upon him has nothing to do with the question, but may, if youplease, be construed as confirming her plight. 

Had the round world been ten thousand years younger, when she andAnthony looked the one upon the other in the garden of _The LeatherBottel_, he would have put his arms about her, and she would havesuffered him, and there in the shadow of the little inn this tale wouldhave come to an end. That it did not so end then and there is thefault partly of a crop of conventions, which have in so many yearsincreased out of all belief and now stand bristling between Impulse andAction, and partly of the contrariness of women, which is, we know, very ancient, but not so old as all that. It is these two marplots, which you must bless or curse, gentlemen, as the fancy takes you. 

Valerie French, then, was trying to bring Lyveden into smooth water. She had already earmarked a congenial billet at The Shrubbery, Hawthorne. The difficulty was to make Anthony apply for the post. Since Mrs. Bumble could hardly be advised to ask a footman to quit theservice of the Marquess of Banff, Valerie, who was determined to remainincognito, had recourse to the Press. Her advertisement for agentleman-footman appeared daily. 

When my lady had drunk her tea, she turned to the telephone. After alittle delay, she was connected to the Dogs' Home in Hertfordshire. Presently the superintendent spoke.... 

'Miss French's Irish terrier was not too grand. He was coughing alittle. There was no real cause for anxiety, but he was not out of thewood. '

"I'll be down this afternoon, " said Valerie. 

She was as good as her word. 

And since, to her grief, the little brown dog was nothing bettered, butrather grew worse, she visited him the next day also and the day afterthat. 

And so it happened that she was at the Home on Friday, when Patch'scondition gave rise to such uneasiness as presently decided thesuperintendent to telephone to his master. Indeed, the fair-hairedgirl had discussed with Valerie the advisability of so doing. 

"Mr. Lyveden's a busy man, I fancy, and we hate worrying people. Buthe's simply devoted to the dog, and he's pretty bad. "

"I think, " said Valerie slowly, "I think he ought to be told. "

"Perhaps you're right, Miss French, " said the girl. "I'll go and ringup. "

She slipped out of the hospital, through the garden, and presently intoher office. 

It was perhaps ten minutes before she could speak with London. Then--

"Is that Lord Banff's house?" she inquired. 

"Yes. Who are you?" said an unpleasant voice. 

"Oh, can I speak to Mr. Lyveden?"

"_Who?_"

"Mr. Lyveden. "

An exclamation of surprise came to her ears.... Then an oath.... Thena smothered laugh.... 

The girl frowned with impatience. At length--

"Hullo, " said the voice. 

"Can I speak to Mr. Lyveden?" she repeated. 

"No, you can't. He's--he's out. "

"Oh! Well, it's rather important. Could you give him a message?"

"Try me, " said the voice. 

"Will you tell him that his dog is not so well?"

"What dog?"

"_His_ dog. His Sealyham. Mr. Lyveden will understand. "

"Oh, will he?" said the voice. "And where do I come in, Mabel?"

For a moment the fair-haired girl stared at the instrument. Then sheflushed angrily and rang off.... 

At the other end of the line Lord Pomfret replaced his receiver with ahideous leer. 

The superintendent returned to the hospital. 

"Did you speak to him?" said Valerie. 

"No, Miss French. He was out. I had to leave a message. "

Valerie rose to her feet. 

Observing her movement, the Irish terrier rose also and got shakilyupon his legs. The effort set him coughing again, poor fellow, and hehad to submit to the paroxysm before he could wag his tail. Howstiffly this moved, his mistress, whose eyes were full of tears, didnot remark. Nor did she notice the suggestion of impotence about hishindquarters. With her practised eye, the fair-haired girl noticedboth symptoms and bit her lip. 

Valerie caressed her favourite and turned to a grey-headed kennel-manwho had just entered the room. 

"Are you going to wash his face?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

The Irish terrier was plainly pleased to see his old nurse. 

"How is the little Sealyham?"

"'Tis a sick dog, ma'am. "

Valerie turned away. 

The superintendent escorted her back to the house. 

"I'll be down to-morrow morning, " she said. 

"Very well, Miss French. "

As she walked down the drive, Valerie wondered miserably whether shewas treading it for almost the last time. 

 * * * * *

When upon Saturday morning Anthony received no bulletin fromHertfordshire, he did not know what to think. In the ordinary way hewould have telegraphed, but telegrams cost money, which he really couldnot afford, and he was, in any event, to visit the Dogs' Home thatafternoon.... He decided to do nothing. All the same, he was far fromeasy, for Friday morning's report had said that his terrier was not sowell. 

He went about his work abstractedly, glancing at the faces of theclocks times without number. 

At five-and-twenty minutes past two, just as he was going to change, Lord Pomfret sent for him. Anthony ground his teeth. The man was hisevil genius. 

Mercifully the interview was a short one. 

His lordship produced two pounds and curtly instructed the footman toexpend the money upon the purchase of roses. 

"They've got to be good ones, and you ought to be able to get stacksfor two quid. I shan't want them till to-morrow morning, so they'vegot to be fresh. You'd better get them as late as you can, and putthem in water directly you get in. That's all. "

"Very good, my lord. "

Lord Pomfret returned to the perusal of _La Vie_, and Anthony steppedto the door. As he was passing out--

"Lyveden, " said his lordship sharply. 

"Yes, my lord. "

"I shall want to see the bill. "

Anthony hesitated, inwardly raging. Then--

"Very good, my lord, " he said huskily. 

Ten minutes later he was out of the house. 

Along the road of Life goes bowling the coach of Destiny, and we poorpassengers inside know neither whither we are being borne nor how longshall be our journey. Now and again the horses are pulled up, the dooris opened, that grim guard Fate calls out a name, and one of us climbspitifully forth, to pass with faltering steps into a sable hostelry. We that are left behind peer after him curiously.... Then the door isslammed, with a lurch the coach is off again on its eternal wayfaring, and we poor passengers inside sit betwixt hope and fear, wonderingvainly what the next mile of road will bring to each of us. 

Climb up upon the box-seat, gentlemen, if you will see what is tobecome of Anthony: so I am with you, you will not be sent packing. 

Look how he is being borne unwitting over the Bridge of Care, into theValley of Love, by Thicket Perilous, clean through the Waters of Angerto where the white road curls over that grey upland, and we can see itno more. As well for Anthony that he has not our knowledge. The nextleague or so will play the deuce with his emotions.... 

One last look, gentlemen. Can you see that cypress there, tall by thewayside, down in the Valley of Love? We will descend there, by yourleave, for the driver will pull up his horses and the coach will stop. A dog has to be set down--a little dog, gentlemen, with rough hair andas soft brown eyes as ever you saw.... 

Anthony covered the distance between the station and the Dogs' Home ata good round pace. In fact, he was somewhat out of breath when a maidadmitted him to the house and, leaving him in the hall, went in searchof the superintendent. 

As the fair-haired girl made her appearance, his heart began to beatfuriously. 

"How's my little dog?" he said jerkily. 

The girl looked grave. 

"I'm afraid he's pretty bad, Mr. Lyveden. He's naturally very strong, and we hope that'll pull him through. We ought to know one way or theother within twelve hours. "

"I see, " said Anthony dully. "When I didn't hear, I hoped----"

"Didn't you get my telephone message?"

Anthony shook his head. 

"When did you ring up?"

"Yesterday. I spoke to somebody--a man, and asked him to tell you. Idon't know who it was. "

Anthony went very white. 

"I fancy I do, " he said grimly, and drew in a quick breath. "And nowmay I see my dog?"

The fair-haired girl led the way to the hospital. 

The building, which stood by itself, was as fresh and cool as a dairy, and a faint clean smell of sanitary fluid rose from its tiled floor. In the hall were a table and a watchman's chair. Half a dozen roomsled out of the hall. The girl went straight to the door of one ofthese, turned the handle gently, and the next moment they were in thelittle chamber. This was full of light and air, for the Frenchwindows, which gave on to a broad veranda, were wide open. Upon thegarden beyond the sun was shining gloriously. 

By the side of the great square basket set in a corner Anthony fell onhis knees. 

"Why, Patch ... "

The little scrap tried gamely to leap for his master, but his strengthfailed him, and he fell sideways on to the pine shavings. Lyvedengathered him gently into his arms and let him lick his face. 

"Did you think I was never coming, Patch? Did you think I'd forgottenmy little dog? My poor little fellow ... My little boy.... "

The laboured breathing slipped into a cough, and Lyveden laid theterrier back on the shavings. There he got to his feet and cougheddesperately. The exertion seemed to exhaust him, for, when the fit wasover, he lay down where he stood, keeping his eyes upon Anthony and nowand again moving his little tail. 

The fair-haired girl, who had gone, reappeared, followed by thegrey-headed kennel-man bearing a deck-chair. 

"I expect you'll like to stay with him for a bit, " she said pleasantly. 

Anthony thanked her, and she left him alone. 

For Patch's sake, Anthony sat very still. 

Considering that he had been afoot since half-past five, it is notsurprising that after a little space he fell asleep. 

Queer idiotic fancies bestrode his dreams: what was impossible camenaturally to pass: earth became wonderland, and no one wondered. Patchand Miss French lay in sick beds upon respective mantelpieces: LordPomfret had come to mend the telephone, and his tool-bag was full ofroses--the scent of them filled the room. Anthony himself was forginga two-pound note upon a page of Bradshaw, and was terribly afraid thatit would not pass muster: something weighty depended on this, and allthe time the scent of the roses was hindering his efforts: it camebetween him and the paper, so that he could not see: he brushed it awayangrily, but it came back.... 

He awoke suddenly, for no reason. 

Patch was lying very still, breathing more easily. His eye metAnthony's, and the tip of a red tongue came into view. 

The faintest suggestion of perfume was in the air. This was so slightand fleeting that Anthony, after a little, charged it to hisimagination and thought no more of it. 

Presently he rose and, setting his hat on the chair, where Patch couldsee it and so expect his return, strolled out on to the veranda. 

From the depths of an easy-chair Valerie French lifted her eyes from_The Times_ and smiled very charmingly. 

"I'm glad you've come out, " she said. "I think it's a mistake to sitthere too long at a time. "

That Lyveden felt perfectly at ease with her, and neither started norspoke constrainedly, is worthy of note. It is, in fact, the bestpossible evidence that his belief in their affinity was well founded. 

"You're quite right, " he said. "After all, the great thing is to be onthe spot. I'm afraid this means that your dog is ill. "

Valerie looked away. 

"He's worse than Patch, " she said slowly. 

"I'm awfully sorry. "

As he spoke, Anthony remembered how the dogs had met in the drive aweek ago. That, then, was how Patch had come by the sickness. Her doghad infected him. 

Valerie looked up suddenly. 

"I'm afraid I was awfully rude at the inn that day, " she said quietly. "It was rotten of me. "

"No, it wasn't, " said Lyveden quickly. "You were startled and upsetand----"

"I've said all that to myself--several times. But it won't wash. Itwas just rotten, and I'm very sorry. "

Had she been other than my lady, Anthony would have felt like a beggarwhose feet a queen was washing. As it was, he felt like a king. 

"I knew you never meant it, " he said. 

"Why?"

"Because it wasn't like you. "

"How could you know that?" said Valerie. 

"I don't know. I suppose I guessed. I suppose... " Anthony hesitated, and the colour came into his cheeks. "I think I know you too well. "

Valerie French nodded, as if she had received a reply which she knew tobe correct. 

"You're very fond of your dog, " she said. 

"He's all I've got. "

"All? Haven't you a single friend?"

"Not one, " said Anthony. 

A little cough came to her vigilant ears, and Valerie rose to her feet. As she came to the window, she stopped and looked at Anthony with aquiet smile. 

"I don't think you ought to say that, " she said gently. "Not since youknow me so well. "

Long after she had passed in, Lyveden stood gazing at the thresholdfrom which she had spoken.... 

The veterinary surgeon was with Patch. 

After a tender examination, he rose to his feet, and Anthony introducedhimself. 

"He's a fine little dog, " said the other. "And he makes a goodpatient, but I'm afraid he's in for a bad time. " He turned to thekennel-man. "Have you warned Williams and Minter?"

"I have, sir. "

"That's right. From now on, he mustn't be left. "

"Will he have some brandy, sir?"

"Not yet. "

In answer to Anthony's questions, the surgeon spoke plainly. 

"He's getting steadily worse. That will go on for anything from six totwelve hours. Then one of two things will become apparent--either thathe will recover, or that he can't. "

"What about my being with him?"

"If you like to be near, sir, yes. As to being in the room--he's ahighly-strung little fellow, and in the circumstances I don't adviseit. Of course, if there was any sudden change ... "

"I'm in your hands, " said Anthony. "I'll leave my hat here. Thenhe'll know that I'm at hand. "

"You couldn't do better, sir. "

The surgeon was patently glad of an owner who would do as he said. 

Anthony stooped to touch the damp muzzle.... 

Then he stole gently away. 

Out on the verandah he made his plans. Not for fifty Marquesses wouldhe leave ere the change had come. He decided to telegraph to thebutler. Perhaps they would understand. Any way, it could not behelped. If he were to be dismissed, he would try again. Only the fearof unemployment had kept him in Eaton Square. The very thought of LordPomfret made his blood boil. Perhaps, even if they said nothing, itwould be better to leave. 

He picked up my lady's _Times_.... 

The trouble was that the demand for men-servants seemed rather small. Married couples, apparently, were all the rage. Of course he wasgetting good wages. The substance might not be toothsome, but it wasbetter than shadow. At least, you could get your teeth into it. 

_WANTED. --A gentleman-footman: country: good wages: would be allowed tokeep dog. BOX Y779, c/o The Times, E. C. 4. _

Anthony stared at the lines as if they were unreal.... 

Then came the flutter of a frock and herself stepped on to the veranda. Mechanically Anthony set down the paper as if it had been contagious. 

Valerie did not speak of her terrier, nor did she ask after Patch. Instead--

"If we went up to the house, " she said gravely, "I think they wouldgive us some tea. " Together they left the veranda and passed throughthe pleasant grounds. "I've got a room in the village, " she added, "and I've sent for some things for the night. Will--will you have togo?"

"No. I shall stay. I can make shift. " He smiled. "The Army's a goodschool. "

"Do you wish you were back?" said Valerie. 

"I don't think so. A school has its drawbacks. If I were back in theArmy, I couldn't be staying tonight. "

Without thinking--

"You like to be your own master?" said the girl, and could have bittenher tongue in sunder. 

Anthony winced. Then--

"Yes, " he said slowly, "I do. "

Valerie thought frantically. Then--

"That's the best of being a man, " she said. "Take our two cases. Youhave your own establishment--at least, I suppose you have---your ownchambers, your own servant. I live with an aunt. If I broke away andset up a separate menage, I should be talked about. To be her ownmistress and excite no remark, a girl must be in penury. "

Anthony's heart seemed to have stopped beating. The murder was out. From my lady's words it was plain that she did not know his calling. She had not recognized him, then, that night with his livery on. Fool!He might have known that she would not--could not hobnob with a lackey. 

Instead of combating her statement, he made some knock-kneed reply.... 

For setting wheels within wheels, you cannot match Fortune. After all, she has made trochilics her hobby through all the ages. Look at herhandiwork here. Jill knows Jack for a flunkey and seeks to dissembleher knowledge, for fear of bruising his heart. As for Jack, when Jillstumbles upon his secret, he curses his luck: now that he believes itinviolate, he is in despair. 

Tea was served to them in a quiet parlour. It being their first mealtogether, their friendship should have grown fat. Instead, it lostweight steadily. They were ill at ease--both of them. To make thingsworse, Anthony began to feel that he was an impostor. 

He walked with her to the village and sent his telegram. Later theydined together. They dared not go far away, and the landlord of aneighbouring inn was persuaded to serve eggs and bacon. This he didwith an ill grace, and, that there might be no mistake about hisannoyance, charged for it in the bill. Anthony paid the amount as ifit were nothing, and Valerie French writhed.... 

Afterwards they strolled in the garden and sat upon the veranda. Thehours which should have been so wonderful went by lack-lustre. Betweenthe two a phantom barrier had been set up. 

As ten o'clock was striking, Valerie was fetched. 

When the summons came, they were in the garden, and she left Anthonywithout a word. Desperately sorry for her, miserably fearful forhimself, he followed as far as the steps of the veranda.... 

Twenty-five minutes passed, perhaps half an hour. Then there wasmovement in the chamber. A door was opened. The lights, which hadbeen low, were turned up. 

A moment later Valerie appeared at the window, putting on her gloves. 

As she came to the steps, Anthony rose out of the shadows. 

"May I see you back to the village?" he said. 

She just inclined her head. 

They passed in silence out of the starlit garden on to a pale greyroad. The hedgerows on either side loomed up out of the darkness, blacker than night. A lane led down to the village, leaving the roadon the left. It was the shortest path. As Lyveden started to turn, Valerie laid a hand on his arm. 

"Not that way, " she said unsteadily. "It was our last walktogether--Joe's and mine. "

Then she burst into tears. 

In a flash the barrier that had stood between them was done away. 

Anthony put his arm about her instinctively. She caught at his shabbylapel and clung to it, sobbing piteously. They must have stood so forfive minutes or more. 

When she was better, they walked on slowly, Anthony talking asnaturally as if she had been his sister. All his constraint was gone. 

"Don't I know how you feel? Oh, my dear, I'm so grieved for you. Iknow, I know.... Everything you do, every way you turn, calls up somepiteous memory. But it'll pass, dear, very soon.... Time's verymerciful.... "

They came to the sleeping village and the door of the house where shewas to pass the night. 

"Sleep well, " said Anthony, and put her hand to his lips. 

Valerie dared not speak. For a second she hesitated, inarticulate. Then she leaned over and set her cheek against his. 

The next instant she was gone. 

 * * * * *

Patch turned the corner of danger just before cock crow. 

With his heart singing, Lyveden went for a walk. He chose the oldway--the way he had trod so often with Patch by his side and Valerie inhis heart. My lady had filled his cup. The knowledge that Patch wouldlive had set it brimming. He saw the dawn up and felt jubilant. Hefound new beauties of Nature at every step. His sympathy with my ladywas a thing detached. It could not cloud his happiness. Eaton Squarewas forgotten. There were only she and he and Patch in all theworld.... 

He came to _The Leather Bottel_, borrowed a razor of an old groom, andpresently took a bath under a pump. Later he sat long over a joyousbreakfast. 

When he came back to the Home, there was Valerie. She just ran to meethim. 

"I'm so glad, I'm so glad, " she said. Then her lip quivered, and sheturned away. 

Anthony's heart smote him for his late selfishness. For as good causeto congratulate her, he would have given anything. 

They went up to Town together by the same train. 

The feverish haste with which she climbed into "a third" was almostcomical. 

Arrived at the terminus, Lyveden handed her out. Since it was Sundaymorning, the station was quiet. Indeed, except for a crowd of"theatricals"----

Anthony remembered the roses which Lord Pomfret had told him topurchase with an unpleasant shock. 

As if a switch had been turned, all the uncertainty of his future roseup in a cold black wave. The hopelessness of their friendship stoodout brutally. The thought that he was an impostor came pelting back, to set his ears burning and--the barrier that had stood between themcrashed again into place. 

Mechanically he saw her into a cab and told the driver to go to a housein Mayfair. Then he took off his hat. 

"I hope, " he said lamely, "I hope you'll get home all right. "

Valerie looked at him curiously. Then she put out her hand. 

"I shall never forget your kindness, " she said gently. 

When Anthony, some fifty minutes later, opened the front door to admitLord Pomfret into his father's house, he saw that his hour was come. 

For a moment the youth glared at him with the eyes of a snake. Then--

"Oh, you're back, are you?" he snarled. 

He entered the house, and Anthony closed the door. 

"I'm very sorry, my lord, about the roses. " He held out the two poundnotes. "I entirely forgot them. "

Lord Pomfret snatched the notes out of his hand. 

Anthony turned to go. 

"Here!" Anthony stopped in his stride, hesitated, and then turned back. "What d'you mean, 'you forgot'? It's a He. This is the second timeyou've let me down, you wash-out. And if you think----"

"My lord, I tell you----"

"Don't dare to answer me, " raved the other. "I won't have it. Listento me. My mother doesn't approve of servants who stay out allnight--even if they are gentlemen. I'll bet you're ready to pitch ahell of a tale, but it's no good, Lyveden. D'you hear? It's no good. You see, I answered the telephone on Friday, when your lady-friend rangup about the dog.... I know that dog, Lyveden, I've had one myself. And, what's more, I happened to be at Marylebone this morning.... Yes. That was a bit of bad luck, wasn't it? So next time you want aweek-end----"

Anthony hit him full on the mouth. 

The other reeled backward, tripped over a rug, and fell heavily. Hewas up in an instant, and came at Anthony, bellowing like a madman. 

Anthony, who was now quite cool, hit him between the eyes. 

For the second time Lord Pomfret went down. 

Again he got up, to hurl himself at his assailant, mouthing obscenity. 

Anthony side-stepped and hit him under the jaw as hard as he could. 

Lord Pomfret fell flat on his back and lay perfectly still.... 

The silence was broken by the sound of a dry laugh. 

Anthony swung on his heel, to see the Marquess of Banff in the librarydoorway. 

"He's got a lot to learn yet, " observed that nobleman, glancing at hisrecumbent offspring. "A deuce of a lot. " He put up his eyeglasses andstared at Anthony. "If I'd known you could box, you should have givenhim a hour a day. Too late now. You'll have to go, of course. Whatare your wages?"

"Six pounds a month, my lord, " stammered Anthony. 

The Marquess took out a note-case and extracted six notes. 

"Does he owe you anything?" he said, peering. 

"No, my lord. "

In silence the money passed. 

"Better get out at once, " said the Marquess shortly. 

"I'm--I'm very sorry, my lord, that this should have happened. "

"Tck! I heard what he said. I don't blame you. If you want areference, you can give my name. That'll do. "

Anthony bowed and left him. The sprawling figure was showing signs oflife. He passed through the hall quickly. 

Half an hour later, his baggage in hand, he descended the kitchenstairs. 

At the foot of these he encountered the second footman. 

"'Elp!" said the latter. "Don' say you've got the bird, mate?"

"Got it in one, " said Anthony. 

"But 'oo----"

"The Marquess. "

The fellow exploded. 

"It's a perishin' shame!" he cried. "It's a----"

Anthony stopped him. 

"No. He treated me handsomely. I--I bought it. "

"You didn't never sauce 'im, mate?"--incredulously. 

"Not exactly. You'll see. " He put out his hand. "So long. "

The other stared at the fingers before accepting them. Then--

"So long, mate, " he said dazedly. 

Anthony let himself out. 

The second footman's inability to comprehend the matter continued untila quarter-past one. It was at that hour that he did as he had beentold, and carried Lord Pomfret's luncheon up to his room.... 

The condition of his lordship's countenance was most illuminating. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE

Sitting in the garden of the little Hertfordshire inn, Anthony draftedhis application with the utmost care. All the time he tried to keep atight hand upon his hopes--unruly and mettlesome fellows, which morethan once had carried him into the meadow of Expectation before he knewwhere he was. There the going was splendid--till you came to the sunkfence.... 

His letter, when finally settled, was comprehensive enough. 

 _c/o "The Leather Bottel. " Nr. Malory, Herts. _

_SIR (OR MADAM), _

_I beg to offer myself for the situation advertised in yesterday'sissue of "The Times. "_

_I am twenty-nine, unmarried, a little over six feet in height, healthyand very strong. I have no physical defects. _

_I have just quitted the service of the Marquess of Banff. Mydeparture was directly due to my inability to give such satisfaction asone member of his lordship's household required of me, but theMarquess, who is familiar with the facts, was so good as to say that, if and when I needed a "character, " he would himself speak for me. _

_I left the service of my previous employer because that gentleman wasgoing abroad, and so had no further need of a footman. That was myfirst situation. _

_I am accustomed to wait at table, answer the door, go out with thecar, take care of silver, clean boots and knives, and carry coals: andI am ready to do anything that may be required of a man-servant. Ihave no objection to wearing powder. _

_I have been receiving seventy-two pounds per annum, but since, if Icome to you, I may bring my dog with me, I shall be content with a muchlower wage. _

_The dog in question--a Sealyham--is now recovering from distemper, andwill not be fit to travel for another week, by which time I shall beready to enter your service. _

_Should you desire to see me, I will come for an interview at yourconvenience. _

_I enclose a stamped addressed envelope, and shall be very grateful ifyou will inform me without delay if you are already suited. _

 _I am, Sir (or Madam), Yours obediently, A. LYVEDEN. _

 _Sunday, July 25th. _

That he was an ex-officer, Lyveden deliberately omitted to mention;that he was a gentleman, he trusted that his style and handwritingwould suggest. Had it been possible, he would have applied in person, not of self-confidence, but because he could have made plain one point, at any rate, upon which in a letter he feared to insist. This was thatto have his dog with him he was willing to do his work for a shilling aday. 

It was not until after his tea that Anthony fair-copied his letter. When it was signed and sealed, he slid it into a pocket and, tellingthe mistress of the inn that he would like his supper at eight, took uphis hat from the settle and strolled out into the sweet-scented lanes. 

Half a mile distant a pillar of lichened bricks stood by itself at acorner where two ways met. Here was enshrined a miniature once-reddoor--a toy of a door, to gladden a child's heart and set his fancieswhirling, and be remembered, with another half-dozen of trifles, solong as he lived. A slot in the door received His Majesty's mails. Anthony, who had used the box before, strolled leisurely in itsdirection, and, as he went, contemplated, first, the sweetness ofemancipation, and, secondly, the drawbacks of having but four poundsseven shillings and a penny between himself and thraldom. 

A painstaking adder of figures, I have audited the gentleman's accountsand found them correct to the farthing. He must pay for his terrier'ssickness and have four guineas in hand against the dog's board andlodging, in case, after all, he was to stay at the Dogs' Home. For ashilling he gave to a beggar, because he was poorer than himself, I canfind no receipt, but hope it is filed in heaven. An eight-shillingmeal stands out, among eightpenny teas, as a rare extravagance.... 

Lyveden was about to commit his dispatch to the posting-box--in fact, his hand was outstretched--when, to the amazement of a cock-robin whofrequented the pillar for company's sake, and had seen more lettersposted than there were feathers upon his back, he hesitated, exclaimed, stared at the letter with knitted brow, and then thrust it back intohis pocket. 

The truth was that Lyveden had thought of the lady. 

He strolled no farther, but walked--and that furiously. There weretimes when he strode. By the time he had covered eight miles and wason his way back, he was tramping wearily. He visited the Home andlearned that his dog was mending. For fear of exciting the patient, hewould not go in, but promised to come the next day. Then he passed on, hardly noticing whither he went, but turning mechanically, when he hadcovered five miles, wrestling with arguments, grappling withcircumstances, and finally setting himself by the ears for a lovesickfool and a varlet in coat-armour. 

Her dog, housed at the Dogs' Home, had brought her to Hertfordshire. Now that the poor little fellow was dead, Anthony flattered himselfthat he (Lyveden) might possibly bring her so far. And if he were totake this situation in the country--Heaven only knew where--she wouldcome to seek him in vain, and would go empty away. That even if hestayed and she found him, and came to care for him, she wouldeventually go still more empty away, was a still uglier reflection.... Anthony was honourable, and there was the rub of rubs. That the shoewhich Fate had tossed him was a misfit was nothing: that his sense ofhonour was chafed was intolerable. 

"Now, Naaman ... Was a great man with his master and honourable ... Buthe was a leper. "

After some consideration, Anthony decided grudgingly that, on thewhole, leprosy was worse than footmanhood, though less degrading. After further consideration, he decided that, until he could be rid ofhis uncleanness, he was in honour bound to see my lady no more. 

That it took him seven miles to work out this simple problem may seemridiculous. Possibly it is. In any case it is highly illuminating, for it shows that the love which he bore Miss Valerie French was worthhaving. 

When he posted his letter at a quarter to eight, the cock-robin, whohad been brooding over his late transilience, was greatly relieved. 

 * * * * *

Upon the second day of August the one-fifteen from Waterloo, or whatwas left of it, rumbled in the wake of three other coaches--countrycousins, these, that had never seen London--up the long blue-brownvalley at the end of which lay the station of Mockery Dale. It wastremendously hot, for the afternoon sun was raking the valley from stemto stern, and since what little breeze there was blew from thesouth-east, the fitful puffs passed over the dip in the moorland andleft it windless. This suited the butterflies admirably. Indeed, fromall the insects an unmistakable hum of approval of the atmosphere rosesteadily. Anthony could not hear it, any more than he could hear thelark which was singing merrily at a vast height above the shiningrails, for the rumble of the composite train, but he saw and marked thesleepy smile of the valley, noted with satisfaction its comfortable airof contentment to be no part or parcel of a frantic world, and held histerrier Patch to the dusty window, that he might witness the antics ofa couple of forest ponies, which were galloping away from the train andkicking up contemptuous heels at the interloper in an ecstasy of idlemenaces, clown-like in their absurdity. 

Patch saw the impudent frolic and, panting with excitement, evinced animmediate desire to leave the carriage and deal summarily with theirreverence, but a second later the sudden demands of a Frenchbull-dog, sitting pert in a dog-cart which at a level-crossing wasawaiting the passage of the train, superseded the ponies' claim uponhis displeasure. The alien was scolded explosively. 

A moment later the train had pulled into the station, and Lyveden andPatch got out. They were, it appeared, the only passengers to descend. 

The only vehicle outside the station was a Ford car, rather the worsefor wear. Sitting as drowsily at the wheel as the exigencies of thedriver's seat would permit was a man of some thirty summers. From hisappearance he might have been a member of the club to which, tillrecently, Anthony had belonged. His soft felt hat was cockedextravagantly over one eye to keep the sun at bay, and his country suitwas, fortunately, of a cloth which age cannot wither nor custom stale, but whose like has not been woven since the ill-favoured andlean-fleshed kine came up out of the river of War. 

As Lyveden appeared, carrying his luggage and preceded by Patch--

"No need to ask if you're for The Shrubbery, " said the driver of theFord lazily. "Shove your things in the back, will you?"

Anthony set down his suit-case and touched his hat. "Very good, sir, "he said. 

"Here, " came the airy reply, "you mustn't 'sir' me. I'm the comicchauffeur--your fellow-bondsman, to wit. Name of Alison. " He extendeda firm brown hand. "Not to put too fine a point upon it, I'moverwhelmed to meet you. With the slightest encouragement, I shallfall upon your neck. The last footman was poor company, and took twobaths in three months. My wife didn't try to like him. She's theparlour-maid. "

Anthony took the other's hand like a man in a dream. 

"I can't believe it, " he said simply. "Is this a leg-pull?"

"No blinkin' fear, " said Alison. "We're all in the same boat. What atopping dog!"

Anthony felt inclined to fling his hat upon the ground and yell withdelight. Instead, he thrust his baggage into the car and, stepping infront of the bonnet, took hold of the starting-handle. 

"Is it safe?" he said, straddling. "Or will she go round with my hand?"

"Well, we do usually get some one to stand on the step, " said Alison, "but, if you like to risk it ... "

A moment later they were hurtling along a white-brown ribbon of roadthat sloped sideways out of the valley and on to the top of the moor. 

Alison chattered away light-heartedly. 

"You see in me, " he said, "the complete chauffeur. With my livery onand two thousand five hundred pounds' worth of Rolls-Royce all roundme, I'm simply it. My only fear is that, when you turn out beside me, the whole perishin' concern will be caught up to heaven. However, Ireally think you'll be happy. "

"I believe you, " said Lyveden. 

"Of course, I don't do much indoors, but Betty says the housework'snothing. Anne agrees. She combines the duties of housemaid and mysister. Oh, we're all in it, I warn you. Of course, we do old Bumbleand Mrs. Bumble proud. They deserve it. They're very kindly andeasy-going, and we always try and give them just a shade more than theyhave a right to expect. He's a retired grocer and proud of it. Plentyof money, no children. Very little entertaining. We have morevisitors in the servants' hall than they do in the drawing-room.... "

The lazy voice purled on contentedly till the car leapt into a villagegathered about the road. 

"Hawthorne, I take it, " said Lyveden. 

"Brother, " said Alison, "I will not deceive you. This is indeed thatbourn from which no commercial traveller returns, for the most potentreason that none ever comes here. Thank Heaven, it's off their beat. The Shrubbery's half a mile on. "

Two minutes later they swept up a shady drive, past the creepered frontof a well-built house, and into a small courtyard. 

As the emotions of the car subsided, a Cocker spaniel made herappearance, squirming with affection and good-will, and offering upshort barks of thanksgiving by way of welcome. 

"Hush, José, hush!" cried a pleasant voice, and the next moment Mrs. Alison appeared in a doorway, wearing the traditional habiliments of asmart maid-servant with a perfectly natural air. 

When her sister-in-law, similarly attired, followed her into the yard, Anthony felt as if he had been pushed on to a stage in the middle of amusical comedy.... 

Not until his introduction was over, Mrs. Alison had shown him hisroom--a simple sweet-smelling apartment, all pale green and white andas fresh as a daisy--and they were all four seated in a cool parlourabout a hearty tea, did the feeling of unreality begin to wear off. 

"There'll be just us four, " said the housemaid. "The cook's avillager, and doesn't sleep in. She and her daughter, the kitchenmaid, feed together in the kitchen. They're a very nice pair, and seem tothink more of us than they do of the Bumbles. It's really as good as aplay. We pay the girl a shilling a week on the top of her wages, andfor that she lays our table and serves our meals. I expect George hastold you about the Bumbles. They're really two of the best. "

"By the way, " said Anthony, "oughtn't I to be reporting for duty?"

"Plenty of time, " said Mrs. Alison. "I'll ask when I clear away tea. They'll want to see you, just to say they hope you'll be happy morethan anything else. And now do ask some questions. I'm sure theremust be hundreds of things you're simply pining to know. "

Anthony laughed. 

"To be absolutely frank, " he replied, "I'm still a little bit dizzy. I've been on my beam ends so long that to suddenly fall on my feet, like this, is disconcerting. I've sort of lost my balance. "

"Of course you have, " said Alison, lighting a pipe. "Bound to. I feelrather overwrought myself. Let's go and cry in the garage. "

"Don't take any notice of the fool, " said his wife. "By the way, there's one thing I ought to tell you, and that is that Christian namesare the order of the day. Off duty it's natural; on parade, since wethree glory in the same surname, it's unavoidable. I'm known as Betty, my sister-in-law's Anne, and that with the pipe is George. "

"And I, " said Lyveden, "am Anthony--at your service. This with thehungry look"--he picked up the Sealyham--"is Patch. As the latter isconvalescent, all his days lately have been red-letter, and celebratedby the addition to his rations of a small dish of tea. Whether such ascandalous practice is to be followed this afternoon must rest with hishostess. "

"I think, " said Betty, "as he's a _bonafide_ traveller... "

José, the soft-eyed spaniel, profited by the Sealyham's privilege. Itwas impossible that she should not receive equal consideration. 

"You must forgive my staring, " said George Alison, gazing upon Anthony, "but you just fascinate me. To think that you're not going to suckwind when drinking, or clean your nails with a fork, is too wonderful. Your predecessor's habits at table were purely Johnsonian. "

Betty shuddered at the allusion. 

"If he'd been decent, " said Anne, "I could have borne it. But he wasjust odious. The idea that we'd come down in the world fairlyintoxicated him. "

"It's true, " said George. "And when Val wrote and----"

A vicious kick upon his ankle silenced him abruptly. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Anthony, who had been busy with Patch. 

"I was saying that--er--if you value your dog, and he's only just overdistemper, I shouldn't let him run loose just yet. José's a terriblehuntress, and she's sure to lead him astray. Stays out all nightsometimes. "

"Right oh!" said Anthony cheerfully. 

It was manifest that Patch was going to have the time of his life. 

When Betty returned from ushering their new footman into the presenceof Mr. And Mrs. Bumble, she reviled her husband as he deserved. 

"I forgot, " he pleaded. 

"Forgot!"--indignantly. "Well, if you forget and mention her nameagain, I'll--I'll prick your tires. "

"Any way, " said George, "my withdrawal was little short of brilliant. You'll admit that? Incidentally, her _protégé's_ an improvement onlittle Halbert, isn't he? I think we ought to have an appropriatesupper to-night in his honour. What about killing the padded calf?"

Betty kissed him behind the left ear. 

 * * * * *

Long before Anthony had received his livery from the tailor at Brooch, he had settled down to his nice new life with heartfelt gratitude. Theold zest of living had returned to him to stay. It was no longernecessary to make the best of things. From labouring in the trough ofoppression he had been swept into waters more smooth than any he haddreamed of riding--a veritable lagoon of security and content. 

At first, so long had he been mishandled by Fortune, that, like a curthat has been accustomed to ill-treatment, he viewed her present bountywith suspicion. Had she poured for him the wine of comfort to dash thecup from his lips ere it was empty? That would be just like the jade. He scanned the sky anxiously for a sign of the coming storm, and, finding it cloudless, saw in this calm some new miracle of treachery, and feared the worst. He was afraid, selfishly, for Mr. Bumble'shealth. The man was pink and well nourished. Anthony thought ofapoplexy, and, had a medical book been available, would have sought adescription of that malady's favourite prey. Mrs. Bumble was also wellcovered. Anthony hoped that her heart was sound. On these two liveshung all his happiness. He reflected that motoring was not unattendedby peril, and the idea stayed with him for half a day. Had he not beenashamed, he would have laid the facts before George and besought him todrive carefully.... 

As the days, however, went placidly by and brought no evil, the smokingflax of his faith began to kindle, and his suspicions to wilt. Hismind shook off its sickness and began to mend rapidly. Very soon itwas as sound as a bell. 

His temporary lapse from grace, above related, was so innocuous that itneed not be counted to his discredit. His was the case of the pugilistwho slipped on a piece of peel and felt unable to rise: had the placebeen a ring, instead of a pavement, he would have been up and dancingwithin ten seconds. So with Anthony--had Fortune frowned, he wouldhave laughed in her face. It was her smile that made him cower. And, so long as she smiled, what mattered it if he cowered? Had Homer nevernodded, gentlemen, till it was past his bed-time, neither you nor Iwould ever have heard of it. 

If Betty had indeed affirmed that the housework to be done at TheShrubbery was nothing, she was guilty of hyperbole. All the same, thehouse was an easy one, and such labour as its upkeep entailed melted, beneath the perfectly organized attention of herself, Anne, andLyveden, as snow beneath the midday sun. The three had more legitimateleisure than any three servants in England, and no residence in Europewas better kept. Mr. And Mrs. Bumble, of course, were in clover. Itfollowed that Anthony Lyveden had much time to himself. Naturallycompanionable, he spent most of this with his colleagues; nevertheless, there were days when he liked to change his clothes, call Patch, andwalk off into the forest with only the little dog for company. It wasthen that he could think of my lady.... 

He always associated her with the open air. Never once did he pictureher cribbed in a room. For him she was a creature of the country-side, sun-kissed, folded in the arms of the wind, with the pure red wine ofNature singing through her delicate veins.... Thinking of veins, herecalled the faint exquisite blue of those which lay pencilled upon theback of her cold little hand. He remembered the line of them perfectly. 

The vein, then, gave him the hand; the hand, the arm; the arm, theshoulder. He reconstructed her piecemeal with a rare faithfulness, till by the time he was on the moorland overlooking the smiling valley, where the railroad went shining away into the old world, there stoodhis lady beside him, complete, glorious, the freshening breeze behindher moulding her soft raiment to the shape of her beautiful limbs, hereyes shining, her lips parted, one little hand touching her darkhair--just Valerie. 

So for a brief second she stood by his side. Once she swayed towardshim before the mirror of Imagination shivered, but only once. Mostlyit flew to flinders almost before she was come. 

Anthony hungered for a sight of the girl desperately. Had this beenoffered him upon the understanding that he appeared to her in livery, he would still have jumped at the chance. From this may be gauged thedegree of his hunger. He was, in fact, starving. 

Consequently, when one ripe September morning--all dew and mellowsunshine and the lowing of cows--Betty tapped a letter with asignificant forefinger and announced that it contained an invitation toa quiet little dance, Anthony, amid the general enthusiasm, displayedno more interest than politeness demanded and no curiosity at all. 

Betty addressed herself to him. 

"It's from Lady Touchstone. I was at school with her niece. They liveat Bell Hammer, a beautiful place about five miles from here. You'reincluded, of course. I saw her last week, so she knows all about you. It's because of her niece's birthday. Only about eight couples, shesays, and no strangers. "

"Except me, " said Anthony. 

"You won't feel strange long, " said George. "Berry and Co. Are sure tobe there, for one thing, and they'll wrap their arms about you in abouttwo minutes. They live at White Ladies. Some of them came to tea herethe day you went over to Brooch. "

"I don't think I'd better go, " said Anthony. "It's very kind of LadyTouchstone, but I'm not much of a dancer, and----"

His protest was overruled uproariously. 

"And he can't say he hasn't any clothes, " said George, "because I'veseen them. "

This was true. Out of the spoliation of his wardrobe Lyveden had clungto a dress-suit, much as the orphan who lugs her carpet to the pawnshopclings pitifully to an old miniature, remembering happier days. 

Anthony coloured at the allusion, and Betty came flying to hisassistance. 

"What a shame!" she cried. "Why should he go if he doesn't want to?And, for all we know, none of us may be able to accept. We've got toget leave first, and then we've got to ask if we can have the Ford. "She paused to glance at the time. "Ten to eight, and you haven'twashed the yard yet. Don't sit there, George. Get a move on. Youchauffeurs!" She fairly drove him about his business. 

All the same, before the day was over she had wheedled a promise fromAnthony that, master and mistress permitting, he would go to the dance. 

The Bumbles were duly approached, and consented readily to theprojected exodus, asking solicitously if a quarter to ten would beearly enough for the four to leave The Shrubbery, and offering the useof the Ford before this was sought. Considering that they were notupon the visiting list of Lady Touchstone, or, for that matter, uponthat of any other of their domestics' friends, their readiness tofacilitate the excursion must be accounted to them for righteousness ofa calibre rare indeed. 

The night of the dance came, and the stars with it. All the company ofheaven twinkled and flashed out of a windless sky. No solitary breathof air rustled the silence of the woods. Summer was dying hard. Yetin the bottoms there lay--sure sign of Autumn--little hoary pools ofmist, just deep enough to swathe the Ford and its complement ofwould-be revellers in a wet rush of frozen smoke, and make the girlsthrust their pink fingers beneath the rug, and Anthony his hands intohis coat-pockets. 

For all that, for Lyveden the five miles to Bell Hammer were coveredtoo soon. He liked to feel the rush of the wings of Night upon histemples, to mark the untroubled slumber of the country-side, gaze atthe velvet dome fretted with silver. Moreover, he was almost dreadingthe dance. Had he not given his word a week ago, he would--speakingvulgarly--have stuck his toes in and seen his companions to the edge ofthe pit before he followed them into the mansion. 

For a mansion it was. 

Though the night was moonless, Anthony could see that. That it was abeautiful specimen of a "Queen Anne" residence he could not perceive. Indeed, almost before the car had been berthed close to the shadowyelegance of a tremendous cedar, the front door was opened, and a greatshaft of light streamed out into the darkness. 

The guests passed in. 

The monstrous deference of the footman who received Anthony's coat andhat gave a disconcerting fillip to the latter's uneasiness. As arespectful butler preceded the party upstairs, he felt as if he werebeing conducted to a scaffold. 

"Captain and Mrs. Alison, Miss Alison, Major Lyveden. "

Anthony braced himself. 

The next moment--

"How d'ye do?" said Valerie, with a quiet smile. "I'm so glad youcould come. How's Patch?"

With a whirling brain, Anthony tried to say that Patch was very well. 

"Let me introduce you to my aunt, " said Valerie, turning to a lady whomAnthony seemed to have seen before. "Aunt Harriet, this is MajorLyveden--Lady Touchstone. "

Anthony bowed dazedly. 

"You were very good to Valerie, " said the lady, "a little while ago. I've heard about it. And how do you like service? I always said that, if my father had put his money into railways instead of ships, I shouldhave become a cook-housekeeper. "

"It all depends, " said Anthony, "on whose service you're in. I likeyours very much. "

Lady Touchstone laughed. 

"You'd make a good equerry, " she said. Then she turned to glance downthe gallery. "You must meet Mrs. Pleydell, " she added. "Ah, there sheis. Come. " They stepped to the side of a tall dark girl with a mostattractive smile. "Daphne, my dear, this is Major Lyveden--from TheShrubbery. Amuse him, and he'll flatter you. You see. " The tall fairman who had been sitting with Mrs. Pleydell offered Lady Touchstone hisarm. She put it aside with a frown. "I'm not so old as all that, Jonah, " she said. "You may take me to the hearth, if you please, butnot like a grandmother. "

With a crash an alcove belched music, and in a moment all the winkinglength of the gallery was throbbing with ragtime. 

Mrs. Pleydell and Anthony trod the measure with a will. 

When it was over, she led him to a tall window with a deep-cushionedseat. 

"You were out, " she said, "when I came the other day. To make up forit, you must come to White Ladies. It's a pretty walk, and we'll takeyou back in the car. "

"You're very kind, " said Anthony. 

"If you talk like that, " said Daphne, "I shall invite you for theweek-end. And now would you like to talk shop, or shall I tell youabout my new dress?"

Anthony hesitated, and the girl laughed merrily. 

"I'm a past-mistress of blackmail, " she said. "My husband taught me. "

Anthony joined in her merriment before clearing his throat. 

"My first place, " he said, "was in Lancaster Gate. "

"I know, " said Daphne eagerly. "North of the Park. Go on. "

Before they parted, they had danced two more dances together. 

Then he spent a quarter of an hour with Betty and another like periodwith Anne. After that, before he could get to Valerie, he was handedto a little fair damsel, all big grey eyes and masses of golden hair. 

"Major Lyveden--Miss Mansel. "

"Isn't Daphne nice?" said that lady. "I saw you dancing with her. She's my cousin. "

"I envy you both, " said Anthony. 

Jill Mansel stared at him gravely. 

"That's very nice of you. Yes, I'd love to dance this. Look. There'sAdele. Isn't she lovely? I think she's like a flower. She's going tomarry my cousin. She's an American without an accent. You are tall, aren't you? You're all tall here to-night, except me. It makes mefeel a dwarf. "

"And us, ogres, " said Anthony. 

Jill laughed delightedly. 

"You are nice, " she said. "Valerie said you were. Look at Berrydancing with Daphne, and pretending he's bored stiff. When are youcoming to White Ladies?"

She prattled on contentedly, asking questions innumerable, butrequiring no answers. 

Lyveden enjoyed himself. 

After they had sat out a little, Valerie came towards them with the mancalled Jonah. 

"Since you won't ask me, " she said to Anthony, "I must throw myself atyour head. " She turned, smiling, to Jill. "Jonah is bored with me, dear, so I'm going to heap coals of fire on his head and restore him tohis little sister. " She returned to Anthony. "Now, then. " Thusaddressed, he offered her his arm soberly enough. "There's somesupper, I know, downstairs, because I ordered it myself. "

They made for the great doors, Anthony tongue-tied, and she hailingothers to follow them. 

As they passed down the broad staircase, he remembered the reason ofthe party, and begged to congratulate her. My lady thanked him with aquiet smile. 

"We've got a lot to talk about, " she said. "You and I. And there'llbe too much noise at supper, so it must wait. Afterwards I'll send fora coat, and we'll walk in the garden. That's the best of a birthday. I can do as I please. "

Her promise of his peaceful possession after supper made the meal, sofar as Lyveden was concerned, an Olympian banquet. The assemblage, indeed, was remarkable, and the hostess--a very Demeter--must have beenthe oldest present by some twenty years. The sprightliness of Hermesalone, in the guise of the man called Berry, kept a lively table inroars of laughter. 

Yet, full as his cup was, for Anthony the old Falernian was to come.... 

As good as her word, when the others were straying back to the galleryin response to the lure of a lullaby valse, Valerie led Lyveden to alobby and let him help her into a chamois-leather coat. A cloak ofIrish frieze was hanging there, and she bade him put it about hisshoulders against the night air. Anthony protested, but she juststamped her foot. 

"It's my birthday, " she flashed. 

Anthony donned the garment, and she opened a garden-door. A momentlater they were walking upon a wide terrace at the back of the house. 

"Well?" said Valerie. 

"It is my bounden duty, " said Anthony, "to remind you that I am afootman. Now that you know, it's very easy to tell you. "

"And what if you are?"

"Well, if we happened to visit the same house, I should go in by thetradesmen's entrance. "

Valerie tossed her head. 

"You might go in by the back, but if you weren't shown out of the frontdoor, _I_ shouldn't visit that house again. "

Anthony sighed. 

"Then your visiting-list would shrink, " he said, "out of all knowledge. How did you know my calling?"

"Did you think I didn't recognize you that night?"

"At first I was uncertain. That I thought you must have. Then youmisled me, and made me think you hadn't. Why did you do that?"

"I don't know, " said Valerie. She could not tell him the truth. "Itseemed easier. How did you come to The Shrubbery?"

"I wasn't happy where I was, and I saw the Bumbles' advertisement. Itseemed meant for me. "

That it was meant for him, and that she and not the Bumbles had paidfor its insertion, Valerie thought it unnecessary to state. 

"We're fated to be brought together, " she said. 

"How did you know I was at The Shrubbery?"

Valerie raised her eyebrows. 

"Betty's my oldest friend, " she replied. 

Lyveden swallowed the _suggestio falsi_ without a thought. Indeed, sosoon as she had spoken, his mind sped back, bee-like, to suck the honeyof her previous words: "We're fated to be brought together. " Fated.... 

The moon was up now, and he lifted his eyes and gazed at its clear-cutbeauty. A power, then, greater than he had ruled against his resolve. Why? To what end? It was very kind of the power--at least, hesupposed it was--but what was to come of it?

He had wandered straight into her arms. Very good. But--he and shecould not stroll upon this terrace for ever. The relentless rubric ofLife insisted that he must move--whither he chose, of course, butsomewhither. The truth was, he did not know which way to turn. Hisheart pointed a path, certainly--a very precious path, paved all withsilk, hung with the scent of flowers, shadowed by whisperingplumage.... His head, however, beyond denouncing his heart as a guide, pointed no way at all. 

Anthony wanted desperately to do the right thing. Fortune, it seemed, was at her old tricks. Here she was handing a palace to a beggar whohad not enough money to maintain a hovel. It would not have been sohopeless if he had possessed "prospects. " With these in his pack, hemight have essayed the way his heart showed him. They were, however, no part of a footman's equipment.... 

Anthony began to wonder what became of old footmen. One or two, perhaps, became butlers. As for the rest... 

Valerie, too, was in some perplexity. She was wondering, now that shehad her man here, how best to deal with him. Pride and honour make upa ground which must be trodden delicately. One false step on her partmight cost them both extremely dear. Her instinct was to take the bullby the horns, Anthony by the arm, and Time by the forelock. The lastof these was slipping away--slipping away. She was actuallytwenty-six. In a short fourteen years she would be actually forty. Forty! For a moment she was upon the very edge of exercising theprivilege of a sovereign lady who has fallen in love. All thingsconsidered, she would, I think, have been justified. Something, however, restrained her. It was not modesty, for modesty had nothingto do with the matter. It was not the fear of rejection, for she wassure of her ground. It was probably a threefold influence--a rope, asit were, of three stout strands. The first was consideration forAnthony's pride; the second, an anxiety lest she should beggar him ofthat which he prized above rubies, namely, his self-respect; the third, an innate conviction that while the path of Love may look easy, it isreally slippery and steep out of all conscience. 

Thus absorbed in the delicacy of their relationship, they stepped thelength of the terrace in silence. Then--

"I don't know what you're thinking about, " said Valerie, "but I shouldlike to. "

Anthony shook his head. 

"I'll tell you a story instead, " he said. "If you like, that is. "

"Please. "

She turned and leaned her arms upon the stone balustrade, overlookingdim lawns and, beyond, the pale ghost of a great park that seemed tostretch and roll unlimited into the depths of a distance which Nighthad bewitched. 

"There was once, " said Anthony, "a frog. He wasn't much of a frog, asfrogs go. In fact, with the exception that he had no home and nofriends, he was a very ordinary frog indeed. One day when he was sickand tired of being alone, he went out and bought a tame minnow. Considering how poor he was, it was very reckless, because it meantthat there were now two mouths to feed instead of one, but the minnowand the frog became such great friends that that didn't seem to matter. At last, sure enough, the day of reckoning arrived. The larder wasempty, the minnow's appetite was as healthy as ever, and the frog wasdown to his last penny. So, after a lot of thought, he left the minnowplaying in a quiet pool, and went out to earn some flies. By dint oftoiling very hard all day, he managed to earn enough to keep the minnowand himself, but it meant that the two had very little time together, and that was a shame. 

"Well, one day the frog got back to the pool a little earlier thanusual, and, chancing to lift up his eyes, there seated upon the bank hesaw a real live Princess. What the frog thought, when he saw her, maybe imagined. What he felt doesn't matter. Enough that he wasprofoundly moved. So moved that he almost forgot to give the minnowhis flies. And long after the Princess had risen and gone away, thefrog kept thinking of her, and thinking, and thinking.... And then, all of a sudden, he began to wish, as he had never wished before, thathe wasn't a frog. 

"Now, vain desires are the most persistent of all. 

"The frog wished and wished, and cursed himself for a fool, and wishedagain.... At last he could bear it no longer, so he went to awater-rat who was so old that he was said to be wise, and sought hisadvice. 

"The water-rat was painfully outspoken. 'Once a frog, always a frog, 'he said. 

"'Always?'

"'Always. Unless you can find a Princess and persuade her to kissyou. ' And, being an old rat, he chuckled at his own joke. 

"But the frog didn't see anything to laugh at. He just became soexcited that he could hardly float, and then he turned round andstarted to swim back to the pool as hard as ever he could.... 

"By the next morning his excitement had somewhat abated. Of course hewas tremendously lucky to have found a Princess. (Being an optimist, you see, he assumed that she would reappear. ) But it was quite anothermatter to persuade her to kiss him. Still, he didn't give up hope, andevery day he raced and tore after the flies, so as to get back early tothe pool. 

"Then one day the impossible thing happened. 

"There was the Princess again on the bank of the pool, and when thefrog put up his nose and fixed her with a bulging and glassy eye, shesmiled at him. Very haltingly the frog swam to land and crouched ather feet, and, before he knew where he was, she had stooped and kissedhim. 

"The frog just shut his eyes in ecstasy and gloated upon the fulfilmentof his desire. It had happened. His wish had been gratified. Thechange had come. He was no longer a frog. For the first time he beganto wonder what he was. Probably a Prince. Oh, undoubtedly a Prince. All clad in gold and silver, with a little fair moustache. He hopedvery much that he had a fair moustache. But he wouldn't put up hishand and feel, for fear of spoiling it. He wanted to look at himselfgradually, beginning with his feet and working upwards. He began towonder what sort of boots he had on. He decided that he was wearingsoft gold boots, with silver laces.... 

"Cautiously he opened one eye and glanced at his right foot. He wasquite wrong. It wasn't a gold boot at all. It was a queer-lookingboot, all smooth and shiny and shaped--well, rather like--like a frog'sfoot. In fact, if he hadn't known that he was no longer a frog, hewould have said---- A frightful thought came to him, and he openedboth eyes, staring frantically.... Then he sprang to the edge of thepool and looked himself in the face.... He stood gazing so long thatthe minnow, who had been watching him, thought he was ill, and leapedout of the water to attract his attention. At last the frog pulledhimself together and flopped back into the pool anyhow.... 

"And, after many days, during all of which the minnow was a greatcomfort, he came to realize that frogs should know better than to liftup their eyes, and should busy themselves with fly-earning, and bethankful for the air and the sun and the mud at the bottom of pools, and, last of all, look forward to that sun-bathed marsh where the fliesare fat and plenteous, and there is no winter, and whither, at the endof their lives, all good frogs go. "

There was a long silence. Then--

"Poor frog, " said Valerie, standing upright and turning. 

"It's very nice of you to say so, " said Anthony, falling into step. "But he richly deserved it. "

"And what happened to the Princess?"

"Oh, she went the way Princesses go, and enriched the memories of allwho saw her, and in due season she married a Prince. "

"Didn't she ever think any more of the frog?"

"No, " said Anthony. 

"Then why did she kiss him?"

They had come to the garden door by now, and, as she spoke, Valerie seta hand on the latch. 

"Out of pity, " said Anthony. "She had a sweet, kind heart, and she wassorry for him because he was a frog. "

"I don't believe it was out of pity at all, " said Valerie. "I'm--I'msure it wasn't. "

"It must have been, " said Anthony. "Why on earth else should aPrincess----"

"Because it pleased her to kiss him, " said Valerie, with the air of aqueen. 

Anthony looked at her with undisguised admiration. 

"You're a real Princess, " he said, "any way. "

Valerie let go the door-handle and laid her hand on his shoulder. 

"Why did she kiss him?" she demanded. 

"Out of--because it pleased her. "

The hand touched his cheek, and Anthony caught it and put it to hislips. As he let it go, the slight fingers caught his and, before hecould stop her, Valerie had stooped and kissed them. 

The next instant the door was open, and she was inside. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Albert Morgan was working feverishly. 

Time was getting on, and the plate-chest had proved unexpectedlystubborn. To know where it was had been a great help, of course, butduring his service at The Shrubbery it had been kept unlocked. Somewhat unfairly, he cursed the parlourmaid, who, he assumed, wasdoing his work, for "a suspicious ----. "

Curiously enough he had no idea that his late colleagues were not inthe house. He believed them to be sleeping peacefully in the servants'quarters. For considerately placing the pantry distant from these, itmight have been thought that the architect of the house would receiveMr. Morgan's commendation. On the contrary, of his zeal appropriatelyto execrate the former's memory, the ex-footman employed mostregrettable language, and this for the simple reason that the stonesill of the pantry window projected rather farther from the wall thanMr. Morgan, when in the act of lifting his knee, had believed to be thecase. 

With the exception of this painful incident, his ingress had beeneffected with the acme of ease. This was due to the foresight, patience, and unremitting care with which he had severed the bars andremoved the spring of the window-catch during his last fortnight in Mr. Bumble's employ. 

After the refractory plate-chest had been made to disgorge, Mr. Morganhad visited the drawing-room. By the time he had garnered whatprecious metal was there, his two capacious bags had become extremelyheavy. So much so, that he almost regretted that he had not brought afriend. The reflection, however, that to present a coadjutor with halfthe proceeds of a robbery which his brain alone had conceived and madepossible, would undoubtedly have shortened his life, made him feelbetter. Cautiously he made for the stairs and, guiding himself withhis torch, began to ascend. 

There were some snuff-boxes in a cabinet which stood on the landing. It was unthinkable that he should go without these. The piece was keptlocked, but he had often gazed at them through the glass. One of themwas of silver-gilt--possibly of gold. Mr. Morgan licked his thick lips. 

It was upon the door of this cabinet, then, that, torch in mouth, hewas working feverishly. Time was getting on.... 

As if in answer to the subdued crack with which the door at lengthyielded came the noise of the insertion of a key into the lock of thefront door. Mr. Morgan started violently, thrust his torch into apocket, and stood extremely still. 

The door opened and the admitted moonlight showed him the entrance ofone--two feminine apparitions, followed by that of a man. For a momentthey stood in the hall, speaking with one another in an undertone. What they said Mr. Morgan could not hear--their voices, too, were toolow to be recognized--but he had no doubt at all regarding theiridentity. Seven weeks of their fellowship had blessed (or cursed) himwith a familiarity with their style and proportions such as no mannerof wraps and tricksy half-lights could subvert. With a full heart andtwitching lips, Mr. Morgan dwelt blasphemously upon the severaldestinies for which, to his mind, their untimely appearance hadqualified them. 

"What are you going to do about the door?" whispered Betty. "We can'tleave it open. "

"Well, we can't shut it, " said George, "can we?"

"Put it to, " Anne suggested. "He won't be more than a minute or two, and when he comes he can just push it open. "

The truth of the matter was that José and Patch, who had gonea-hunting, had not returned when the party had left for Bell Hammer. It was possible that, during their absence, the dogs had come back, andAnthony did not like to think that truant Patch might be wanderingaround the house, seeking admission in vain. Consequently, after thecar had been noiselessly bestowed--out of consideration for theiremployers' rest, the four had alighted before they left the road andhad man-handled a silent Ford up the drive and into the garage--Lyvedenhad bidden the others go on, and had started off upon a visitingpatrol, the objectives of which were the several entrances to theresidence. If Patch was anywhere, he would be crouched upon one of thedoorsteps.... 

Anne's suggestion seeming reasonable, her brother secured the Yale lockso that its tongue was engaged, and, quietly closing the door, followedhis wife and sister a-tiptoe through the hall and past the baize doorwhich led to the servants' quarters. 

As they passed the foot of the stairs, Betty remarked the shaft ofmoonlight shining upon the landing, and Mr. Morgan's black heart stoodstill. When her husband reminded her that in less than four hours itwould be her privilege to prepare Mrs. Bumble's tea, and added that, ifshe felt lyrical, he felt tired and footsore, Mr. Morgan, had hisemotions included gratitude, would have thanked his stars. 

Such devotion, however, would have been premature. 

Though he did not know it, his stars in their courses were fightingagainst him. 

The moment the baize door had closed behind his late colleagues, hemade silently for the stairs. Of the snuff-boxes he thought no more. The man was rattled. His one idea was to pick up his traps and begone. He was even afraid any more to employ his torch. Besides, themoonlight, to which Betty had drawn his attention, was asserting itselffantastically. 

Step by step he descended the staircase, trying frantically to rememberwhich of the treads would creak under his weight. Faithfully toascertain which of them possessed this important peculiarity had beenone of the last things he did before quitting Mr. Bumble's service. Was it the fifth or sixth? He hesitated, then avoided the fifthgingerly, and hoped for the best.... Beneath the increased pressurethe sixth stair fairly shrieked. Mr. Morgan skipped on to the seventhand broke into a cold sweat. Again he was confronted with the choiceof the eighth or ninth. After a moment of agonized indecision, hedecided to miss them both.... Man but proposes. In his anxiety hemissed the tenth also and slithered incontinently into the hall.... 

More than a minute passed before the knave dared to pick himself up. The last five stairs had been rough with his hinder parts, but hisphysical pain was nothing to the paroxysm of mental torment which thenoise of his fall had induced. 

Trembling with apprehension, he groped his way to his bags. Of these, one had to be strapped, for the catch of its lock was broken. He kneltdown with his back to the door, fumbling.... 

A sudden step upon the gravel immediately outside the front door almostcongealed his blood. That peril could blow from that quarter he hadnever imagined. Once again he remained where he was, as still asdeath. Unless the new-comer was there because his suspicions werearoused, there was a chance that Mr. Morgan might yet escape notice. Who the new-comer might be, he had no time to speculate, for, withoutbeing unlocked, the door was pushed open. Mr. Morgan marked thephenomenon, and his hair rose. Then a man stepped inside and stoodstill.... 

Mr. Morgan held his breath until his lungs were bursting and his headswam, but the man never moved. 

The fact was that Anthony was staring at the same shaft of light whichhad attracted Betty's attention. This, however, was no longerappearing upon the landing, but in the hall, which, with the exceptionof that corner which contained the crouching ex-footman, it was doingmuch to illuminate. From this it would appear that the arresting beam, so far from emanating from the moon, was none other than Mr. Morgan'sevil genius, following him about wherever he went. It was, in fact, his torch, which in his confusion he had thrust glowing into his pocket_the wrong way up_. That one end must protrude, he knew, for the brandwas longer than the pocket was deep. He had, of course, no idea at allthat it was advertising his presence and slightest movement so veryfaithfully.... 

It became impossible for Mr. Morgan any longer to restrain his breath. He therefore expelled it as gently as he possibly could, inhaling afresh supply with the same caution, and wondering dully whether it wasto be his last. The suspense was unbearable. 

Anthony, of course, was perfectly satisfied that the light was thrownby a torch. The source of the latter, however, was shrouded, not onlyin mystery, but in a darkness which the very light of the beam servedto intensify. He continued to stand still. 

There never was such a case. 

Anthony, who knew the value of waiting, was prepared to stay stillindefinitely. Mr. Morgan was afraid to do anything else. Clearly, ifthey were not to remain where they were until dawn, there was need of a_deus ex machina_. 

He arrived then and there in the shape of a little white dog with ablack patch. He was extremely wet, and there were burrs in his coatand mud upon his beard. His tail was up, however, and his gait assprightly as ever. 

As if it was upon his account that the door had been set open at thisunlawful hour, he entered boldly, passed by Anthony in the gloom, andthen stood still like his master, staring at the mysterious beam. Butnot for long. For Patch, curiosity was made to be satisfied. Steppingwarily, he moved forward to investigate.... 

When first Mr. Morgan realized that something was smelling him frombehind, he made ready to die. Then, so tenacious is the hold wemortals have upon life, he gave an unearthly shriek and sprang from hisbended knees for the drawing-room doorway.... 

When Mr. Bumble and his chauffeur, the one in his night attire and theother in a vest and a pair of dress trousers, appeared upon the scene, Anthony was kneeling upon Mr. Morgan, who was lying face downwards uponthe drawing-hearth and dealing as fluently as a sheep-skin rug wouldpermit with Anthony's birth, life, death and future existence. As forPatch, his services no longer required, he was rolling upon the sofa inan absurd endeavour to remove the burrs from his coat. 

All of which, gentlemen, must undeniably go to show that the master whosuffers his servants to go a-junketing will have his reward; that awoman knows better than a man what course he should shape; and thatthere is much virtue in hunting, even though it keep the hunter afoottill four of the morning. 

CHAPTER IV

THE GOLDEN BOWL

With Monseigneur Forest, other than in his capacity of uncle andcounsellor to Miss Valerie French, we are not concerned. It isnecessary, however, to record that the dignitary was no fool. He was, in fact, a very wise man, able to understand most men and women betterthan they understood themselves. With such understanding, naturallyenough, went a rare kindness of heart; the addition to these things ofa fine sense of humour argued a certain favouritism on the part of aProvidence which bestows upon ninety-and-nine mortals but one virtueapiece, and to the hundredth but two. Monseigneur Forest was, Isuppose, a man in a million. 

A letter of some importance, which his niece had sent him, reached himin Rome ere October was old. 

_DEAR UNCLE JOHN, _

_I want to see and talk to you very badly, but I can't leave Englandjust now. I suppose you guess what is coming. I can see you smile. You're quite right. I've fallen in love. _

_Listen. I was out with poor little Joe in the country, and went to aninn for tea. And there was a man in the garden. I didn't know he wasthere till his dog and Joe started scrapping, and then he ran up toseparate them. The moment I saw him--I don't know how to tell you. Ijust felt floored.... Then--instinctively, I suppose, for I hardlyknew what I was doing--I tried to cover up this feeling. I was furiouswith him for knocking me out. Can you ever understand? And I waspretty rude. He took it wonderfully and just apologized--Heaven knowswhat for--and cleared out. The moment he was gone, I could have tornmy hair. I actually went again to the inn, to try and find him, thoughwhat I should have done if I had I don't know.... _

_Then I saw him again--not to speak to--as I was coming away from theOpera. Now hold on to something--tight! He was in livery--a footman'slivery. _

_Yes. It made me jump, mentally, for the moment. Of course, I'd neverdreamed of that. And then I realized that he must be down on his luck, and I felt so sorry for him I could have cried. As a matter of fact, Idid cry. And then, all of a sudden, I knew that I loved him. _

_We met properly a week or two later by accident--on his part. Youmust forgive me. If you knew him, you would. And now we know oneanother properly, and he's in service quite close to Bell Hammer, withGeorge and Betty Alison--didn't you meet them at Christmas? Lost alltheir money, and went out as chauffeur and parlourmaid. Anne, George'ssister, is there, too. And he came to dinner the other night, and AuntHarriet likes him, and we're--well, great friends. _

_And I don't know what to do. You see, he's terribly proud andhonourable, and, to him, being a footman matters very much indeed. Ofcourse it doesn't really matter in the least, but he would never lookat it that way. And all my money, instead of making everythingpossible, as it might, only makes things worse. _

_What is to be done?_

_I can't blame him. Indeed, I'd hate him to feel any other way, andyet.... If only the positions were reversed. Then it would be tooeasy. As things are, it's a deadlock. And I love him so, Uncle John. I suppose you couldn't possibly come. I have a feeling that you wouldstraighten things out. _

 _Your loving niece, VALERIE. _

_P. S. --I'm so terribly afraid he'll disappear or something. He's likethat. _

Monseigneur Forest read the letter with a grave smile. Then he read itagain very carefully, looking to see if there was anything unwrittenbetween the lines. Only once did he raise his eyes from thenote-paper. This he did meditatively. Before returning to the letter, he went farther and raised his eyebrows.... 

The cause of this elevation is worthy of note. It was, in fact, noneother than the reference to Anne--and yet not so much the referenceitself as the manner in which this was made. The prelate, you willremember, was no fool. 

For that matter, he was not a god, either. Consequently, the counselwhich he presently offered his niece had to be communicated by thematerial channel of the "common or garden" post, and was, in fact, nearing Modane when Valerie rounded the edge of a belt of Scotch firsin Hampshire to come upon Anthony Lyveden regarding an old finger-postin some perplexity. 

As my lady came up, Lyveden uncovered and pointed to a weather-beatenarm, upon which the words FRANCE 4 MILES were still discernible. 

"Can you help me?" he said. 

Valerie smiled. 

"I think so. This is a very old post--over a hundred years old. Youknow Hawthorne?"

"I ought to. "

"Well, once upon a time the village was called France. But during theNapoleonic wars the name was changed. For obvious reasons. "

"And they forgot to alter this?" said Anthony, nodding at the crackedgrey wood. 

Valerie shook her head. 

"No one would do the work. You know they used to bury suicides at thecross-roads? Well, one was buried here. That was when--when the postwas set up.... "

A little shiver accompanied her words. 

"I see, " said Anthony. "The body was staked, wasn't it? What abarbarous old world it was! I don't wonder they were afraid of theplace. "

"It's supposed to have been an old usurer who came from these parts andhad ruined all sorts of people in his time. "

"And why did he kill himself?" said Anthony. 

"I forget. There was some mystery about it. I remember an old, oldshepherd telling me some of the tale, when I was a little girl, and mynurse came up in the middle and scolded him and snatched me away. "

"Quite right, too, " said Anthony. "And if she was here now, Historywould probably repeat itself. " With a sweep of his arm he indicatedthe country-side. "Was this your nursery?"

Valerie nodded. 

"In the summer. " She hesitated. "I'll show you my window, if youlike. It's the best part of a mile, though. "

Anthony laughed and turned to summon his terrier. 

"Patch and I, " he said, "have at least one afternoon a week. As longas I'm back in time to lay the table.... "

A moment later he was stepping along by her side. 

It had not occurred to him to ask what "her window" might be. If shehad offered to show him the mouth of hell, he would have assented asblindly. Whither he went and what he saw did not matter at all, so hewas to be in her company. All the same, his instinct pulled him by thesleeve. Hazily he reflected that to retrace such steps as you havetaken along the path of Love is a bad business, and that the fartheryou have elected to venture, so much the more distressing must be yourreturn. And he would have to return. In the absence of a miracle, that journey could not be avoided. For an instant the spectre ofReckoning leaned out of the future.... Then Patch flushed a stray pig, and Valerie laughed joyously, and--the shadow was gone. Cost what itmight, Anthony determined to pluck the promise of the afternoon with anunsparing hand. 

He had walked in the direction of Bell Hammer for the same reason thathad caused Valerie French to bend her young steps towards Hawthorne. Each drew the other magnetically. It was not at all strange, therefore, that they should have met. Neither, since the attractionwas mutual, is it surprising that the effect of each other's companywas exhilarating to a degree. Together, they were at the very top oftheir bent. If the man trod upon air, the maid was glowing. Hislady's breath sweetened the smell of autumn; the brush of her lord'sjacket made the blood pelt through her veins. Grey eyes shone with thelight that blue eyes kindled. Each found the other's voice full ofrare melody--music to which their pulses danced in a fierce harmony. The world was all glorious.... 

Here was no making of love, but something finer--nothing less, indeed, than the jewel natural, uncut, unworked, unpolished, blazing out of atwofold crown that sat, yoke-like, upon their heads for all to see. Since, however, they met no one, the diadem was unobserved.... 

So Jack and Jill passed with full hearts by yellow lanes into thered-gold woods, and presently along a bridle-path that curledmysteriously into a great sunlit shoulder of forest, where the drivenleaves fussed over their footsteps, and the miniature roar of a toywaterfall strove to make itself heard above the swish and crackle ofthe carpet the trees had laid. 

"I'll tell you one thing I've learned, " said Lyveden. 

"What?" said Valerie. 

"That what you do doesn't matter half as much as who you do it with. Ifound that out in the Army. The work didn't matter. The discomfort, the food, didn't count--comparatively. It was the company you had tokeep that made the difference. "

"'Better is a dinner of herbs, '" quoted Valerie. 

"Exactly. And it's the same now. I don't say I'd pick out a footman'sjob, but there's nothing the matter with the work. Everything dependson the other servants. My first two places nearly broke my heart: withthe Alison crowd----"

He hesitated, and Valerie completed the sentence. 

"Everything in the garden is lovely, " she said slowly. 

"Comparatively--yes. Of course, it's--it's only a back garden. "

"Is it?"

Anthony nodded. 

"Entered by the back door and approached by the back stairs. You can'tget away from it. "

"I can, " said Valerie. "Speak for yourself. It's you who can't--won'tget away from it. They say that in Russia there are noblemen sweepingthe streets. If one of them was a friend of yours, would you turn himdown because he carried a broom? Of course you wouldn't. "

"No, but----"

"But what?"

"The first duty of a servant, " said Anthony, "is to know his place. "

Valerie stood still and looked at him. 

"I wonder you don't call me 'miss, '" she said, shaking her head gravely. 

"Very good, miss, " said Lyveden. 

"That's better, " said Miss French contentedly, slipping an arm throughhis. "And now, if we leave the path and bear to the right, in abouttwo minutes we shall come to my window. "

The two had been climbing steadily, but another fifty paces in thedirection Miss French had indicated brought them to the foot of asteeper ascent than ever. This was, in fact, a broad natural bank, some thirty feet high. The careful negotiation of a tiny path, followed by a plunge into a thicket, where the stubborn protests ofboughs had to be overruled, landed them in a dwarf clearing, which thedensity of the surrounding bocage rendered a fastness. 

Valerie stepped to the far side and parted the branches. 

"Look, " she said. 

They were upon the lip of a heather-edged bluff which fell sheer forperhaps two hundred feet into a pinewood. Beyond, by mammoth terraces, the glory of the forest sank step by colossal step into the purpledistance, from which distant in turn a thread of silver argued theocean. There never was such a staircase. The grandeur of itsproportions diminished the rolling world. The splendour of itscovering made colour pale. 

Anthony gazed spellbound. At length--

"I didn't know there was such a view in all England, " he said. 

Miss French smiled. Then she moved cautiously forward, till she wasclear of the bushes, there to sit down upon a billowing cushion ofheather which grew conveniently about as close to the edge of the bluffas it was prudent to venture. Abstractedly Anthony followed her and, after a glance about him, took his seat by her side upon a patch ofgravel. 

"I'm in your debt, " he said simply. "Deeper than I was before. "

Valerie nodded at the wonder of landscape. 

"I'll make you a present of this, " she said. "What else do you owe mefor?"

Anthony spread out his hands. 

"Your society, " he said. 

"You've paid for that--with your own. "

"Your pity, then. "

"I've never pitied you, " said Valerie. 

"You've stooped, " said Anthony. 

"I've not stooped, " was the fierce reply. 

"We won't argue it, " said Anthony. "I owe you for your--your interest, at any rate. You've been good enough to interest yourself in my----"

"Aren't--you--interested?" said Valerie, staring into the distance andseeing nothing. 

For a long minute the man sat motionless, not seeming to breathe. Then--

"Yes, " he said slowly, "I am. And that's the devil of it. " With asudden jerk he was on one knee beside her and had caught her hand. "Oh, lady, don't you see? That's what kills everything. Am Iinterested? Good God, I'm--I'm crazy! I can think of nothing else. You blot out everything in the world. Whatever I do, or say, or think, you're always there. There's nothing but you, you, you! And you askif I'm interested!"

A wandering puff of salt air swooped out of the windless sky, ruffledhis thick dark hair, and was gone, panting. A gull sailed close tothem, circled, dipped and sped seaward with a smooth rush. Theleague-long shadow of a cloud swept stately over the gleaming woods, driving the sunlight before it, itself driven before the twin of itsprey.... The silver wire of silence became more and more tense. Eachsecond gave another turn to the screw. Valerie began to tremble.... 

"And that, " said Lyveden at last, "that's why we can't be friends. Ican't be your friend because I love you; and I mustn't love youbecause----"

"Why?"

"Because it's out of the question, " he flashed. "Don't tempt me, Valerie. You know it is. I'm crying for something that's utterly, hopelessly, laughably out of my reach. I haven't the right to themoonlight, and I want--the moon. "

He stopped suddenly and dropped his head, ashamed that he had let hispassion ride him so recklessly, limp after his outburst, sick at heartfor the truth of his words. 

Valerie sat very still, exultation and anxiety fighting for a grip onher heart. Anthony had told his love, raved of her, called her byname. (Anxiety's claw-like fingers began to yield. ) The veryintensity of his utterance declared his conviction that he must giveher up. The exceeding bitterness of his tone rang too true to beill-founded. (Exultation's clutch weakened, and Anxiety took a freshhold. ) Of a sudden Valerie felt persuaded that Time could win herbattle, could she but gain his aid. As if to establish thispersuasion, the reflection that the old fellow had straightened morecrookedness than any other minister of love came to her hotfoot, andthen and there she made up her mind to court him. She yearned to puther arms about her man's neck, but felt that somehow that way lay ruin. Anthony being what he was, it was all-important that she should notshow him her hand. He had seen--should see a card or two, certainly. That the rest were the same, card for card, as those he had just flungdown, in his present mood he must on no account realize. Suchknowledge were fatal. He would, presumably, kiss her, and then callPatch and walk out of her life for ever. So long, however, as he didnot believe her lovesick, he would--well, he would not disappear, atany rate. There are who lay hold on hopelessness rather faster thanthey lay hold on life.... 

"Anthony, dear, " said Valerie, "let's--please don't let go of myhand--let's look for a way out. You know, I think----"

What she would have said should not matter to us. We have peered intoher brain-pan. The sentence, however, was never completed, and thatfor a reason which shall pass muster. 

On perceiving that Valerie and he were moving, Anthony for a moment oftime suspected an earthquake. Almost instantaneously he appreciatedthat, while it affected him pretty closely, it was a much smallermatter--nothing more, in fact, than the giving way of that portion ofthe cliff upon which the two were disposed. It was typical of the manthat he neither swore nor cried out, and of the soldier that he thoughtand acted simultaneously.... By the mercy of Heaven, he was, as youknow, upon one knee. Had he been sitting, like his companion, theymust have gone with the avalanche. As it was, they were able, after apainful silence, to hear this crash evilly with a dull roar into thepinewood. 

The echoes rumbled curiously into the distance, and a startled medleyof cries rose from all manner of birds, which soared out of theirshelter, dismayed and whirling. One bird was fairly gibbering. MissFrench and Lyveden both noticed it. Valerie found herself wonderingwhether it had lost its wits. 

For the perfection to which their senses focussed these and other veryordinary things, their plight was responsible. It has been said thatthe faculty of observation is never so pronounced as when the observeris face to face with Death. Anthony and the lady were looking him inthe eyes. The pair of them was, in fact, hanging in space, danglingtwo hundred feet up, with an inch and a half of ash-plant between themand Eternity. 

With his right hand Lyveden was grasping the slender trunk of a saplingwhich grew three feet to an inch from the new edge of the bluff. As hewas, arm and all, at full length, it follows that from the breast-bonedownwards the whole of him was over the cliff. Valerie was altogetherin mid-air. She was directly suspended, with her back flat againstAnthony, by the latter's left arm, which if he had released she wouldhave fallen plumb into the pinewood.... 

In a quiet voice Lyveden was speaking. 

"Try and free your right arm. "

Providentially, the girl's elbow was on a level with the edge, and atthe expense of a torn sleeve she was able to work the arm free and onto the heather. This, when pulled, came away in her hand. Her fingersscratched upon the gravel frantically. No handfast was there. After amoment they abandoned the search. 

"Now the other arm. "

This was pinioned by her supporter's. By dint, however, of almostdislocating her shoulder, she managed to disengage it. 

Again she waited for instructions. 

None came, however, for Anthony could not think what to do. She couldnot turn, and he could not turn her. Neither could he haul them bothup. He had not the strength. As it was, the strain upon his two armswas frightful--too frightful to last.... If she could have heldherself for five seconds, he could have dragged himself up and the girlafter him; but she could get no shadow of hold upon the ground. Andall the time his arms were tiring--both of them--tiring rapidly.... 

The muscles under his arm-pits were aching unbearably, and there was aqueer tingling in his right wrist. 

As he looked at this, he saw how it was quivering. His left arm wasquivering, too. He could feel it. He realized with a shock that thiswas a movement over which he had no control. Nature, apparently, wasrebelling against his will.... And his fingers, crooked about thetrunk of the sapling, were getting hot--making the bark greasy.... 

Convulsively he sought foothold for the thirtieth time, but, except fortweaking the agony in his chest, the effort was vain. Desperately heblinked the sweat out of his eyes.... 

Patch appeared upon the scene, snuffing the ground casually enough. His surprise to see his master in so strange an attitude wasunmistakable. After a moment's reflection he decided that the positionwas that required by the rules of a new game in which he was intendedto participate. He therefore made ready to play, and, lowering hishead to his paws, put up his nose and barked joyously. 

"Come here, Patch, " said Anthony. 

The tone was not that of the playground, and the terrier obeyedmechanically--circumspectly, too, though, for he disliked heights. 

Anthony addressed his companion. 

"When he's near enough, take hold of his collar. Hang on like grimdeath. Listen! My arm's giving out. I'm going to let you go while Ipull myself up. It's the only chance. You're light, and he'll stickhis toes in. Put a strain on him now, so that he's ready. "

"I shall pull him over, " said Valerie. 

"No, you won't, dear. Do as I say. Quick!"

He almost screamed the last word. 

The moment he felt the strain, the terrier resisted wildly. Plantinghis forefeet against the heather-roots, he refused with all theinstinctive terror of the dumb animal, straining every muscle of hislittle thick-set frame to avoid a closer acquaintance with thathorrible brink.... 

Very gently Anthony lowered his companion till her arm was resting uponthe turf and the edge of the cliff was in her arm-pit. Then--

"Only a second, sweet, " he said quietly, and let her go.... 

With a frightful heave he was on his stomach ... On his thighs ... Hisknees ... Feet. He turned, staggering. 

His back hunched like a cat's, Patch was sliding forward. 

In a flash Lyveden had stooped, caught Valerie's arm with both hands, dug in his heels and flung himself backward.... 

The three landed in a heap anyhow. 

The moment he was at length detached from Valerie, Patch retired a goodscore of paces from the edge of the bluff. He had had enough of cliffsfor the rest of his life. His master's interpretation of games wasusually brilliant. This last was an exception. He could see nothingin it. 

 * * * * *

Betty Alison laid her hand orderly upon the green baize, with thecomplacent air of the player who is presenting his or her partner withall the essential factors of Grand Slam. 

After staring fixedly at the display, her husband put his cards facedownwards upon the table and covered his eyes. 

"I suppose, " he said brokenly, "I suppose you had a reason foroverbidding me. I confess I can't see it, but I expect that's becauseit's too subtle. "

"What d'you mean?" was the indignant reply. "Look at those"--and Bettypointed proudly to a queen-high flush of six diamonds. 

"But you called hearts!"

Betty started. Then--

"So I did, " she said guiltily. "I meant diamonds. "

"I see, " said her husband grimly. "After all, they're both red, aren'tthey?"

Here the laughter which Anne and Anthony had been endeavouring torestrain broke out tempestuously. Betty's procedure and bearing at theBridge table would have unhinged an enthusiast, but since the fourdomestics played for amusement and a penny a hundred her short-comingshurt nobody and were highly diverting. 

With a sorrowful look at his opponents, George proceeded laboriously toamass three tricks. 

With the game went the rubber, and by mutual consent the party brokeup. It was half-past nine, and all had duties to do. Anne wentsinging to fill Mrs. Bumble's hot-water bottle, and Betty to heat themilk which it was her mistress's practice to consume at bed-time. Mr. Bumble, as became his sex, favoured something more substantial, andlight refreshment in the shape of a ham sandwich and a bottle of beerbefore retiring suited him admirably. In Anthony he had aconscientious victualler. The sandwich was invariably fresh, thebottle of beer untasted, the glass clean. Mr. Bumble had marked thesequalities and hugged himself. 

This night, when Anthony entered the dressing-room, his master wassitting coatless upon a chair. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said Lyveden, "I hope you've not beenwaiting. "

"No, no, " was the cheery reply. "Not your fault, me boy. I'm early. There now! Maria!" Mrs. Bumble appeared in her doorway in a reddressing-gown. "Look at that there tray, me dear. Ain't it a treat?"

"Deluscious!" said Mrs. Bumble. 

"The very look, " continued Mr. Bumble, "o' that sanwidge makes me that'ungry you wouldden believe. "

"May I cut you another one, sir?" said Anthony. 

"'Ark at the boy, " said his employer. "Wants ter kill me withkindness. Why, I could eat sixty, I could. But one's too many, reelly, at my time o' life. "

"Joo drink beer, Tony?" inquired Mrs. Bumble. 

"Yes, madam. "

"Then go an' 'ave a nice bottle, " she said, beaming. 

"Thank you very much, madam. "

"Yes, an' give George one, " said Mr. Bumble, not to be outdone ingenerosity. 

"Thank you, sir. "

"Don't mention it, " was the agreeable reply. 

Anthony bade them "Good night" and left them breathing good-will. 

As he descended the stairs, the particular verity of the adage whichValerie had quoted upon a memorable afternoon nearly three weeks agoappealed to him forcibly. "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is. "Certainly he was leading the humble life. Born and educated toadminister, if not to rule, here was he fetching and carrying, a hewerof ham and a drawer of corks. He wondered if there were any otherfootmen who were also Companions of the Distinguished Service Order. That there were no other footmen who were so comfortably housed, he wassure. And Patch was in clover. Anthony reflected that he had much tobe thankful for. A dinner of herbs was infinitely better than none atall. He was, you observe, unconsciously converting the proverb to hisown use. Stalled oxen, with or without hatred, were not nowadays inhis line. He had quite forgotten what they were like, and cared aslittle. Indeed, but for Valerie, his Ambition would have been dead. Even now it lay very sick. High stomachs are easily upset. But anodding acquaintance with Hunger will make Ambition turn her face tothe wall. 

The duty of George Alison at nine-thirty was to take the dogs for arun. When he returned this evening to find Anthony in the act ofsetting two bottles of beer upon the table, he lifted up his voice andthanked Heaven that he had at least one friend. 

"Thirteen perishing months, " he concluded, "have I been in this house, and this is the first time I've ever had an extra rum ration. And thatwith my own flesh and blood, to say nothing of a lawful wife, runninground the Bumbles from morning till night. I admit that on two severaloccasions your predecessor produced to me my master's liquor, but hisribald reception of my inquiry whether such production was authorizedleft me no alternative but to refuse to consume it. "

"What's that?" said Betty, bustling into the room. "I recognized thetone of abuse, but I couldn't hear the words. "

"My love, " said George, "I was but remarking that beer is thicker thanwater. And now will you take my boots off before you clean them? Orclean them first and take them off afterwards?"

Betty Alison seated herself upon the table and raised her husband'sglass to her lips. 

"I looks, " she said, "towards you. "

When she set it down, the glass was half empty. 

After a moment's silence--

"You've--you've left some, " said her husband in a shaking voice. 

"I know, " she said. "That's because I can't drink any more. I hatebeer. " She slipped off the table with a yawn. "And now I'm going tobed. Don't let him sit up, Anthony. The car's ordered for nine, andhe's got to get a new tire on. "

"Where are we going?" said Lyveden. 

"First meet of the season, " said George. "I forgot to tell you. Buck's Folly, the Bumbles think, but they're not certain. Deuce of ajob for me, I tell you. Everybody drives anywhere and anyhow. You'rebacked into, you're always being called on to stop your engine, you'reexpected to be able to turn in a six-foot lane and to manoeuvre on amarsh as if it was wood pavement. To do any good, you want somethingbetween a gyroscope and a Tank. A car's useless. "

"Stacks of people, obviously, " said Anthony. 

"Unfortunately, yes. Hardened as I am, I'm not looking forward to thatside. I suppose you hunted--in the old days. "

Anthony nodded. 

"At Oxford, and sometimes with the Blackmore Vale. My uncle had ahouse in Dorset. "

"Ah! We used to do a bit with the Pytchley before--before the War. "

For a moment nobody spoke. 

One and all they had stumbled into the closet of Memory. Pictures ofdead days stared at them--days when they had come and gone as theypleased, before there had been a new earth and, seemingly, a newheaven. Old sounds rang in their wistful ears, forgotten scents camefloating out of the darkness.... The closet grew into a gallery.... 

"Good night, " said Betty quietly. "Don't sit up late. "

She slipped out of the room. 

It was a tired face that George Alison raised to Anthony. 

"Thank your stars, " he said jerkily, "that you aren't married. I don'tmatter. I don't mean I like service, but I'm well enough off. ButBet--poor Bet. Think what her life should be, and then look at what itis. And her father's worth half a million. He cut her off when shemarried me. I had enough for two then, so it didn't much matter. Butnow.... She's wonderful--perfectly marvellous, but--it's hard to seeher hands getting rough, man. Very hard. Her hands.... "

Anthony crossed the room and touched him upon the shoulder. 

"If I were married, " he said, "I should feel just the same. And thenthere'd be two fools instead of one. My dear fellow, if Bettyregretted her bargain, then she'd need your sympathy. As it is, solong as she's got you, d'you think she cares whether she wears sablesor an apron?"

"But you saw how she dried up just now. "

"Shall I tell you why?" said Anthony. 

"Why?"

"Because to-morrow morning you're going to a meet in blue, and she'ssorry it can't be pink. "

The two finished their beer, and George retired somewhat comforted. 

As he had predicted, their attendance of the meet the next morning wasonly effected at the expense of more patience than Alison possessed. He was forced, in fact, to borrow from Anthony. Indeed, he afterwardsconfessed that, but for the latter's presence, he should undoubtedlyhave committed an aggravated assault. 

The vicinity of Buck's Folly proved to be suspiciously vacant, and uponarrival at the standpoint itself if was instantly and painfully clearthat the Bumbles had been mistaken. A passing butcher, wheninterrogated, grinningly vouchsafed the information that the meet wasat Saddle Tree Cross, a spot of which all the occupants of the car hadheard, but the way to which no one of them could tell. 

Swelling with importance, Mr. Bumble produced a map, and George's facefell. He had seen that map before--from a distance. So had others. No one but Mr. Bumble had ever seen it at close quarters. Unhappilyfor all concerned, the latter's accomplishments did not includemap-reading, an omission distressingly obvious to every one buthimself. To follow his directions was fatal. Failure to appreciatehis directions was at once easier and more disastrous. What was stillmore unfavourable was that, in possessing himself of the map, Mr. Bumble became possessed of a devil. There was no doubt about it. Frombeing the most kindly of masters he became a snarling absurdity, whoseendeavours simultaneously to study the canvas, observe theconfiguration of the country-side, and rave into the speaking-tube wereconsistently vain. George raised his eyes to heaven and prepared forthe worst.... 

This came almost immediately. 

After having obediently turned the car round, George was peremptorilyadvised that, after all, he had been facing the right way. Mr. Bumblerather unfairly added that in his opinion the fool who had made the mapought to be prosecuted. The warmth with which he committed this beliefto the speaking-tube rendered it not so much inaudible as incoherent, and George, who believed it to be a further direction, had to ask himto repeat the remark. By the time Mr. Bumble had realized that he wasbeing addressed and had placed his ear to the tube, George hadconcluded his inquiry and was patiently listening at the oppositeend.... 

With such a beginning, the rest was easy. The wheels of wrath weregreased. Thereafter it was no longer a question of revolution, but ofspeed. At times the velocity attained was appalling. 

Seven hideous miles slunk staggering by. 

Mrs. Bumble, of course, had been in tears from the outset. Anthony, aswe know, was busily engaged in administering comfort, temporal andspiritual. The difficulty was to get George to take the nourishment. 

"The fool's like a drowning man, " he protested, "with his arms roundyour neck. Your only chance is to hit him under the jaw. Get out anddo it. "

Mr. Bumble had just formed and blasphemously announced the horrifyingresolve to return to Buck's Folly and start all over again, whenAnthony heard a horse whinny. In a flash he was on the running-boardand touching his hat. 

"I think we're just there, sir, " he ventured. 

Mr. Bumble hesitated, George set his foot upon the accelerator, and amoment later they swept round a bend to see the familiar medley of carsand dog-carts, bicycles and phaetons, saddle-horses and governess-cars, writhing below them upon a high-road into which the lane they wereusing almost immediately debouched. 

With a sigh of relief, Mr. Bumble dropped the map and proceeded to mophis face.... 

Comparatively, the chauffeur's troubles were over. After such adrubbing, the nuisance of the congestion to which they were sooncontributing was like a flick on the collar, and ten minutes later thecar was berthed safely with two or three others upon an apron of turf. 

Mr. And Mrs. Bumble alighted, and George and Anthony were left tothemselves. 

Then another car squirmed out of the ruck of vehicles and came rollingon to the sward. The gentleman ensconced upon its back seat was forthe saddle, and plainly glad of it. His careless, handsome face wasradiant, his manner full of an easy, inoffensive confidence, hisgaiety--to judge from his companions' laughter--infectious. Histurn-out was simple, but faultless. Despite the fact that he wassitting between Lady Touchstone and Valerie, Anthony liked the look ofhim. 

Since their experience upon the edge of the cliff, Lyveden had not tillnow set eyes upon the lady. Unwilling to visit her home, he hadinquired by letter how she was doing. After receiving two littlenotes, each of which assured him that she was not one penny the worse, he wrote no more. Letters and notes were sober and to the point. Anyone might have read them. The truth is, the two were love-shy. 

Give to a dog a finer and meatier bone than he has ever dreamed of, andmark his reception of your favour. Ten to one he will be afraid of it. He will walk about the fragment delicately; possibly he will touch itwith the tip of an envious tongue; presently he will lie down at arespectful distance, watching it with big eyes. The thing is too vastfor him. He must have time to become familiar with his stupendous luck. 

So with Miss French and Lyveden. The gods had tossed the twotitle-deeds of a dream so wonderful that they were frightened. Thegift was too precious to be handled at once. Like the poor dog theymust have time.... 

You will understand, gentlemen, that this was no ordinary affair oflove. Convenience had had no hand in it. My tale had been shorter ifshe had thrust but the tip of a finger into the pie. Pity, Selfishness, Gratitude--none of the stock emotions went to the makingof the foundations of this fabric. It was not founded at all. Neitherhad it grown out of friendship. It had no infancy. Had the two nevermet, it is probable that--circumstances permitting--each would some dayhave fallen in love with somebody else. And that would have been aregular business. Convenience, Friendship, and other hard-workingmatchmakers would all have put shoulders to the wheel and clapped oneanother on the back when the banns were published. The fact that thetwo had met saved, in a way, infinite trouble. 

Valerie had many swains, and more than a few women had looked twice atAnthony. Such hearts, however, as had bleated for their sympathy hadeither bleated altogether in vain, or, finding the sympathy vouchsafednot at all what they wanted, bleated more fiercely than before. Allthe same, the two were not seraphim. They were mortal enough, and, ifmore than ordinarily attractive, revealed upon close examination a veryordinary collection of failings. The wonder was not in themselves. The fact that their natures were in just accord, was, at the most, curious. It was true, nevertheless. Each wanted precisely what theother was ready to give. Their personalities agreed like twoindentures--proved themselves mutual elixirs. The wonder began andended when they encountered one another. It was then that the seed oflove flashed into bloom. Miracles alone beget miracles. Parallellines had met. 

The sight of Valerie gladdened Anthony's eyes. He sat very still inhis seat, staring under the wind screen and wondering whether she wouldrecognize his back. He hoped that it was not because of her mishapthat she was not in a habit. He could hardly be expected to divine thetrue reason. This was, shortly, that the lady, who had expected to seehim, could not enjoy a pastime from participation in which footmen arefor a variety of reasons so rigorously debarred. Incidentally, she hadseen Anthony before he had seen her, and the smile with which he hadcredited her companion's bonhomie was due to his presence alone. Hadthis been explained to the young sportsman, as one of Valerie's swainsit would have spoiled his day. As it was, he emerged from the car withthe genial air of one who is in high favour, and, after a word with agroom who had come up bustling, mounted a good-looking grey and, wavinghis hat to the ladies, proceeded to join his fellows with his eyessparkling and his chin on his shoulder. 

"Mason, " said Lady Touchstone. 

The chauffeur, who had descended, sprang to the door. 

"Open the door. " The man did so, and her ladyship alighted. "I'mgoing to look at the hounds. You'd better come with me. "

"Very good, my lady. "

The pair moved off in single file. 

Though the office was new to him, the dignity of Mason's demeanour wasirreproachable. It was clear that the blood of flunkeys was in hisveins. As a matter of fact, one hundred years before, his grandfatherhad done much escort duty, with a band on his hat and a cane in hishand. Though Mason did not know it, the manner had been bred in hisbone. 

"'Ere's a lady wants yer. "

This was quite true. Miss French had not put it so bluntly, but it wasnot her fault that the messenger she had selected knew a footman whenhe saw one. 

Major Anthony Lyveden thanked his informant with a smile. Had it beenCaliban himself that had growled the message, the smile would have beenas ready. Such a summons lost nothing in the telling. 

George received the intimation that his colleague would be back in aminute apathetically. He was yet in some dudgeon. Beyond heaving asigh charged with the resignation of a martyr who remembers that he hasleft his gloves in the torture-chamber, he evinced no interest at all. 

Anthony crossed the turf to where Miss French sat smiling in a brownlaudaulette, and touched his hat. Appearances had to be kept up. Valerie inclined her head gravely enough, but the look with which shehonoured his action was not of this world. Anthony felt astoundinglyrich. 

"How are you?" he asked anxiously. 

"Perfectly all right. "

"Sure?"

Valerie nodded, smiling. 

"I wasn't even tired the next day, " she said. "Were your arms verystiff?"

"Only for a day or two. "

"And Patch?"

"As right as rain. "

"Will you be free on Sunday?" said Valerie. 

"From two o'clock on. "

"Will you come to Bell Hammer?"

"I will, " said Anthony. 

"I'll come to meet you with the two-seater. To-morrow I'm going away. Aunt Harriet has to go to London. Have--have you been back ... Since?"

"To your window?"

"To our window, " said Valerie. 

Anthony nodded. 

"Yes, " he said quietly. "I--I can't keep away. "

It was true. The place fascinated him. Tremendous happenings had madeit a shrine. Already worshipful as Valerie's bower, the ledge wasfreshly consecrate to two most excellent saints--Love Confessed andLife Triumphant. 

"I thought you had, " said Valerie. "I saw your footsteps. And--oh, please don't go so close to the edge, Anthony. Promise me you won't. It--it frightens me so. "

Love lent the words an earnestness which there was no mistaking. Mylady leaned forward, with her hand gripping the woodwork. There was astrained, pleading look upon the beautiful face, the proud lipshumbling themselves, the glorious eyes beggars--Royalty upon its knees. 

Quite naturally, Anthony's heart answered her. 

"I promise, sweet, " he said. 

The vocative transfigured the lady. Anthony found himself mirrored intwo dew-burning stars. To deck her favourite, Nature had robbed thefirmament. To see such larceny, it is not surprising that the roundworld stood still.... 

With a supreme effort Anthony pulled himself together. 

"Patch is too funny, " he said. "He'll come as far as the bank--youknow, below the thicket--and not a step farther. He just stands thereand wags his tail apologetically. And there at the foot of the bank hewaits until I return. "

Valerie laughed merrily. 

"Poor little dog, " she said. "It was enough to----"

"I say, Val, did I leave my flask in the car?"

The two had been too much absorbed to observe the return of thefresh-faced youngster, and the latter's words cut their communionshort, much as the sudden rasp of curtain-rings scatters the rear ofslumber. It was providential that the world was moving again. Thesuspension of perpetual motion would have been bound to excite remark. As it was, the new-comer was upon the very edge of staring, when--

"Let me introduce Mr. Every--Major Lyveden, " said Valerie. The two mennodded mechanically and murmured politeness. "Yes, you did, Peter. Here you are. " She plucked the lost property from the bowels of theseat and rose to restore it. "By the way, " she added adroitly, "now'syour chance. Major Lyveden'll tell you whether you ought to wash ahorse's legs. "

Thus appealed to--

"Unless, " said Anthony, "you've got a groom in a million, I shouldn'tadvise it. It means mud-fever. "

"There you are, " said Valerie, doubly triumphant. 

The youth's face was a study. Respect was fairly bundling Astonishmentout of the way. Anthony had spoken as one having authority, and Everywas visibly impressed. 

"You really think so, sir?"

With one accord Valerie and Anthony smiled. The employment of thetitle was at once so irregular and so appropriate. Instinct had shownherself to be above raiment. Surely no manner of man ever was paid soexquisite a compliment. 

A motor-horn coughed, and Anthony glanced over his shoulder. Then--

"I must go, " he said quietly. "Good-bye. "

He touched his cap with a smile and left them. Every gazed after himwith his hat in his hand. Then he looked at Valerie with wide eyes. 

"But--but he's a footman, " he said stupidly. 

 * * * * *

When upon the following day Anthony admitted that he had never seen theview from The Beacon, the Alisons, all three, cried out upon theomission with no uncertain voice. 

The four were breakfasting. 

"But, " declared Anne, "you simply must see it. It's the most wonderfulview in the world. "

Anthony doubted this. He did not say so, of course, but he would havestaked a month's wages that he could have shown them a finer. As itwas, he expressed politely enthusiastic astonishment. 

"It is, really, " said Betty. "And the tints at this time of year--why, even George raves about it!"

"That's right, " said her husband. "Never lose an opportunity ofinsult. Why 'even George'? Can't a chauffeur have a soul?"

"Who went to sleep at the Russian Ballet?" said Betty. 

"Go on, " said George. "Rake over the muck-heap. And what if I did?The music suggested slumber. I merely adopted the suggestion. "

"Did it also suggest that you should snore?" said his wife. "Or wasthat your own idea?"

George touched Anthony on the arm and nodded towards the speaker. 

"Look at the scorn in that eye, " he said. "See? The one that'slooking our way. "

With an air of unutterable contempt, Betty lighted a cigarette and thenhurled the matchbox at her unsuspecting spouse. The missile ricochetedoff his chin and fell noisily into the cup of tea which was halfway tohis lips.... 

When order had been restored--

"He must see it at once, " said Betty. "Before the leaves fall. "

"The view, or the ballet?" said George. 

"Idiot!" She turned to Anne. "Why don't you take him this afternoon?It's his day out, and you know you can always go. "

"Yes, please do, " said Anthony. 

He could not very well have said anything else. Besides, Anne was allright. He liked her. There was, of course, but one woman in theworld. Still Anne was a good sort, and he would not have hurt herfeelings for anything. 

The matter was arranged then and there. 

Seven hours later the two, with Patch, were tramping over a rising moortowards a dense promise of woodland which rose in a steep slope, jaggedand tossing. This day the ragamuffin winds were out--a plaguy, blustering crew, driving hither and thither in a frolic that knew nolaw, buffeting either cheek, hustling bewildered vanes, cuffing thepatient trees into a dull roar of protest that rose and fell, a sullenharmony, joyless and menacing. The skies were comfortless, and therewas a sinister look about the cold grey pall that spoke of winter andthe pitiless rain and the scream of the wind in tree-tops, and evenremembered the existence of snow. 

"I wish it was a better day, " said Anne. "It's always worth seeing;but you won't see so far to-day, and there's no sun. "

Anthony glanced at the sky. 

"Unless, " he said, "it's worth seeing when the trees are bare, it'sjust as well we're going there to-day. That sky means mischief. Areyou sure you're warm enough?"

Anne laughed. 

"Supposing I said I wasn't, " she said, "what would you do about it?Give me your coat?"

Anthony stood still. 

"I should take you home--quick, " he said gravely. 

Honestly he hoped that she would waver. He had never wanted to come. Left to himself, he and Patch would have walked--elsewhither. Had henot known that Valerie was away, he would have excused himself atbreakfast. Not for anything in the world would he have forfeited achance of meeting her. Poor Anne's feelings would have had to rough it. 

"I'm as warm as toast, " said Miss Alison cheerfully. "And I know youdon't want to come, " she added, bubbling, "but you've just got to. You'll thank me afterwards. "

Fiercely as he protested his innocence, Anthony felt extremely guilty. He had, it seemed, committed a breach of good taste, which must berepaired forthwith. He determined to be very nice to Anne. Thisshould not have been difficult, for she was full of good points. 

Fate had not been kind, but Anne found no fault with her heritage. Indeed, her temper was infectiously healthy. For years now Fortune hadnever piped to her, but that did not keep her from dancing. In thecircumstances, that she should have been so good to look upon seemedalmost hard.... 

The two passed on. 

It was a way Anthony had never gone, and, once in the thick of thewoods, he could not have told where he was. Anne, apparently, knew herline backwards, for she climbed steadily, chattering all the time andtaking odd paths and random grass-grown tracks with an unconsciousconfidence which was almost uncanny. More than once she turned tostrike across some ground no foot had charted, each time unerringly tofind the track upon the far side waiting to point themupward--sometimes gently, and sometimes with a sharp rise, but alwaysupward. 

For all that, the pace his companion set was almost punishing, andAnthony was on the point of pleading a respite, when--

"Almost there now, " panted Miss Alison. "Round to the right here, and----"

The rest of the sentence was lost upon Anthony, and is of noconsequence to us. 

As he was rounding the corner, he had turned to whistle for Patch. Fortwo very excellent reasons the whistle was never delivered. The firstwas that the Sealyham was only five paces in rear. The second was thathe was standing quite still in the middle of the path, wagging his tailapologetically. 

For a moment Anthony stared at him. Then he swung round, to findhimself face to face with a broad natural bank, some thirty feet high. 

 * * * * *

When Valerie French, who had come by way of the finger-post, saw Patchdormant at the foot of the broad bank, she could have jumped for joy. 

At the last minute rheumatism had laid its irreverent hand upon thepatrician muscles of Lady Touchstone's back, and the visit to Town hadbeen summarily postponed. Valerie, who should have been sorry, wasundeniably glad. She could not communicate with Anthony, but there wasa bare chance that she might do better than that. What afternoons hehad free she did not know. How he employed such as he had, he had toldher in plain terms. She was, of course, to see him on Sunday, but thatwas four days away. Besides, she wanted to meet him upon that gravelcliff--that window-sill whose freehold they shared. High matters wereon the edge of settlement. It was appropriate that they should therebe settled where, in a mad moment, Fate had staked upon one cast allthe kingdoms of the earth and their glory--staked them and lost them. That it was now but a question of taking possession of theirinheritance, Valerie never doubted. In this she was right. Thecrooked way of Love had been made straight: only the treading of itremained--a simple business. That he had saved her life did not weighwith Anthony at all. That Death had summoned them, looked in theireyes, and let them go--together, made all the difference. It was asthough a hand had written upon the wall.... 

The sight, then, of the terrier verified hopes which she had beenafraid to harbour. She had wanted so much, and it had all come topass. She had wanted to meet her man, to see him ere he knew she wasthere, to find him there at the window, to come delicately behind him, to have him turn and see her, to mark the sudden gladdening of his deargrey eyes.... 

Tremulously she ascended the tiny path and passed a-tiptoe into thethicket.... 

You would have sworn it an elf that stole across the clearing beyond.... 

As she glided into cover--

"Rain, " said Anthony. "Now we're for it. No coats, no umbrella, nonothing. Anne, you're in for a wetting. "

"Won't be the first time, " said Anne cheerfully. 

"Well, come on, any way, " said Anthony. "The woods'll shelter us for awhile, and then----"

"I shall have a bath, " said Anne. "A nice hot bath directly I get in. You know, all steaming and----"

"Will you come on?" said Anthony, laughing. 

The two thrust through the screen and across the clearing. A momentlater the thicket had swallowed them up. 

As in a dream, Valerie heard their voices getting fainter andfainter.... 

Presently they died altogether, and she was left alone with the rain. This fairly pelted upon her, but she never moved. The truth is, shenever noticed it. 

A sudden rush of wind whipped a strand of her dark hair loose and flungit across her lips, but she never moved. 

After a little while the wind died too, and for the second time she wasleft alone with the rain. 

CHAPTER V

AN HIGH LOOK AND A PROUD HEART

Here is a note, gentlemen, on its way to a lady, I have set it out now, that you may be wiser than she--by some twenty-four hours. Such as itis, I like my lookers-on to see the best of the game. 

 _Rome, 14th November. _

_MY DEAR VALERIE, _

_I observe from your letter that you have lost faith in the man youlove. Now, although I know him not, I trust him implicitly. I do notcare what has happened. Shall I tell you why? Because I know that youwould never have put your trust in him had he been unworthy. _

_Love plays such queer tricks with its victims, making the fearlesstimorous, the proud lowly, the trusting doubtful. Who was it coinedthat mischievous phrase, "Too good to be true"? He has much to answerfor. Nothing is too good to be true. Not even the love of a man for amaid, Valerie. You found it so good that you were thoroughly preparedto find it false. And the moment you saw the clouds, you believed thesun to be dead. That is heathenish and the way of the people whoimagine a vain thing. _

_His explanation will shame you, of course; but take the lesson toheart. _

 _Your affectionate uncle, JOHN FOREST. _

 * * * * *

The Assize Court was crowded. Even upon the Bench there was littleroom to spare; and when the High Sheriff disappeared to return a momentlater with two ladies, the Judge's clerk eyed the new-comers withsomething of that impotent indignation with which a first-classpassenger regards the violation of his state by belated individualswhose possession of first-class tickets is highly dubious. 

The calendar contained no case of unusual interest, but the Red Judgecomes to Brooch but three times a year, and the old market-town makesthe most of its gaol deliveries. 

At the moment of the ladies' entering, Mr. Albert Morgan was in chargeof the jury, and the twelve gentlemen were in course of hearkening toevidence which suggested with painful clarity that the prisoner's sinsof commission included that of felony. That Mr. Morgan had been caughtred-handed had not prevented the rogue from pleading "Not guilty. " Hehad stood in docks before now. Besides, enough money had been found toinstruct a member of the Bar--if not a solicitor--to argue his impudentcase.... 

"Anthony Lyveden, " said counsel for the Crown. 

"Anthony Lyveden!" cried the constable-usher. 

"Anthony Lyveden!" bawled his colleague, opening the door of the Court. 

Anthony, who was pacing the hall, came quickly. A moment later he hadentered the box. 

His footman's overcoat accentuated at once his height and his breeding. It suited the figure admirably, but not the man. The handsome, clean-cut face, the excellence of his speech--above all, thepersonality of the witness--gave the lie to his garb. Moreover, hedisplayed a quiet dignity of manner which was as different from that ofthe most exquisite lackey as is sable from civet. From resting uponhim the eyes of the Court began to stare... 

Lest their owners be thought unmannerly, it is fair to record that thelast witness, whilst swearing that he was a chauffeur, had resembledone of the landed gentry of the Edwardian Age, and that the last butone--to wit, the chauffeur's employer--had sworn that he was a retiredgrocer, and looked exactly like one. 

Anthony took the oath and glanced about him. 

From the dock Mr. Morgan was regarding him with a malevolent glare. Farther back sat George Alison, upon his face an expression of profoundresignation, which was plainly intended to indicate to his colleaguethe unpleasant nature of his late ordeal. And there, between the HighSheriff and Lady Touchstone, sat Miss Valerie French.... 

With narrowed eyes and a face impassive as a mask she met the footman'slook. By her side her aunt was smiling recognition, but Anthony neversaw that. Gazing upon the beauty of that face which he had oncetransfigured, he found it frozen. That proud red bow of a mouth, thathad been his for the taking, might have been graven of precious stone. Here was no vestige of Love. Tenderness was clean gone. Even as helooked, the blue eyes shifted casually to wander around the Court.... The cold wind of Indifference made Anthony's heart shiver within him. 

Small wonder that he replied to counsel's questions mechanically, likea man in a dream. 

He had, of course, known that he was out of favour. 

One perfect Wednesday she had worshipped him to his face: upon thefollowing Sabbath he had been turned away from her doors. For thismysterious fall from grace no reason had been vouchsafed. Moreover, sohigh was the favour, so eminent the grace, that Anthony had beendesperately bruised. For a little he had been stunned. More thanonce, as he had walked dazedly home, he had tripped and stumbled. And, on reaching the house, he had done what he had never thought todo--surreptitiously poured and swallowed a glass of his master'sbrandy. As the days marched by, he had in some sort recovered--slowly, if for no other reason because Grief should have air and not be clappedunder hatches. And now--here was the lady, pointing in person theunpleasant truth that she had no further use for him.... 

Had they but told their love before his downfall, his course would havebeen simple. In that case, to ask an explanation of his dismissalwould have been lawful enough. But things had not gone so far. It waswhile they were yet upon the threshold of harmony that the end hadcome. Of his honesty Anthony felt that he had no right to questionher. The lady had not engaged herself: she was still free to do as shepleased. His cursed footmanhood was an additional embarrassment. Tospeak vulgarly, it put the lid on. And now--why was she here?

Thus throughout his examination-in-chief the imps of Recollection andSpeculation spun and whirled in his brain-pan. 

Why on earth was she there?

It is doubtful whether Miss French herself could have answered thatquestion. 

You will please believe, gentlemen, that her heart had brought her. Itis the plain truth. Though Anthony did not know it, he had taken herfaith in his hands and torn it across and across. For all that, sheloved him still. She had a strange, pathetic longing to see him oncemore, and the case of "The King against Morgan" had offered her thechance. She had heard of the matter, and knew he must come to court togive his evidence. In such a place she would be able to study himundisturbed, and, most important of all, any speech between them wouldbe safely impossible. A note to the High Sheriff had arranged heradmission.... Incidentally, a burst tire on the way from Bell Hammerhad almost spoiled everything. As we have seen, however, the ladieswere just in time.... 

"Yes, " purred counsel for the Crown. "And then?"

"Then the prisoner gave a cry and rushed into the drawing-room. "

"What did you do?"

"I followed him and seized him. When assistance arrived, he wassecured, and in the morning he was handed over to the police. "

With a nod, counsel resumed his seat. 

Mr. Morgan's representative got upon his feet with a truculent air. Ashe did so, somebody touched him upon the shoulder, and he turned to seehis client leaning out of the dock. With an apologetic smirk at hislordship, the lawyer left his seat.... 

"What is it? What is it?" he whispered testily. 

Mr. Morgan breathed into his ear. 

"This is the swine, " he said evilly. "Put it acrost 'im. Arsk 'im----"

"You shut yer face, " said his adviser. "An' don' try an' teach me myjob, or I'll 'ave you in the box. "

Before this threat Mr. Morgan subsided, muttering. 

Impatiently counsel for the defence returned to his place. Once there, he adjusted his gown, consulted a blank sheet of paper with someacerbity, and then addressed himself to the witness. 

"Why did you leave your last place?"

Anthony hesitated. Then--

"I was unable to get on with one member of the household, " he said. 

"Were you dismissed?"

"I was. "

"Why?"

"As the result of a difference I had. "

"Come, come, sir. That's no answer. "

"The son of the house insulted me, and I knocked him down. "

Such a sensational reply fairly took the wind out of counsel's sails. Amid a stifled murmur of excitement he strove to collect himself. 

"You--er--assaulted him?"

"I did. "

"Rather hasty, aren't you?"

"I don't think so. "

"We shall see. Now, upon the night in question--the night of theburglary with which my client is charged--where had you been?"

"To a private house. "

"From which you, a footman, return at four in the morning?"

"Yes, " said Anthony. 

"Did you have any drinks at the--er, private house?"

"I drank some wine. "

"How many hours were you there?"

"About five. "

"You can drink a good deal in five hours?"

"You can, " said Anthony. 

"How many drinks did you have?"

"I drank two or three glasses of wine. "

"What sort of wine?"

"Champagne. "

"In fact, you had a good evening?"

"I enjoyed myself very much. "

"Exactly. And you returned--shall we say, 'happy'?"

"If you are suggesting that I was under the influence of drink----"

"Answer my question, sir. "

The Judge interfered. 

"Either, Mr. Blink, you are suggesting that the witness was under theinfluence of drink, or I fail to see the point of your questions. "

Hurriedly counsel agreed, announced magnanimously that he would notpursue the matter, and plunged into a series of causeless and emptyinquiries in the hope of stumbling upon an answer with which he mightfirst of all hammer the witness and then erect a defence. His effortswent unrewarded, and behind him in the dock Mr. Morgan ground his teethwith vexation. That he was not getting his friends' money's worth wasobvious. He did not expect to get off, but if he could have seenLyveden discredited he would have taken his gruel with a grin. Venomously he gnawed his fingers.... 

For the twentieth time counsel drew a bow at a venture. 

"You're not under notice to leave your present place?"

"Yes, " said Anthony, "I am. "

Despite herself, Valerie French started, and the chauffeur at the backof the court stared at the witness wide-eyed. The court, which hadalmost lost interest, pricked up its ears. Hardly disguising hisrelief, counsel proceeded to develop the impression in his owntime-honoured way. Turning his back upon the witness, he elevated hiseyebrows and then smiled very pleasantly upon a ventilator immediatelyabove the jury-box. 

"Really?" he said. "This is most interesting. Under notice, are you?Dear me.... Why?"

"I have given notice myself. "

"Oh, indeed. Why?"

"For private reasons. "

Counsel appeared to find this answer so highly diverting that after amoment's hesitation the jury joined in his merriment. As the tittersubsided--

"I'm afraid, " said Mr. Blink apologetically, "I'm afraid I can't takethat. "

Anthony paled. 

"I wish, " he said, "to leave the neighbourhood. "

"Why?"

Anthony hesitated, and the Judge laid down his pen. 

"Mr. Blink, I don't wish in any way to embarrass you, but can thisaffect your case?"

An expert in impudence, Mr. Blink was well aware of the amazingpossibilities of consummate audacity. 

"My lord, " he said solemnly, "my suggestion is that the witness knowsconsiderably more about this burglary than he is willing to admit. "

The improvised shaft went home. 

For a moment there was dead silence. Then some one gasped audibly, abreeze of emotion rustled over the court, and the jury leanedforward.... Only the Judge, before him a list of the prisoner'sprevious convictions, sat like an image. 

With a spiteful gleam in his eyes, Mr. Morgan moistened his lips. Thiswas more like it. 

Counsel, now in his element, addressed the witness. 

"Whence, " he demanded dramatically, "whence this sudden desire to makeyourself scarce?"

Breathlessly the reply was awaited.... 

None came, however, and counsel took up the running with a dry laugh. 

"Very good, " he said. "I take your answer. "

Anthony stepped down and joined the chauffeur without a word. 

Ten minutes later Mr. Blink was fanning the flame of mistrust into aconflagration. What, he asked, did the jury think? They were men ofthe world. Candidly, had they ever seen such a chauffeur and footmanbefore? Did they look like servants? Of course they had Mr. Bumble's--their master's--confidence. _But had they the jury's?_ Hedid not wish to usurp the functions of the cinema or the stage, but itwas his duty to remind them that sometimes Truth was stranger thanFiction.... Here were two servants, who were obviously not servants atall, giving such overwhelming satisfaction that they were allowedunheard-of liberty--liberty which afforded unrivalled opportunities.... "Out till four in the morning, gentlemen. A latch-key to let them in. A motor-car at their disposal. And now--leaving this comfortable--thisperfect situation. Why? No answer. _Is it because the game is up, gentlemen?_ ... "

His lordship, who in his time had seen many juries befooled, summed uprather wearily, and at twenty-five minutes to one Mr. Morgan was found"Not guilty. "

That the latter should greet the verdict with a gesture of derisionverged, all things considered, upon indecency. It is good to thinkthat the warder who hustled him from the dock, and played full-back forthe prison, made this as clear as daylight. 

 * * * * *

Valerie left the court in some annoyance. She was annoyed that Anthonyhad been lessened, and she was annoyed to find that she cared whetherhe had been lessened or not. She would also have liked to know thereason for his proposed departure. Undoubtedly it had to do with AnneAlison. His very reticence proved it. Perhaps she was going, too.... Anne Alison.... At the very thought of the girl, Valerie's resentmentwelled up anew. Jealousy knows no law. The reflection that it was ather instance that Anthony had gone as footman to the house where Annewas housemaid rode her with a harsh and merciless hand. Often enough, sunk in most bitter contemplation of this fact, she got no further. 

That she got no further to-day was due to a timelyinterruption--nothing less, in fact, than a snort of an intensity tooclamorous to be ignored. 

Valerie looked up. 

"At last, " said Lady Touchstone with some asperity. "That's thefourth. "

"The fourth what?" said Valerie. 

"The fourth snort, " said her aunt. "I don't know what's the matterwith you nowadays. To snort at all, I must be profoundly moved. Youknow that as well as I do. "

"What's the matter?" said Valerie. 

Lady Touchstone stared at her. 

"My dear, " she said, "what you want is a change. You have justwitnessed what I hope is the most flagrant miscarriage of justice ofrecent years, you have seen twelve fools bamboozled by a knave, youhave heard a friend of yours grossly insulted, and you ask me what'sthe matter. " The car swung round a corner, and Lady Touchstone, whowas unready, heeled over with a cry. "I wish Mason wouldn't do that, "she added testily, dabbing at her _toque_. "So subversive of dignity. What was I saying? Oh yes. A change. We'd better go to Nice. "

Before Miss French could reply, a deafening report from beneath themannounced the dissolution of another tire. 

Mason brought the car to the side of the road. Then he applied thehand-brake and alighted heavily to inspect the damage. 

With a resigned air, Lady Touchstone sat awaiting his report. 

Valerie began to laugh. 

"Shall I tell you what he's doing?" she said. 

Her aunt regarded her. 

"I presume he's staring at the wheel, " she said shortly. "Though ofwhat interest a deflated tire can be to anybody passes mycomprehension. "

"Not at all, " said her niece. "Mason is trying to make up his mind totell you that we shall have to walk home. He only brought one sparecover, and we've used that. "

Lady Touchstone glanced at her watch. 

"And the Billows, " she said grimly, "are coming to lunch in twentyminutes. " She raised her voice. "All right, Mason. Miss Valerie'sbroken it to me. Stop the first vehicle that approaches and ask themto give us a lift. "

"Very good, my lady. "

"Supposing, " said Valerie, "it's a milk-float. "

"So much the better, " replied her aunt. "I've always wanted to ride ina milk-float. It's the survival of the Roman chariot. " Placidly shesettled herself in her corner and closed her eyes. "Dear me. What arelief it is not to be moving! If only the Billows weren't coming.... "

Neither she nor Valerie heard the approach of the Rolls. Indeed, itwas not until George Alison, in response to Mason's signals, wasbringing the great blue car actually alongside that the ladies realizedthat help was at hand. 

The sight of Anthony Lyveden alighting to take his master's orderschilled Valerie as the breath of a crypt. Her aunt, on the contrary, was plainly as pleased as Punch at the encounter.... 

So soon as Mr. Bumble appreciated that it was the quality of BellHammer who sought his assistance, he took appropriate action. Hat inhand, he descended into the road and, speaking with grave civility, puthis car at the ladies' disposal. This being accepted, he handed themout of their own and ushered them into the Rolls. Then he bowed verypleasantly and closed the door. 

Valerie started to her feet. 

"But, Mr. Bumble, " she cried, "of course you're coming. Aunt Harriet, we can't.... "

"Of course we can't, " said Lady Touchstone. "Mr. Bumble, get in atonce. "

Humbly their host shook his head. 

"Bell 'Ammer is no distance, me lady, an' the car can come back. Ishouldden dream o' takin' advantage of an acciden', me lady. "

Regretting very much that she had never noticed the ex-grocer before, Lady Touchstone sought desperately to pull the position round. 

"Mr. Bumble, " she said, "we cannot use your car without you. That wedo not know one another is my fault. Please get in. I want to tellyou how very sorry we are about your case. "

Again Mr. Bumble bowed. 

"Your ladyship is most kind. If Mrs. Bumble was 'ere, it'd bedifferent.... But we're both of us proud, me lady, fer you to 'ave thecar. An'--an' please don' put yerself out, m'm. I'm in no 'urry. "

The quiet determination of his tone was unmistakable. The little manwas clearly stoutly resolved not to improve an acquaintance which hiswife did not share. Wealth had not clouded his memory nor corruptedhis simple heart. 

Lady Touchstone hauled down her flag. 

"You're one of the old school, Mr. Bumble, " she said, "so we won'targue. Will you tell Mrs. Bumble that, if Thursday's quite convenient, we shall call at The Shrubbery and ask her to give us some tea?"

And Valerie put out her hand. 

"Good-bye for the present, " she said. "Thank you so very much. "

The next moment they were gone. 

Hat still in hand, the ex-grocer looked after the car. 

"Lady by name an' lady by nature, " he said softly. Then he put on hishat and turned to Mason. "'Ave a cigar, boy. I 'ate smokin' alone. "

As they swept out of sight, Lady Touchstone picked up the speaking tube. 

"George Alison!" she cried. Up went the chauffeur's head. "Stop thecar, please. Valerie and Major Lyveden will change places. We want todiscuss the trial. "

George slowed up with a grin. 

Jack opened the door for Jill, who descended with an airy nod ofgreeting which hurt him more than the stoniest disregard. With herhead high, she stepped to the seat he had left. As he was closing thehigh side door upon her, her fur coat intervened, and Jack set itgently aside. Jill felt the touch, turned, glanced down and twitchedthe garment away.... 

Anthony's eyes blazed. A short six inches away, Valerie's blazedback.... 

On the opposite side of the car George and Lady Touchstone were hangingout of their seats, raving concurrent invective against the Laws ofEngland. 

For a moment eyes searched eyes steadily. Then, with a faint smile, Anthony leaned forward and kissed the proud red lips. Then he shut thedoor with infinite care.... 

Had Miss French's fur coat been less voluminous, the gulf which Errorhad set between the lovers might have been bridged within the week. But it was a fine wrap, and ample. In an instant the gulf had become asea of troubles, with the house that Jack had built upon one side, andthe castle which Jill had raised upon the other. And, as for a bridge, their labour now was lost that sought to build one. It had become acase for a causeway. 

As the car slid forward--

"And why, " said Lady Touchstone, "are you going away?"

Anthony laughed jerkily. 

"Have a heart, Lady Touchstone, " he cried. "I've already riskedimprisonment to save my secret. "

Her ladyship looked about her. 

"This, " she said, "appears to be the interior of an expensive limousinelandaulette. Very different from a court-house. The seats are softer, for one thing. Besides, from his adviser the client should concealnothing. "

"Are you my adviser?"

"That, " said Lady Touchstone, "is my role. "

"But am I your client?"

"I advise you to be. "

For a long moment Lyveden stared straight ahead. Upon the front seatMiss French was chattering to George Alison with an unwontedliveliness, punctuated with little bursts of merriment. All the whileshe kept her head so turned that Anthony might miss not a jot of hergaiety.... 

"I'm sorry, " said Lyveden quietly. "You're very kind, Lady Touchstone, and I'm properly grateful. But I can't tell you. "

He was, of course, perfectly right. Intervention was not to be thoughtof, much less encouraged. For one thing, to mutter that Valerie and hewere estranged would be to proclaim a previous intimacy. For another, it was an affair, not of hearts only, but of deeps calling. Eachlifting up the other's heart, the twain had distilled a music that isnot of this world: it was unthinkable that an outsider should be showna single note of the score. Finally, Anthony wanted no peace-making. What had he to do with peace?

The silver cord was loosed, but he had not loosed it. The golden bowlwas broken, but not at his hand. It was she--Valerie French--that hadwrought the havoc. That cord and bowl were the property as much ofAnthony as of her had not weighed with the lady. As if this were notenough, he was to be used like a leper.... What had he to do withpeace?

The thought that he had been able to pick up the glove she had throwndown with such a flourish elated him strangely. To kiss My LadyDisdain upon the mouth--that was an answer. That would teach her todraw upon an unarmed man. For she had thought him weaponless. Whatfootman carries a sword? And then, in the nick of time, Fate hadthrust a rapier into the flunkey's hand.... 

Lady Touchstone was speaking.... 

"Well, well, " she said gently, "perhaps you're right. I'm sorry, youknow. I saw two lives smashed once by a clerical error on the part ofa florist's assistant. I knew them both, too, but neither would speak. When it was just too late, Eleanor opened her mouth.... Unknown toher, I went to the florist's shop and looked at their order-book. Sureenough, there was the trouble. I never told her, of course. But it'shaunted me ever since. Two lives ... Smashed.... And they say thatsilence is golden.... When you do go, will you let me have youraddress?"

"I can imagine nothing more worthless, " said Anthony. "But I thinkI've been rude enough. I promise to send it you. "

For no apparent reason he laughed bitterly. His companion shuddered. 

"Don't laugh like that, Major Lyveden. It's bad for my heart. Oh, dear. How fast George is driving! We shall be at Bell Hammer beforewe know where we are. " Suddenly she leaned forward and caught at thefootman's sleeve. "Anthony Lyveden, I've shown you my hand. As youlove my niece, what is the trouble?"

Anthony set his teeth. 

"Can't be done, " he said, "Lady Touchstone. We've got to work it outfor ourselves. "

"Curse your pride, " said that lady. "There. Now I've sworn at you. But it's your own fault. And how are you two goats going to work itout for yourselves? With one of you bleating at Nice, and theother--Heaven knows where--in England? D'you go to church, AnthonyLyveden?"

"I used to. "

"Then go again. Get to your knees and pray. Pray to be delivered fromblindness of heart, Anthony Lyveden. D'you hear? Blindness of heart. From pride, vainglory and hypocrisy. Not that you're hypocritical, butthey go together, and it'll do no harm. And I shall make Valerie go, and--and I shall pray for you both. "

Anthony slid off his hat and put her hand to his lips.... 

As he did so, the car sped past a red lodge and into a curling drive. 

Lady Touchstone sought for a pocket-handkerchief. 

"There's a tear on my nose, " she explained. "I can feel it. It's areal compliment, Anthony Lyveden. You're the very first man that'sever made Harriet Touchstone cry. "

The car swept to the steps. 

Anthony was down in a flash. Tenderly he handed her out.... 

By the time her aunt had alighted, Valerie was at the top of the steps. Anthony walked up to her steadily. Then he took off his hat. 

"I humbly apologize, " he said. "It was unpardonable. "

"You're right, " said Valerie quietly. "That's just what it was. "

As she spoke, a servant opened the door. 

Valerie turned on her heel and walked into the house. 

That same evening, when the others had gone to bed, Anthony called histerrier and set him upon his knee. 

"Patch, " he said, "I've come back to the fold. " As was his habit whenmystified, the terrier swallowed apologetically. "Is that too hard foryou, my fellow? Let me put it like this. Once there were just you andI, weren't there? A fool and his dog. Caring for nobody, nobodycaring for them, but to each other--just everything. " The Sealyhamlicked his face. "Then one day she came ... She. A wonderful, peerless creature, to dazzle the poor fool's eyes. And the fool justfell down and worshipped her. He didn't forget his little dog, Patch. He never did that. But--well, it wasn't the same. Of course not. Youmust have felt it sometimes.... But you're a good little chap. And Icouldn't help it, Patch. She--seemed--so--very--sweet.... I riskedyour life for her once. I did, really. " He paused to stare into thefire. Then he took a deep breath. "By Jove, if you'd gone... Ishould have been left now, shouldn't I? Properly carted. Well, well, old fellow, it's over now. Never again, Patch. The fool's learned hislesson. You'd never let me down, would you? No. But she has. Theysay it's a way women have. And I'm going to wash her right out of mylife, Patch. Right out. Now. "

He set the dog down, stretched out his arms wearily, and got upon hisfeet. The terrier leaped up and down as if he had been promised a walk. 

Anthony laughed. 

"So? You're pleased, are you? Ah, well... "

He turned out the gas, and the two passed upstairs. 

Anthony was as good as his word. 

You cannot kill Memory, but you can send the jade packing. That he didfaithfully. By sheer force of will he thrust all thoughts of Valerieout of his head. They returned ceaselessly, to be as ceaselesslyrejected. Their rejection took the form of displacement. They were, so to speak, crowded out. All day long he was for ever forcing hisattention upon some matter or other to the exclusion of the lady. Athousand times she came tripping--always he fobbed her off. Considering how much of late he had been content to drift with thestream, the way in which his mind bent to the oars was amazing. Hisoutput of mental energy was extraordinary. Will rode Brain with abloody spur. When night came, the man was worn out.... 

In the circumstances it was hard, though not surprising, that he shouldhave dreamed so persistently of the tall, dark girl. It suggests thatNature is an unscrupulous opponent. Be that as it may, night afternight, while the man slept, the tares were sown. Sleep, whom he hadcounted his ally, proved herself neutral. She was content to knit upthe sleeve of care. That her handmaidens as fast unravelled it wasnone of her business. After a week of this devilry, Anthony groaned. Then he set his teeth, and, pleading insomnia, obtained permission towalk abroad after supper. With Patch at his heels, he covered mileafter mile. So, though the mental strain was prolonged, he becamephysically played out. His determination had its reward. He came tosleep like the dead. 

With a sigh for his simplicity, Nature plucked another iron out of thefire.... 

Anthony began to lose weight. 

 * * * * *

Thursday afternoon came and went, and with it Lady Touchstone andValerie. The Bumbles were duly overwhelmed, treating their visitorswith an embarrassing deference which nothing could induce them todiscard: out of pure courtesy Lady Touchstone ate enough for aschoolboy; thereby doing much to atone for Valerie, who ate nothing atall: the Alisons respectfully observed the saturnalia and solemnlyreduced Mason to a state of nervous disorder by entertaining him in theservants' hall: Anthony kept out of the way. 

Not so Patch, however, who must, of course, put his small foot into itwith a splash. 

The visitors were in the act of emerging from the front door, Mrs. Bumble was dropping the second of three tremulous curtsies, and Mr. Bumble was offering the stirrup-cup of humble duty, when the terrieremerged from some laurels and, recognizing Valerie, rushed delightedlyto her side. Before she was aware of his presence, he was leaping tolick her face.... 

To disregard such unaffected benevolence would have been worse thanchurlish, and Valerie stooped to the Sealyham and gave him her cheek. Patch lay down on his back and put his legs in the air. His tail wasgoing, and there was a shy invitation in the bright brown eyes whichwas irresistible. Valerie hesitated. Then, on a sudden impulse, shepicked up the little white dog and held him close. 

"Good-bye, Patch, " she whispered. "Good-bye. "

She kissed the rough white head and put him down tenderly. Then shestepped into the car with a quivering lip. 

It was as the car was turning out of the drive that she burst intotears.... 

Such consolation as Lady Touchstone sought to administer was gently butfirmly declined: and, since her niece would have none of it, neither, gentlemen, shall you. 

It was a few hours later--to be exact, at a quarter before teno'clock--that a gentleman of some distinction laid down _The Times_. 

For a moment or two he sat still, looking into the fire. Then hepicked up a pile of depositions and drew a pencil-case from his pocket. For a while the occasional flick of a page argued his awful attentionto the recital of crime: then the keen grey eyes slid back to theglowing coals, and the longhand went by the board. It was evident thatthere was some extraneous matter soliciting his lordship's regard, andin some sort gaining the same because of its importunity. 

Mr. Justice Molehill was all alone. He had sent his marshal to thecinema, "lest the boy should grow dull, " and, except for the servants, somewhere below stairs, the great gaunt mansion used as the Judge'sLodging, lodged for the nonce no other inmate. 

The room in which the Judge sat was enormous. Indeed, the shaded lamp, set upon a table close to his shoulder, did little more than insistupon the depths of the chamber, which to illumine effectively you wouldhave needed a score of lamps slung from the ceiling. For all its size, however, the room was sparsely furnished. At the far end a huge carvedwriting-table loomed out of the shadows; six high-backed chairs rearedthemselves here and there against the walls; between prodigious windowsa gigantic press lifted its massive head. Reckoning the little tablebearing the lamp, and a pair of easy-chairs, that is a ready inventory. A heavy carpet and curtains of the same dull red certainly excluded thedraughts. For all that, it was not a chamber in which to sit apartfrom the fire. The marshal hated the place openly, and, on beingrallied by the Judge, had confessed that it "got on his nerves. " Hehad even suggested that it was haunted. Mr. Justice Molehill hadlaughed him to scorn. 

His lordship, then, was gazing upon the fire. After, perhaps, abouttwo minutes of time, he crossed his knees suddenly and flung up hishand in a little gesture of impatience. 

"Anthony Lyveden, " he muttered. "Where on earth have I heard thatname?"

The expression upon his face was that of a man absorbed in searchinghis memory. He was, indeed, so much engrossed in this occupation thatthe keen grey eyes went straying whither they listed. 

Let us follow those eyes. 

From the light of the fire in its cage to the toe of his lordship'spump, up to the chiselled mantel and the cigarette-box--themarshal's--perched on the narrow ledge, down to the heavy bell-pull bythe side of the hearth, on to a high-backed chair against the wall, down again to the floor--all black here, for the light is too distantto show the carpet's hue--on into the shadows, where something--thetable, of course--shows like a grim bas-relief hewn out of thedarkness, on to its ponderous top, where the candles... 

It was upon the top of the table that the keen grey eyes came torest--idly. The next moment his lordship's frame stiffened with ashock. 

The radiance of two wax candles was illuminating the bitterness ofdeath upon a man's face. It was an old face, long, gaunt, clean-shaven, and the ill-fitting wig that gaped about the shrunkentemples gave it the queer pinched look which tells of a starved belly. Eyes red-rimmed and staring, a long thin nose, and an unearthly pallormade it displeasing: the dropped jaw, showing the toothless gums, madeit repulsive. 

The hair upon Mr. Justice Molehill's head began to rise. 

For a moment the face stayed motionless. Then the grey lids flickered, and a trembling hand stole up out of the darkness to twitch at thelower lip. A paper upon the table appeared to claim the attention ofthose horrible eyes.... But not for long. Indeed, they had subjectedthe document to the very barest perusal, when, with a convulsivemovement, the creature clawed at the paper, tore it with ravening handsand, clapping the fragments to its distorted mouth, bit and savaged itlike a demoniac.... 

Hardened as he was to the spectacle of Rage dominant his lordship paledbefore this paroxysm of unearthly passion. All the agony ofdisappointed avarice, all the torment of mortification in defeat, allthe frenzy of impotent fury, blazed in one hideous blend out of thatfrightful countenance. Could he have moved, the Judge would havecrossed himself. 

Then suddenly came a change. The passion ebbed out of the face, thepaper fluttered out of the loosened fingers, the red-rimmed eyes tookon another look. Snail-slow the trembling hand was travelling acrossthe table.... 

Immediately between the silver candle-sticks lay a horse-pistol. Asthe fingers approached it, their trembling increased. Twice theyhesitated, craven flesh rebelling against a recreant will. They shookso frightfully upon encountering the butt that it seemed as if to graspit were beyond their power. Once they had seized it, however, thetrembling left them and passed into the hand.... 

With the approach of the weapon, the horror upon the face becameunspeakable. The eyes were starting, the mouth working painfully. Resolved to be rid of life, yet terrified to die, the wretch waswrithing. There never was seen so loathsome a paradox. Cowardice wasgone crusading. 

The Judge's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. 

With the assistance of the other hand, the pistol had been turnedabout, but head and hands were all shaking so violently that theintroduction of the muzzle into the gaping mouth was hardlyaccomplished. Twice cup missed lip, and the steel went jabbing againstthe ashen cheek. The next moment gums drummed on the metal with ahideous vibration. 

With a shock his lordship recognized the sound as one which he and themarshal had heard more than once at this hour, and, after discussion, had attributed to an idiosyncrasy of water under the influence of heat. 

That the supreme moment had arrived would have been patent from theeyes alone. Riveted upon the trigger-finger, squinting until thepupils were almost lost to view, they were the orbs of a fiend. Evenas the Judge gazed, the light of Insanity took flaming possession. Hell, grown impatient, had sent a sheriff for the usurer's soul.... 

With a dull crash the fire fell in, and the Judge started to his feetwith an oath. 

The candles were gone. 

The first thing which Mr. Justice Molehill did was to wipe the sweatfrom his face, and the second, to mix himself and consume the strongestwhisky and soda he had swallowed for years. Then, being a man of stoutheart, he picked up the lamp and walked to the writing-table at the endof the room. Here all was in order, and the closest scrutiny failed toreveal any trace of the vision. The chair was there, certainly, butits seat was dusty, and upon the table itself there was nothing at all. The curtain behind the chair, when disarranged, disclosed a window, heavily shuttered as usual, but nothing more. 

Now, his lordship disliked defeat as much as anybody, but if there wasone thing which he detested more than another, it was an inability toprove an excellent case. Looking at it from his point of view, he hadhere a personal experience at once as interesting and incredible as aman could fairly be expected to relate. The reflection was mostprovoking. So much so, indeed, that, after a moment's hesitation, theJudge picked up the chair and placed it upon the table. Then he bentdown and, thrusting his hands beneath the edge of the carpet, liftedthis up from the floor. The fabric was heavy, but he hauled with awill, and a moment later he was standing upon the boards he haduncovered. Thereafter, at the cost of a good deal of exertion, hemanaged to roll it back from the window as far as the table itself. Holding it in place with his knee, his lordship reached for the lamp.... 

It was his intention to discover whether the boards did not afford somereal evidence of the crime, and it is a matter for regret that, uponperceiving that the floor had been diligently stained all over withsome coffee-coloured preparation, for the second time in the eveninghis lordship swore. He was, in fact, in some dudgeon about to replacethe lamp, when the torn edge of paper, showing between two boards, caught his observant eye.... 

The fine handwriting was faded, but still quite legible. 

 _10th Jan. , 1789. _

_SIR, _

_Your letter leaves me no hope but that you have been most grosslybetrayed. Should you so desire, I will render you indisputable proofsthat the Marquess of Bedlington hath no need of funds, much less hathdelivered in any's favour a bond for the vast sum declared in yourletter. In a word, though the name subscribed to the bond be that ofBedlington, it was not the Marquess' hand that set it there. Who hathdone you this injury, I know not, but Time hath shown that hislordship's twin brother, Lord Stephen Rome, lately decd. , with whom theMarquess was justly at variance, more than once scrupled not to assumehis brother's person and title to compass his own ends.... _

At the mention of the twin brother, Mr. Justice Molehill raised hiskeen grey eyes to stare at the lamp. 

"Rome, " he said softly. "Rome. That's right. It was at the _GrandHotel_. And Anthony Lyveden was the name of the sole legatee. I knewI'd heard it before. "

 * * * * *

Mrs. Bumble's parlourmaid was counting upon her pink fingers. 

"Sunday twenty-eight, Monday twenty-nine, to-day thirty.... Yes. To-morrow's the first of December. "

George Alison regarded his wife. 

"Let us hope, " he said gloomily, "that it's a better month. In thecourse of the last four weeks I've had seventeen punctures, I'veendured a miscarriage of justice which has undoubtedly shortened mylife, and I've lost as good a pal as ever I struck. "

"To hear you speak, " said Betty, "any one would think that Anne and Ihad enjoyed ourselves. It's been just as bad for us. "

The chauffeur shook his head. 

"You rave, " he said shortly. "In the first place, what have you to dowith tires?"

"If we haven't had the punctures, " was the reply, "we've heard enoughabout them. "

"Yes, " said Anne. "It's been almost as bad as golf. 'What I did atthe fourteenth hole. '"

"In the second place, " said George, "women adore irregularity. I canconceive nothing more delectable to the feminine appetite than thespectacle of Justice derailed. The apotheosis of our esteemed friendand late colleague, Mr. Albert Morgan, has afforded you two moreindirect gratification than anything I can remember. "

"Gratification?" almost screamed the two girls. 

"Gratification, " said George. "If I'd come home and said he'd pleadedguilty and been sent down for five years, you'd have been alldepressed. In the third place----"

"Monstrous, " said Betty. "Don't laugh, Anne. As if the very thoughtof that man walking about free didn't make my blood boil. "

"It made it run cold last time, " observed her husband. "Same principleas a geyser, I suppose.... Well, as I was saying, in the third place, what was Anthony to you?"

"One of the best, " said Betty stoutly. "That's what he was. "

Her husband wrinkled his nose. 

"My point is that he was a man's pal. He was nice to you because he'dbeen properly brought up, but... "

Mournfully he passed his cup to be refilled. 

"Go on, " said Betty silkily. "I wouldn't miss this for anything. "

Suspiciously George regarded her. 

"Well, " he said defiantly, "he hadn't much use for women. "

Mrs. Alison turned to her sister-in-law and nodded scornfully at herhusband. 

"Our wiseacre, " she said. 

"All right, " said the chauffeur. "Don't you believe me. He as good astold me so the day before he left, but I suppose that doesn't count. "

Gurgling with merriment, his sister rose from the table and, comingbehind the speaker, set her hands on his shoulders. 

"And I suppose that's why he 'wished to leave the neighbourhood, '" shesaid, laying her cheek against his. "Betty and I were too much forhim. Which reminds me, Bet, you and I ought to go to Bell Hammer andtake those books back. "

Her brother screwed his head round and looked at her. 

"You're not suggesting that Valerie----"

"Sent him away?" said Anne. "Heaven knows. But he's just crazy abouther, isn't he, Bet?"

The parlourmaid nodded. 

"And she?" queried Alison. 

"Loves him to distraction, " said Anne. 

"Which is why she lets him push off?" said George. "I see. And Isuppose, if they'd hated one another like poison, they'd have beenmarried by now. You know, this is too easy. "

"Ah, " said Betty, with a dazzling smile, "but then, you see, womenadore irregularity. "

Her husband, who was in the act of drinking, choked with emotion. 

That the household was once more without a footman was a hard fact. Major Anthony Lyveden, D. S. O. , was gone. His period of service at TheShrubbery had come to an abrupt end upon the previous day. His noticehad not expired, but when he received an offer which was conditionalupon his immediate departure from Hawthorne, he had laid the factsbefore Mr. Bumble and left two days later. All efforts to persuade himto leave an address were unavailing. This was a pity, for, ten minutesafter he and Patch had left for the station, there had arrived for hima letter from a firm of solicitors that numbered many distinguishedclients, and The Honourable Mr. Justice Molehill among them. 

Since Anthony will never read that letter, neither will we. We willleave it where it is now, where it will lie, I dare say, until thecrack of doom--behind the overmantel in the servants' parlour, gentlemen, with its back to the wall. 

Anthony, then, was gone, and Patch with him. The Judge had been gonesome time. Mr. Morgan also had left the neighbourhood, and was earninggood money in the West End by the simple expedient of wearing the Monsmedal, to which, never having seen "service, " he was not entitled, andperambulating the gutters of South Kensington with a child in his arms. The child was heavy and cost him sixpence a day, but, as an incentiveto charity, it left the rendering of "Abide with Me, " upon which Mr. Morgan had previously relied, simply nowhere. 

Lady Touchstone and Valerie were still at Bell Hammer. More than oncethe latter had revived her suggestion of a visit to the South ofFrance. Each time Valerie had applauded the idea and then promptlyswitched the conversation on to another topic.... Women understandwomen, and with a sigh her aunt resigned herself to the prospect of awinter in Hampshire. Return to Town she would not. London was notwhat it had been, and the vanities of the metropolis fell dismallyshort of the old pre-War standard. You were robbed, too, openly, wherever you went. With tears in their eyes, shopkeepers offered youstones instead of bread, and charged you for fishes. Besides, unemployment was booming, routs were frequent, rioting was in theair.... Lady Touchstone decided that, if she was not to snuff thezephyrs of Nice, the smell of the woods of Bell Hammer was good enoughfor her nostrils. 

If Lyveden had lost weight, Miss French had gained none. The blow thathad fallen all but a month ago had hit her as hard as him. Yet, of thetwo, her plight was less evil. Each of them had dropped in theirtracks, which is to say that, while Lyveden had fallen upon the roughground of bare existence. Miss French had fallen into the lap ofluxury. 

I am prepared to be told that this should have made no difference--thatcreature comforts cannot minister to a broken heart. But, sirs, theflesh and the spirit are thicker than that. The iron must have entereduncommon deep into the soul for the body no longer to care whether thebath-water run hot or cold. 

For all that, the girl was desperately unhappy. That she should havebeen bracketed with Anne was bad enough; that they should have beenwooed in the same nest, to say the least, smacked more of business thanof love: that it was her nest, of which, of her love, she had made theman free, was infamous. It was such treatment as she would not haveexpected at the hands of a counter-jumper--a deserter--a satyr. Possibly a satyr in a weak moment might have fallen so low. ButAnthony was not a satyr. And deserters are not, as a rule, recommendedfor the D. S. O. To suggest that he was a counter-jumper was equallyridiculous. He was a most attractive gallant gentleman. This made hisbehaviour infinitely more discreditable. It was a sordid, demoralizingbusiness.... 

And that, gentlemen, is what a hot bath will do. 

Now look on this picture. 

Valerie lay as she had flung herself, face downward upon the bed. Savethat one satin slipper had fallen off, she was fully dressed. One barewhite arm pillowed her brow, covering her eyes--mercifully. Let ustouch that gleaming shoulder. See? It is cold as ice. That littleslipperless foot.... Cold as any stone. But then it is the month ofDecember, and she has lain so for two hours. Two hours of agony. Shecan remember every look those steady grey eyes of Lyveden's have evergiven her, and in the last two hours she has remembered them all. Inchby inch she has gone over the playground of their hearts: word by wordshe has recited their conversations: she has gathered great posies ofdead blossoms, because they once smelled so sweet: she has trodden thelanes of Memory to her most grievous wounding, because they are stillso dear.... 

Then there were other times, when Pride had her in a strait-jacket, andthe very thought of Anthony made her eyes blaze. 

She had been walking herself out of one of these moods, and wastramping rather wearily through the twilight and up the long drive, when the cough of a motor-horn behind her made her start to one side. The next moment a car flashed past.... 

It was the local doctor's Renault. 

Valerie's heart stood still. 

The next moment she was running like a deer.... 

The car beat her all ends up, and by the time she had reached thesteps, the front door was shut. She pealed the bell frantically.... 

To the footman who answered it--

"What's the matter?" she panted. "Who's ill?"

"Miss Alison, miss. I think it's a broken leg. She an' Mrs. Alison'ad been to tea with 'er ladyship, an', as she was leavin', she----"

"Don't keep saying 'she, '" snapped Valerie. "Say 'Miss Alison. 'And--and bring me some fresh tea. In the library. "

She swept past the bewildered servant and disappeared. 

The mills of God were off. 

 * * * * *

Twenty-four hours had gone by. 

All this time the mills had been grinding steadily, and the grain, which had been awaiting their pleasure for exactly one calendar month, was beginning to disappear. After a while Valerie had come to realizethat her pride was to be reduced to powder, and that there was nothingfor it but to submit to the process with the best grace she could. Notevery woman would have reasoned so wisely: few would have given totheir decision such faithful effect. You will please remember that anyreduction of her pride seemed to Valerie extraordinarily unjust. Thatthere was stuff other than pride in the grist never occurred to her. 

It was the evening, then, of the day after the accident, and the twogirls were alone in the pleasant bedroom whither Anne had been carriedthe day before, and where she was like to spend the next six weeks ofher existence. The patient was wearing one of Valerie's night-gownsand looking very nice in it. She was also smoking one of Valerie'scigarettes, and, so resilient is youth, chattering merrily between thepuffs. 

"Lady Touchstone was wonderful. She knew my leg was broken before Idid. Almost before I knew where I was, she had my head in her lap andwas telling me to lie quite still and hang on to her hand for all I wasworth. 'You'll find it a great help, ' she said. 'I know I did. Andif you know any bad words, say them. ' For all the pain, I couldn'thelp laughing. And then she told me how she'd broken her leg in thehunting field, and the vicar was the first to get to her, and how shehung on to him and made him feed her with bad language till helparrived. And, when I tried to say I was sorry, she said the butlerdeserved six months for not having the steps sanded, and asked me, ifyou and she tried to make me comfortable while I was your guest, if I'dtry to forgive you.... "

"That's the only possible way to look at it, " said Valerie. "It's allour servants' fault, and we're only too thankful to be able----"

"You're very sweet, " said Anne wistfully. "But to be saddled with mefor six weeks----"

"Hush!" said Valerie, with a grave smile. "You promised not to talklike that. "

Anne Alison sighed. 

"It is unfortunate, though, " she said. "I can't think what they'll doat The Shrubbery. If only Anthony hadn't just left.... You knew he'dgone, didn't you?"

Valerie shook her head. 

"I knew he was going, " she said. 

"He left on Monday, " said Anne. "We're all heart-broken. He waswonderful to work with, and nobody could help liking him. George isdesperate about it. Being a man, you see.... Besides, they were a lottogether. On the car, I mean. Off duty we never saw much of him. Heliked being alone. I think I'm the only one he went for a walk withall the time he was there. And then Betty sent him. He'd never seenthe view from The Beacon, so I took him. He was bored stiff, and wegot soaked coming home, but he was very nice and polite about it. Healways was. And now, I suppose----"

"The Beacon?" said Valerie faintly. "Where--where's The Beacon?"

"I don't know what its real name is, " said Anne. "We always call it'The Beacon. ' You must know it. That very high place in Red King Walk, where the cliff goes sheer down.... "

Valerie tried to speak, but no words would come. Something seemed tobe gripping her by the throat. The walls of the room, too, wereclosing in, and there was a strange, roaring noise--like that of millsworking.... 

With a terrific effort she fought unconsciousness away.... 

_Her--their nest then, was, after all, inviolate. He had never takenAnne there. Betty had sent him. And--he had--been bored--stiff.... _

It was as if a mine had been sprung beneath the spot upon which hadbeen dumped her emotions of the last two months, blowing some to atoms, bringing to light others that had lain buried. Out of the wrack, joy, shame, fear fell at her feet--and a sentence out of a letter wasstaring her in the face. 

"_His explanation will shame you, of course, but take the lesson toheart. _"

"I wonder, " she said shakily, "if you could give me Major Lyveden'saddress. "

"I would, like a shot, " said Anne heartily, "but he wouldn't leave one. "

Again the rumble of those labouring mills came swelling out of thesilence into a roar that was thunderous, brain-shaking.... For amoment of time they pounded the understanding mercilessly.... Then, all of a sudden, the machinery stopped. 

The corn was ground. 

CHAPTER VI

THE COMFORT OF APPLES

Anthony was healthily tired. So much so, in fact, that he was sorelytempted to retire to bed without more ado. On reflecting, however, that at least twenty minutes must elapse before his faithful digestioncould also rest from its labours, he lighted a pipe slowly andthen--afraid to sit down, lest he should fall asleep--leaned his tiredback against a side of the enormous fireplace and folded his arms. 

It is probable that the chamber which his eyes surveyed was more thanfour hundred years old. That it was at once his hall, kitchen, andparlour, is undeniable. One small stout wall contained the front doorand the window, a third part of which could be induced to open, but wasto-night fast shut. Another hoisted the breakneck staircase which ledto the room above. A third stood blank, while the fourth was just wideenough to frame the tremendous fireplace, which, with its twochimney-corners, made up a bay nearly one half the size of the littleroom it served. The ceiling, itself none too high, was heavy withpunishing beams, so that a tall man must pick and choose his station ifhe would stand upright; and the floor was of soft red brick, a littlesunken in places, but, on the whole, well and truly laid. 

A cupboard under the stairs served as a larder and store-room; a flapbeneath the window made a firm table; in spite of their age, a Windsorand a basket chair, when called upon, satisfactorily discharged theduties for which they were contrived. A battered foot-bath did more. In a word, it received platters and knives and forks which neededcleansing, and in due season delivered them cleansed; of a Sundaymorning it became a terrier's tub; and upon one afternoon in the week avessel in which clothes were washed. 

Since this was all the furniture, the place looked bare. As aliving-room it left much to be desired; but, since Major AnthonyLyveden did not live in it, that did not trouble him. He used theroom, certainly--he was using it now; nightly he slept above it--but helived in the open air. 

This was patent from the look of him. 

Wind, rain, and sun set upon their favourites a mark which there is nomistaking. Under the treatment of these three bluff specialists thehandsome face had in a short month become a picture. In all his lifethe ex-officer had never looked so well. 

It was when he had given his late master notice and had twenty-onepounds in the world that Lyveden had seen the advertisement--

_A solitary existence, hard work, long hours, £3 a week, fuel, abachelor's unfurnished lodging, and an open-air life is offered to anex-officer: the job has been considered and abusively rejected by fiveex-other ranks on the score that it is "not good enough"; as anex-officer myself, I disagree with them; incidentally, I can pay nomore; sorry to have to add that applicants must be physically fit. Write, Box 1078, c/o "The Times, " E. C. 4. _

Immediately he had applied by telegram, paying for a reply.... 

Three days later he and Patch had emerged from the London train intothe keen night air of Chipping Norton. 

There on the platform to meet him had stood his new employer--atremendous figure of a man, with the eyes of an explorer and thephysique of an Atlas, and, after a little delay, Lyveden had foundhimself seated in a high dog-cart, which, in the wake of an impatientroan, was bowling along over the cold white roads, listening to thesteady deep voice foretelling his fate. 

"We're going to Girdle. I've taken a room at the inn there for youto-night. Your cottage is two miles from there. I'll show you the wayand meet you there in the morning--at half-past eight, please. It'swater-tight--I had the thatch tended this year--and it's got its ownwell--good water. It's in the park, by the side of the London road, soyou won't be too lonely. Now, your work. Woodman, road-maker, joiner, keeper, forester, gardener--that's what I want. " Anthony's brainreeled. "That's what I am myself. Listen. I've inherited thisestate, which has been let go for over a hundred years. There isn't afoot of fencing that isn't rotten, a road that you can walk on, abridge that is safe. The woods--it's all woodland--have gone toblazes. I want to pull it round.... Fifty R. E. 's and a LabourBattalion is what it wants, but that's a dream. I've tried the obviousway. I asked for tenders for mending a twelve-foot bridge. The lowestwas seventy pounds. I did it myself, single-handed, in seven days.... I've saved my stamps since then. Well, I've got a small staff. "Anthony heaved a sigh of relief. "Two old carters, two carpenters, three magnificent sailors--all deaf, poor chaps--and a little lameengineer. But I haven't an understudy.... I hope you'll like it, andstay. It's a man's life. "

"I like the sound of it, " said Lyveden. "What are you on now?"

"Road-making at the moment. The fence is the most important, but theroads are so bad we can't get the timber through. It's all sawnready--we've got a toy saw-null--but we can't carry it. You see... "

The speaker's enthusiasm had been infectious. Lyveden had foundhimself violently interested in his new life before he had entered uponit. 

The next day he had accepted the tiny cabin as his future home, and hadhad a fire roaring upon the hearth before nine o'clock. ColonelWinchester, who had expected to lodge him at Girdle for the best partof a week, had abetted his determination to take immediate possessionwith a grateful heart, presenting his new tenant with some blankets andan excellent camp-bed, and putting a waggon at his disposal for therest of the day. Seven o'clock that evening had found Anthony and hisdog fairly installed in their new quarters. 

And now a month had gone by--to be exact, some thirty-four days, thebiggest ones, perhaps, in all Lyveden's life. In that short space oftime the man whose faith had frozen had become a zealot. 

Five thousand acres of woodland and the fine frenzy of an HomericQuixote had wrought the miracle. Of course the soil was good, and hadbeen ruthlessly harrowed and ploughed into the very pink of conditionto receive such seed. For months Lyveden's enterprise had beenstifled: for months Necessity had kept his intellect chained to apantry-sink: such ambition as he had had was famished. To crown itall, Love had lugged him into the very porch of Paradise, to slam thegates in his face.... Mind and body alike were craving for someimmense distraction. In return for board and lodging for his terrierand himself, the man would have picked oakum--furiously: but not inHampshire. That was the county of Paradise--Paradise Lost. 

As we have seen, the bare idea of the employment had found favour inLyveden's eyes, and, before they had been together for half an hour, the personality of Winchester had taken him by the arm. When, two dayslater, master and man strode through the splendid havoc of the woods, where the dead lay where they had fallen, and the quick were wrestlingfor life, where the bastard was bullying the true-born, and kings weremobbed by an unruly rabble--dogs with their paws upon the table, eatingthe children's bread--where avenues and glades were choked withthickets, where clearings had become brakes, and vistas and prospectswere screened by aged upstarts that knew no law; when they followed thebroken roads, where fallen banks sprawled on the fairway, and thelaborious rain had worn ruts into straggling ditches, where culvertshad given way and the dammed streams had spread the track with wastingpools, where sometimes time-honoured weeds blotted the very memory ofthe trail into oblivion; when they stood before an old grey mansion, with what had once been lawns about it and the ruin of a great cedarhard by its side, its many windows surveying with a grave stare thewreck and riot of the court it kept--then for the first time AnthonyLyveden heard the sound of the trumpets. 

The physical attraction, no doubt, of the work to be done was crookinga beckoning finger. To pass his time among these glorious woods, tohave a healthy occupation which would never be gone, to enjoy andprovide for his dog a peaceful possession of the necessities of life, was an alluring prospect. 

Yet this was not the call the trumpets had wound. That distant silveryflourish was not of the flesh. It was the same fanfare that has sentmen to lessen the mysteries of the unknown world, travel the tracklessearth, sail on uncharted seas, trudge on eternal snows, to sweat andshiver under strange heavens, grapple with Nature upon the Dame's ownground and try a fall with the Amazon--with none to see fair play--forthe tale of her secrets. 

Anthony's imagination pricked up its flattened ears.... 

Gazing upon the crookedness about him, he saw it straightened: lookingupon the rough places, he saw them made plain. He saw the desolationbanished, the wilderness made glad. He saw the woods ordered, thebroken roads mended, the bridges rebuilt, streams back in their beds, vistas unshuttered, avenues cleared.... He saw himself striving, oneof a little company sworn to redeem the stolen property. Man had wonit by the sweat of his brow--his seal was on it yet--that greatreceiver Nature must give it up. It was not the repair of an estatethat they would compass; it was the restoration of the kingdom of man. 

Marking the light in his employee's eyes, Colonel Winchester could haveflung up his cap. Opening his heart, he spoke with a rough eloquenceof the great days the place had seen, of lords and ladies who had sleptat the house, of coaches that had rumbled over that broken bridge, of atroop ambushed at the bend of the avenue, of a duel fought upon thatsometime sward.... 

"The world 'd think me mad. In the clubs I used to belong to they'dremember that I was always a bit of a crank. To the Press I should bea curio worth three lines and a photograph of the 'Brigadier BreaksStones' order. But there's a zest to the job you won't find in PallMall. There's an encouragement to go ahead that you seldom strike inthis world. There's a gratitude the old place'll hand you that noreporter could ever understand.... "

It was true. 

As the short days went tearing by, the spirit of the place entered intoAnthony's soul. He laboured thirstily, yet not so much laboured aslaid his labour as a thank-offering at his goddess's feet. He countedhimself happy, plumed himself on his selection for the office, thankedGod nightly. But that he needed the pay, he would not have touched it. As it was, a third of it went into his tool-bag. The appallingmagnitude of the task never worried him--nor, for the matter of that, his fellow-workers. Master and men went toiling from dawn to duskunder a spell, busy, tireless as gnomes, faithful as knights to theirtrust. Their zeal was quick with the devotion to a cause that went outwith coat-armour. Rough weather might chill one iron, but another wasplucked from the fire ere the first was cold. There never was seensuch energy. Place and purpose together held them in thrall. Hadencouragement been needed, the death of every day showed some materialgain. Foot by foot the kingdom was being restored. 

Whether the goddess of the estate had charmed Patch also, it is not forme to say. He was certainly a happy fellow. Life had apparentlydeveloped into one long, glorious ramble, which nothing but nightfallcould curtail. To his delight, too, Anthony and the other men showedan unexpected and eventful interest in stones and boughs and ditchesand drains, and sometimes they even dragged trees along the ground forhim to bark at. It is to be hoped that he also expressed his gratitudeof nights...... 

If he has not done so this night, it is too late now, for he isstretched upon the warm bricks in a slumber which will allow of noorisons this side of to-morrow. 

Let us take his tip, gentlemen. The night is young, I know, butAnthony has been abroad since cock-crow. Besides, I have led you apretty dance. You have, in fact, tramped for miles--'tis two and anodd furlong to the old grey house alone--and the going is ill, as youknow, and the night, if young, is evil. A whole gale is coming, andthe woods are beside themselves. The thrash of a million branches, thehoarse booming of the wind, lend to the tiny chamber an air of comfortsuch as no carpets nor arras could induce. The rain, too, is hasteningto add its insolence to the stew. That stutter upon the pane is itsadvance-guard.... 

Did you hear that dull crash, gentlemen? Or are your ears notpractised enough to pluck it out of the welter of rugged harmony? Itwas an elm, sirs, an old fellow, full of years, gone to his long home. For the last time the squirrels have swung from his boughs: for thelast time the rooks have sailed and cawed about his proud old head. To-morrow there will be another empty stall in that majestic quirewhich it has taken Time six hundred years to fill.... 

The distant crash brought Lyveden out of a sleep-ridden reverie. For asecond he listened intently, as if he hoped that he had been mistaken, and that the sound he had heard had been but a trick of the wind. Thenhe gave a short sigh and knocked out his pipe. 

 * * * * *

"And you've had no answer?" said the Judge, snapping a wafer betwixthis fingers and thumb. 

His guest shook his head. Then he hastened to enlighten thewine-waiter, who had been about to refill his glass with port and hadconstrued the gesture as a declension of the nectar. 

"Never a line, " he said shortly. "Of course the letter may never havereached him. But, if it did, he may not have thought it worth while... I mean, I wrote very guardedly. "

"Naturally, " said the Judge, "naturally. Still, I should havethought... "

The two men sat facing each other across a small mahogany table fromwhich the cloth had been drawn. The surface thus exposed gave backsuch light as fell upon it enriched and mellowed. In this it wastypical of the room, which turned the common air into an odour ofluxury. 

Servants, perfectly trained, faultlessly groomed, stepped noiselesslyto and fro, handing dishes, replenishing glasses, anticipating desires. A tremendous fire glowed in its massive cage; a crimson carpet andcurtains of almost barbaric gravity contributed to the admirabletemperature and deadened unruly noise. A brace of shaded candles toeach small table made up nine several nebulae, whose common radianceprovoked an atmosphere of sober mystery, dim and convenient. Light sosubdued subdued in turn the tones of the company of hosts and visitors. Conversation became an exchange of confidences; laughter was soft andlow; the murmurous blend of talk flowed unremarked, yet comforted theear. The flash of silver, the sparkle of glass, the snow of napery, gladdened the eye. No single circumstance of expediency wasunobserved, no detail of propriety was overlooked. Pomp lay in alitter which he had borrowed of Ease. 

"Shall I write again?" said the solicitor. 

Mr. Justice Molehill stared at his port. After a moment--

"No, " he said slowly. "Not at present, at any rate. I don't want topush the matter, because I've got so very little to go on. In movingat all, I'm laying myself open to the very deuce of a snub. "

"I shall get the snub, " said his guest. "But that's what I'm paid for. Besides, I'm fairly hardened. "

That he evinced not the slightest curiosity regarding his mysteriousinstructions argued a distinction between the individual and theadviser, firmly drawn and religiously observed. For a Justice of theKing's Bench suddenly to be consumed by a desire to know the names ofthe uncles of somebody else's footman smacked of collaboration byGilbert and Chardenal. Once, however, the solicitor knew his client, he asked no questions. Reticence and confidence were in his eyesequally venerable. Usually he had his reward. He had it now. 

"In the spring, " said his companion, "of 1914 I went to Sicily. On myway back I stopped for one night at Rome. The day I left, while I wasresting after luncheon, the manager of the hotel brought a priest to myroom--a Catholic priest of some position, I fancy--an Englishman. Ican't remember his name. He spoke very civilly, and begged my instantattention. 

"An old Englishman, it seemed, lay dying upon the first floor. He wasall alone--no relations--no servant. He could speak no Italian. Realizing that he was dying, he was frantic to make a will. Hisfrenzied attempts to convey this desire to the attendant doctor hadresulted in the latter dashing into the street and stopping andreturning with the first priest he encountered. This happened to be myfriend. Upon beholding him, the patient, who had hoped for a lawyer, had turned his face to the wall. Then, to his relief, he found that, though a priest, yet he was English, and begged him to fetch anattorney. The priest hurried to the manager, and the manager broughthim to me.... 

"You know how much I know about wills. All the same, argument was notto be thought of. To the laity, solicitor, lawyer, barrister, andattorney are synonymous terms. Moreover, they are all will-wrights. Ajudge is a sort of shop-steward.... 

"Well, I drew one. To tell you the truth, I don't think it was so bad. I attended the poor man. I took his instructions. And there and thenin the sickroom I drew the will upon a sheet of notepaper. He signedit in my presence and that of the priest. The latter then took chargeof it, with a view to getting it stamped next morning at the BritishConsulate. We both had some hazy idea that that was desirable. 

"I left Rome the same night. 

"Gradually--we've all had a lot to think about in the last sevenyears--I forgot the whole incident. Then, some two months ago, when Iwas at Brooch, a fellow gives evidence before me in a burglary case. Afootman called Anthony Lyveden. For a long time I couldn't imaginewhere I'd heard the names before. Then something--I'll tell you whatin the smoking-room--brought it all back. Anthony Lyveden was thenephew of the man whose will I made, and he was named as the solelegatee. 

"In a way it's no affair of mine, and yet I feel concerned. I'll tellyou why. That footman was a gentleman born. Moreover, he was down onhis luck. He didn't look like a fellow who'd run through money, and Ithink the old testator was pretty rich. He gave that impression. Andfor a will made in such circumstances to go astray it would be easyenough--obviously. The devil of it is, except for the name of Lyveden, I can remember nothing else. "

The solicitor sipped his port. Then--

"A search at Somerset House, " he said slowly, "should give us themaiden surname of Anthony Lyveden's mother. If she had a brother.... "

Sir Giles Molehill raised his eyes and sighed. 

"And it never occurred to me, " he said. "It's high time I went to theCourt of Appeal. "

Two days later his lordship received a letter informing him that asearch at Somerset House had revealed the fact that a son named Anthonyhad been born upon the fourteenth of January, 1891, to a Mrs. KatharineLyveden, formerly _Roach_. 

As he read it, the Judge exclaimed audibly. 

The note which he wrote there and then shall speak for itself. 

_DEAR BLITHE, _

_Roach was the surname of the testator. Please go on. When you cansubmit a Christian name to my memory, please do so. I am not sure thatit will respond, but we can try. _

 _Yours sincerely, GILES MOLEHILL. _

 * * * * *

When Anthony Lyveden had been for a week at Gramarye, he hadreluctantly posted a letter containing his new address. This he haddone because he had promised to do it. As the letter had fallen intothe box, he had prayed fervently, but without the faintest hope, thatit might never be delivered. A galley-slave who has broken ship andwon sanctuary does not advertise his whereabouts with a light heart. He may be beyond pursuit, yet--he and the galley are both of thisworld; things temporal only keep them apart, and if the master camepricking, with a whip in his belt.... You must remember that Anthonyhad been used very ill. At first, bound to the oar of Love, he hadpulled vigorously and found the sea silken, his chains baubles. Then astorm had arisen. In his hands the docile oar had become a ragingtermagant, and, when he would have been rid of it, the baubles hadopposed his will. He had been dragged and battered unspeakably. Overall, the lash had been laid upon his bare shoulders; and that with anicety of judgment which should have been foreign to so white a wristand to eyes that could look so tender. Now that he had escaped out ofhell, it was not surprising that he was loth to discover his refuge. Still, a promise must be respected.... 

For that matter, supplications do not always go empty away. The answerto Anthony's came in the shape of a fire which attacked the last coachbut one upon a London train and partially destroyed two mailbags beforeits flames were subdued. It follows that, though he did not know it, such friends as the ex-officer had knew no more where he was than didthe man in the moon. 

It is here convenient, believe me, to go imagining. 

We have looked into Anthony's mind at the hour when he posted hisletter. Had he posted it this nineteenth day of January, instead ofsix weeks ago, and we, as before, peered into his brain-pan, we shouldhave found his supplication that the missive might go astray even moreurgent. We should have noted that, while he was just as fearful to bereminded of the galley and the tall dark ganger with the red, red mouthand the merciless thong, he also viewed with alarm the possibility ofany distraction from his work. The galley-slave was become a votary. 

Let us be quite clear about it. 

Anthony had come to Gramarye to try to forget. In this he was steadilyunsuccessful. At the end of a month he had not advanced one inch. Hislove for Valerie was as breathless, haunting, wistful as it had everbeen. The whole of the kingdom of his heart was hers alone, and, sofar as he could see, like to remain hers only for the rest of his life. Since, therefore, he could not dispatch Memory, he sought to immureher. Since Valerie's sovereignty was so fast stablished that it couldnot be moved, he sought to rule his heart out of his system. Had itbeen possible, he would, like Aesop's Beaver, have ripped the memberfrom him and gone heartless ever after. The Fabulous Age being dead, Anthony made the best shift he could, and strove to bury kingdom andqueen together so deep within him that their existence should nottrouble his life. If he could not put out the light, he would hide itunder a bushel. It occurred to him that his mind, appropriatelyoccupied, should make an excellent bushel--appropriately occupied.... He resolved that Gramarye should have his mind. Of this he would makea kingdom, mightier and more material than that of his heart. Thetrouble was, his mind, though more tractable, liked Valerie'soccupation, found it desirable, and clung to its present tenant for allit was worth. By no means dismayed, Anthony, as before, had recourseto ejection by crowding out.... Two things, however, made this attemptmore formidable. First, he did not have to be for ever scouring thehighways and hedges for a new tenantry; Gramarye was always at hand. Secondly, though Anthony did not know it, _there was no need forGramarye to be compelled to come in_. He was pressing an invitationupon one who had invited herself. The hooded personality of the placehad stolen up to the door: already its pale fingers were lifting thelatch.... Before he had been in the Cotswolds for seven weeks, she hadthrust and been thrust into the doorway. 

It was the thin end of the wedge. 

Each passing day fell upon the wedge like the stroke of a hammer. Sometimes they drove it: oftener the wedge stayed still where it was. But it never slipped back. When it was stubbornest, and the daysseemed to lose their weight, when Valerie's hold seemed indefeasible, when the woods were quick with memory, when Anthony heard an old faintsigh in the wind, and the laughter of a brook fluted the note of a softfamiliar voice, then more than once that strange, cool, silvery callhad stolen out of the distance, to melt upon the air as soon as utteredand leave its echoes at play upon the edge of earshot.... Before theechoes had died, the wedge would have moved. 

For a master at once so tireless and so devotedly served, ColonelWinchester handled his team with a prudence which must have chafed hisinfatuation to the bone. Of every week, five and a half days did theylabour and not an hour more. No matter how loudly a chore called forcompletion, no matter how blackly wind and weather were threatening thehalf-done work, upon Wednesday afternoon and Sunday not an axe waslifted, not a cord hitched, not a nail driven. It was a wise rule andfruitful. The Sabbath rest leavened the labour of the week. As forthe midweek breathing space, the men were not monks; however zealoustheir studies of the lilies of the field, the provision of meat andraiment must have some crumbs of consideration... 

It was, indeed, these two commodities which had taken Lyveden to Girdlethis January day. The milkman, the baker, the grocer, had all to beinterviewed and paid. A kindly farmer's wife, who baked fresh meat forhim and sent it thrice a week to his cottage in the shape of a coldpasty, had to be visited and made to accept payment for a slab of sweetfresh butter he had not asked for. A little linen had to be pickedup.... 

By half-past three Anthony's errands were run. He had dealt with themquickly, for there was work waiting at the cottage; a load of fuel hadto be stacked, and Patch had been bogged that morning and was, consequently, fit neither to be seen nor smelt. Besides, there was abook about forestry which Winchester had lent him.... Anthony bent hissteps homeward eagerly enough. 

As he left the village, a horsewoman overtook him, shot him a sharpglance, and passed ahead. Her habit was mired, and it was evident thatshe had had a fall hunting. That Anthony did not remark this wasbecause he was regarding her horse. There was nothing unusual aboutthe animal, but of the two beings it alone touched his attention. IfValerie was like to be buried, at least she had killed all other womenstone dead. 

It was consequently in some annoyance that, upon rounding the secondbend of the infamous Gallowstree Hill, he saw the lady before him withher mount across the road, placidly regarding a hunting-crop which layupon the highway. As he came up--

"Would you be so good?" said the girl. 

"With pleasure. "

Anthony picked up the crop and offered it. As he did so, the horsebecame restive, and there was quite a substantial bickering before hismistress could accept the whip. Anthony, if he thought about it atall, attributed the scene to caprice. In this he was right, yet wrong. Caprice was the indirect reason. The direct cause was the heel of alittle hunting-boot adroitly applied to a somewhat sensitive flank. There is no doubt at all that Anthony had a lot to learn. 

Out of the broil stepped Conversation lightly enough. 

"You must forgive us both, " said the lady, turning her mount towardsGramarye. "We've had a bad day. Quite early on we took the deuce of atoss, and I lost him. A labourer caught him, and then let him goagain. By the time I'd got him, the hounds were miles away. I'd never've believed it was possible to go so fast or so far as I did and neverhear of them. After two solid hours I gave it up. "

Anthony was walking by her side, listening gravely. 

"What a shame!" he said. Then: "I hope you weren't hurt. "

"Shoulder's a bit stiff. I fell on the point. But a hot bath'll putthat right. D'you live here?"

"About a mile on. At Gramarye. "

The girl stared at him. 

"Gramarye?"

"Not at the house, " said Anthony. "I live in the cottage at thesouth-west end of the park. "

"Oh, I know. D'you work there, then?"

Anthony nodded. 

"That's my job. "

"So you're Major Lyveden?" said the girl. 

Anthony looked up. 

"How did you know?" he said. 

A pair of large brown eyes regarded him steadily. Then the red lipsparted, and André Strongi'th'arm flung back her handsome head andlaughed merrily. 

"Did you think, " she said, panting, "did you really think that youcould come to dwell in the parish of Girdle, and the fact escape thenotice of the other parishioners?" She hesitated, and a suggestion ofmockery crept into her voice. "Or are you too wrapped up in the estateto think about anything else?"

"I believe I am, " said Anthony. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Miss Strongi'th'arm with an elaboratecourtesy. "Thank you very much for enduring me for three minutes. IfI'd----"

Her hunter broke into a trot. 

"No, no, " cried Anthony, running beside her. "Please walk again. " Shepulled the horse up. "I didn't mean to be rude. I meant----"

"I should leave it alone, " said André. "You'll only make it worse. You're much too honest. Besides, I love the country, and I--I think, "she added dreamily, "I can understand. "

"Can you?"

The eagerness in Anthony's voice was arrestingly pathetic, and Andréstarted at the effect of her idle words. 

"I--I think so. I've given water to a thirsty plant.... I suppose thegratitude of a landscape... "

"That's it, " said Lyveden excitedly. "You've got it in one. The placeis so pathetically grateful for every stock and stone you set straight, that you just can't hold your hand. And all the time the work's sofascinating that you don't deserve any thanks. You seem to get deeperin debt every day. You're credited with every cheque you draw. If Istopped, it'd haunt me. "

"It is plain, " said André, "that, when you die, 'Gramarye' will begraven upon your heart. All the same, are you sure you were meant forthis? Aren't there things in life besides the straightening of stocksand stones?"

"The War's over, " said Lyveden. 

"I know. But there was a world before 1914. I think your occupation'swonderful, but isn't it a little unnatural--unfair to yourself andothers--to give it the whole of your life? As estates go, I fancy thepossibilities of Eden were even more amazing than those of Gramarye--Idaresay you won't admit that, but then you're biassed--and yet theintroduction of Eve was considered advisable. "

"With the result that ... "

Miss Strongi'th'arm laughed. 

"With the result that you and I are alive this glorious day, with ourdestinies in our pockets and the great round world at our feet. Iwonder whether I ought to go into a nunnery. "

"I've tried kicking the world, " said Anthony, "and I'm still lame fromit. And Fate picked my pocket months and months ago. "

"So Faint Heart turned into the first monastery he came to, " saidAndré, leaning forward and caressing her hunter's neck. "What d'youthink of that, Joshua?"

As if by way of comment, the horse snorted, and Anthony found himselfjoining in Miss Strongi'th'arm's mirth. 

"There's hope for you yet, " gurgled that lady. "Your sense of humouris still kicking. And that under the mud appears to be a scrap of adog. When you take your final vows, will you give him to me?"

"In my monastery, " said Lyveden, "monks are allowed to keep dogs. There is also no rule against laughter. "

"Isn't there, now?" flashed André. "I wonder why? There's no ruleagainst idleness either, is there?" She laughed bitterly. "Rules aremade to cope with inclinations. Where there's no inclination----" Shebroke off suddenly and checked her horse. Setting her hand uponLyveden's shoulder, she looked into his eyes. "You laughed just now, didn't you? When did you last laugh before that?"

Anthony stared back. The girl's intuition was uncanny. Now that hecame to think of it, Winchester and his little band never laughed overtheir work--never. There was--she was perfectly right--there was noinclination. Eagerness, presumably, left no room for Merriment. Orelse the matter was too high, too thoughtful. Not that they labouredsadly--far from it. Indeed, their daily round was one long festival. But Laughter was not at the board. Neither forbidden, nor bidden tothe feast, she just stayed away. Yet Mirth was no hang-back.... Anthony found himself marvelling. 

"Who are you?" he said suddenly, For a second the brown eyes danced; then their lids hid them. Withflushed cheeks the girl sat up on her horse. 

"Who am I? I'm a daughter of Eve, Major Lyveden. Eve, who cost Adamhis Gramarye. So you be careful. Bar your door of nights. Framerules against laughter and idleness--just to be on the safe side. Andnext time a girl drops her crop----"

"I hope, " said Anthony gravely, "I hope I shall be behind her to pickit up and have the honour of her company to turn a mile into a furlong. "

"O-o-oh, blasphemy!" cried André, pretending to stop her ears. "Whatever would Gramarye say? Come on, Joshua. "

The next moment she was cantering up the broad white way.... 

As she rounded a bend, she flung up an arm and waved her crop cheerily. 

Anthony waved back. 

 * * * * *

Miss Valerie French sat in her library at Bell Hammer, with her elbowspropped on the writing-table and her head in her hands. She had beenfree of the great room ever since she could remember. Long before herfather's death she had been accustomed to sit curled in its greatchairs, to lie upon the huge tiger-skin before the hearth, or gravelyto face her father across that very table and draw houses and flightsof steps and stiff-legged men and women with flat feet upon hisnotepaper, while Mr. French dealt with his correspondence. Always, when the picture was completed, it would be passed to him for hisapproval and acceptance; and he would smile and thank her and audiblyidentify the objects portrayed; and, if he were not too busy, theywould remind him of a tale, the better to follow which she must leaveher chair and climb on to his knee.... 

Then he had died--ten years after her birth, nine years after hermother's death. There were who said he had died of a broken heart--aheart broken nine years before. It may have been true. Valerie lovedthe room more than ever.... 

When she was come of age, she made it her boudoir. Flowers and silksand silver lit up its stateliness. Beneath the influence of a grandpiano and the soft-toned cretonnes upon the leather chairs, thesolemnity of the chamber melted into peace. The walls of literature, once so severe, became a kindly background, wearing a wise, grave smile. 

Such comfort, however, as the room extended was to-day lost uponValerie. Beyond the fact that it was neither noisome nor full ofuproar, Miss French derived no consolation from an atmosphere to whichshe had confidently carried her troubles for at least twenty years. The truth is, she was sick at heart. There was no health in her. Shehad been given a talent and had cast it into the sea. She had stumbledupon a jewel, more lustrous than any she had dreamed this earth couldrender, and of her folly she had flung it into the draught. She hadsuspected him who was above suspicion, treated her king like a cur, unwarrantably whipped from her doors the very finest gentleman in allthe world. What was a thousand times worse, he had completelyvanished. Had she known where he was, she would have gone straight tohim and, kneeling upon her knees, begged his forgiveness. Her pridewas already in tatters, her vanity in rags: could she have found him, she would have stripped the two mother-naked. In a word, she wouldhave done anything which it is in the power of a mortal to do to winback that wonder of happiness which they had together built up. Itmust be remembered that Valerie was no fool. She realized wholly thatwithout Anthony Lyveden Life meant nothing at all. She had very gravedoubts whether it would, without him, ever mean anything again. Andso, to recover her loss, she was quite prepared to pay to the uttermostfarthing. The trouble, was, the wares were no longer for sale; at anyrate, they were not exposed to her eyes. The reflection that, after alittle, they might be offered elsewhere and somebody else secure them, sent Valerie almost out of her mind. And it might happen anyday--easily. The wares were so very attractive.... Moreover, if theirrecovery was to beggar her, by a hideous paradox, failure to repurchasethe wares meant ruin absolute.... 

When Valerie French had discovered that her jealousy of her lover wasutterly baseless, she had had the sense to make no bones about it, butto strike her colours at once. That Anthony was not there to witnessher capitulation did not affect her decision. If she was to have theirintelligent assistance, the sooner others saw it and appreciated herplight, so much the better for her. Only her aunt and the Alisonscould possibly help at all; to those four she spoke plainly, tellingthe cold facts and feeling the warmth of well-doing in tearing herpride to tatters. Then she rent her vanity and begged their servicesto find and, if necessary, plead for her with the ex-officer. TheAlisons had promised readily, but there was no confidence in theireyes. Lady Touchstone, however, had sent her niece's hopes soaring. She had reason, it seemed, to expect a letter. Major Lyveden hadpromised to let her have his address. And, he being a man of his word, it was bound to come--bound to come.... 

For more than a month Valerie hung upon every incoming post. Then sheknew that the letter had gone astray. 

For the hundredth time Miss French read through the three letters whichlay before her upon the table, written in the firm, clear hand ofAnthony Lyveden. Except she drew upon the store of Memory, she hadnothing else at all that spoke of him. Hence the common envelopesbecame three reliquaries, the cheap thin notepaper relics above allprice, piteously hallowed by the translation of the scribe. 

The letters affording no comfort, Valerie rose and moved to a greatwindow which looked on to the terrace and thence into the park. Instantly the memory of one sweet September night rose up before her--anight when he and she had paced those flags together, while music hadfloated out of the gallery, and the stars had leaped in the heavens, and the darkness had quivered at the breath of the cool night air; whenhe had wrapped his love in a fairy tale and she had listened with ahammering heart ... When he at last had put her hand to his lips, andshe had given back the homage before he could draw away.... 

The terrace was worse than the letters, and Valerie turned to thebooks. Idly she moved along the wall, reading the names upon the calfbindings and not knowing whether she read them or no. A sudden desireto look at the topmost shelves made her cross to the great step-ladderand climb to its balustered pulpit. Before she was half-way there thedesire had faded, but she went listlessly on. Come to the top, sheturned to let her eye wander over the nearest shelf. Old, little-readvolumes only met her gaze--Hoole's works, Jessey, John Sadler, Manley.... Of the ten small volumes containing Miss Manley'soutpourings, the seventh was out of place, and Valerie stretched out ahand to straighten it. As she did so, she saw the title--_The LostLover_. For a moment she stared at it. Then she turned and, descending one step of the ladder, sat down on the edge of the pulpitand buried her face in her hands. 

We will leave her there with her beauty, her shapely head bowed, herexquisite figure hunched with despair, her cold, white, pointed fingerspressed tight upon those glorious temples, her little palms hiding themisery of that striking face, her knees convulsively closed, thatshining foot tucked beneath the other in the contortion of grief. Wewill leave her there on the ladder, learning that sorry lesson whichGreat Love only will set its favourites when they have gone a-whoringafter false gods in whom is no faith. 

 * * * * *

At half-past six upon the following Monday evening Lyveden returned tohis cottage with Patch at his heels. In spite of the hard frost, thework had gone well. A bridge had been finished which should laugh toscorn the elements for a long century; a sore-needed staff had been setbeneath the arm-pit of a patriarch oak; a truant stream had been tuckedinto its rightful bed. It had been a good day. 

Arrived at his door, Anthony turned and looked upward. The cold whitebrilliance of the stars stared winking back; the frozen silence of thefirmament hung like a magic cloak upon the shoulders of darkness; thepool of Night lay in a breathless trance, ice-cold and fathomless. Anthony opened the door and passed in. 

Within three minutes the lamp and lantern were lighted and a fire wascrackling upon the hearth; within ten, fuel had been fetched and waterdrawn from the well; within twenty, the few odd jobs on whoseperformance the comfort of regularity depended, had been disposed of;and by seven o'clock the Sealyham had had his dinner, and his master, washed and groomed, was free to sit down to a substantial meal. 

At the first glance, the latter's dress was highly reminiscent of thewarfare so lately dead. The shade and stuff of the stout breeches, theheavy ankle boots, the grey shirt-cuff emerging from the sleeve of thecoarse cardigan, were old familiar friends. The fact that Lyveden hadlaid aside his collar heightened the comparison. Only his gaitersstruck a discordant note. These were of good box-cloth and buttonedfrom knee to ankle. Tight-fitting about the calf, but not shaped tothe leg, they fell well over the tops of the heavy boots, resting, indeed, upon the insteps. They suited Anthony, for whom they mighthave been made, admirably. They were, moreover, a wholly redeemingfeature, and turned his garb from that of a thousand corporals into thehomely attire of a gentleman farmer. So soon as you saw them, youforgot the War. The style of them was most effective. It beat thespear into a pruning hook. With this to leaven them, the roughhabiliments were most becoming. In a word, they supplied the verysetting which manhood should have; and since Anthony, sitting there athis meat, was the personification of virility, they served, as all truesettings should, by self-effacement to magnify their treasure. Theex-officer might have stepped out of Virgil's _Eclogues_. 

He had finished his meal, cleared away the remains, set the table forbreakfast, and was in the act of filling his pipe, when the Sealyhamgrowled. Anthony, whose ears were becoming sharper every day, listenedintently. The next moment came a sharp tapping upon the door. In aninstant Patch was across the room, barking furiously.... 

Laying down his pipe and tobacco, Anthony followed the terrier and, picking him up in his arms, threw open the door. 

"So you didn't bar it, after all, " said a mocking voice. "Well, myconscience is clear. I warned you. And since you are at home and thedoor is open, will you extend your hospitality to a benighted Eve?"

Anthony stepped to one side. 

"I'm all alone, " he said hesitatingly. 

"So am I, " said André, entering. "Oh, what a lovely fire! I'm justperished, " she added, crossing to spread her hands to the blaze. "It'snot a night to be motoring. "

Anthony shut the door and put the terrier down. The latter ran to thelady and sniffed the hem of her garments. After a careful scrutiny heturned away.... 

"It's not a night, " said Anthony, "to be walking the countryside inevening dress. Have you had a breakdown?"

"Not that I know of, " replied Miss Strongi'th'arm. "Don't be somodest. I happened to be passing and I happened to see your light, soI thought I'd come and see how Adam was getting on. Is it against therules?"

"I'm all alone, " said Lyveden steadily. 

"Is that an order to quit?"

"I'm only thinking of you, " said Anthony. "I know I've dropped out ofthings lately, and the world goes pretty fast, but I'd hate people totalk about you. " He felt himself flushing, and went on jerkily: "Imean, I don't honestly know what's done nowadays and what isn't. Ifyou're quite easy ... You see, I'm older than you, " he addeddesperately. 

There was a little silence. Then--

"Don't stop, " said André, with a mischievous smile. "I've never beenlectured by a monk before. Besides, I collect points of view. "

"Is mine extraordinary?"

"An exceptionally rare specimen. I shall always treasure it. " Sheproduced a cigarette case. "May I smoke a cigarette? Or is that alsoagainst the rules?"

Without a word Anthony struck a match.... 

"Thanks, " said the lady. She unbuttoned her coat. "It's nice and warmin here, " she added comfortably. "Oh, please don't look soreproachful! I just can't bear it. I'm not doing anything wrong, andit makes me feel awful. Of course, if you don't want me... "

"You know it isn't that, " he protested. "I only thought possibly--Imean... " He broke off helplessly and touched the back of a chair. "Wouldn't you like to sit down?"

"Shall you sit down if I do?" Anthony shook his head. "Then I shan'teither. I'd much rather stand. " And, with that, my lady set her backagainst the side of the fireplace and crossed her shapely ankles. 

It must be confessed that she made an arresting picture. Mean as thelight was, it woke the luminous beauty of her auburn hair; a sprinklingof freckles gave to her exquisite complexion a jolly look; the brightbrown eyes and the merry mouth were those of a Bacchante. Above herplain black frock her throat and chest showed dazzling white; below, the black silk stockings shone with a lustre which was not that of silkalone; over all, the voluminous mink coat framed her from head to toewith a rich luxury. 

"And how, " said André, "is Gramarye? Have you finished the bridge?"

Anthony stared at her. 

"How did you know?" he said. 

Miss Strongi'th'arm shrugged her fair shoulders. 

"What does it matter?" she said. "Let's talk about something else--ifyou can. Have you thought over what I said? No. I can see youhaven't. Well, well.... Have you laughed since we met?"

"I--I don't think I have. "

"Ah.... Why not?"

"There's been nothing to laugh at. The work's big--serious. "

"Wasn't the War serious?"

Anthony crossed to the hearth and kicked a log into flame. 

"I suppose so, " he said reluctantly. 

"Yet you laughed every day. "

"Yes, but----"

"But what?"

"The War was different. You can't compare the two. Then you laughedbecause it was better than crying. Now there's no reason for it. There's no time on your hands. The work's too urgent--too solemn. It's like restoring a cathedral. You don't feel you want to laugh. "He swung round and faced her. "There's a religion in the atmosphere;Gramarye's a sort of temple; when you're in the woods, instinctivelyyou lower your voice; there's something sacred about the place;there's----"

Miss Strongi'th'arm dropped her cigarette and caught her _vis-à-vis_ bythe shoulders. 

"Don't!" she cried. "Don't! It's all wrong! The place isn't sacred. It's absurd. You're infatuated. Gramarye's getting into your blood. Soon you won't be able to think of anything else. And gradually it'lleat up your life--your splendid, glorious life. I know what I'mtalking about. D'you hear? I say I _know_! I've seen one man gounder, and now you're going--_you!_" The flame died out of her voiceleaving it tender and passionate. "And you're too wonderful a thing, lad; you're too perfect a specimen; you're too strong and gentle ... Too honest.... Ah"--her hands slipped from his shoulders and her eyesdropped--"you needn't look so reproachful. I know I'm a rotter. Idropped my crop on purpose the other day, because I wanted to talk toyou; and I lied to my mother and said I was dining out to-night, andthen came here, because... " Anthony put out an appealing hand. Thegirl laughed bitterly. "All right. I won't say it. " She startedfeverishly to fasten her coat. "It's about time I was going, isn't it?About time.... "

In silence Anthony passed with her to the door. 

There was simply nothing to say. 

Together they walked to her car, a well-found coupé standing dark andsilent upon the wasted track, facing the London road. André opened itsdoor, thrust in a groping hand.... For a moment her fingers hunted. Then two shafts of light leaped from the head-lamps. A second laterthe near side-lamp showed Anthony how pale was her face.... 

The lights in the car went up, and André picked up her gloves. Standing with her back to Lyveden, she pulled them on fiercely, but herhands were shaking, and the fastening of the straps was a difficultbusiness. 

Patch, who had come with them and was facing the opposite way, put hishead on one side and stared up the line of the track. Then he trottedoff into the darkness.... 

The straps fastened, André turned about. 

Anthony put out his hand. 

"Good-bye, " he said gently. 

For a moment the girl looked at him. Then she gave a little sob, and, putting her arms about his neck, drew down his head and kissed himfrantically. A moment later she was leaning wearily against the car, with the sleeve of her right arm across her eyes. As she let it fall, Winchester stepped out of the darkness with Patch at his heels. 

"André?" he said. And then again, "André?" Anthony swung on his heeland faced the speaker. The latter stared at him with smouldering eyes. 

"Lyveden?" he said hoarsely. 

There was an electric silence. 

Then Anthony turned to Miss Strongi'th'arm. 

"I most humbly apologize, " he said. "My feelings got the better of me. I pray that you will try to forgive me. " He turned to Winchester. "This lady needed some water for her radiator, and came to my door----"

"You blackguard!" said Winchester. "You----"

"It's a lie!" flamed André. 

The cold steel of her tone fairly whistled. Instinctively both menstarted. 

"It's a lie, Richard. He's the cleanest, straightest man that everbreathed. He'd no idea who I was. He hasn't now. He never knew myname till you said it. I forced myself upon him the other day. Iforced myself upon him to-night. And he's--he's just turned medown.... He said what he did just now to try and shield me. But he'sblameless. It was I who--made the running. And I'm glad you saw it. _Glad!_" She tore off her left glove. "Because it's your own fault. It's eighteen months since I promised to be your wife. Eighteen solidmonths. And I'm tired--sick of waiting--fed up. First it was Russia:then the North of France: then--Gramarye. _Gramarye!_" She flung backher head and laughed wildly. Then she snatched a ring from her fingerand hurled it on to the ground. "There's the ring you gave me. Godknows why I didn't give it you back yesterday--months ago. I'd reasonenough. I suppose I still hoped.... But now you've killed it. Idon't even care what happens to you. You've messed up my life, you'vemessed up your own, and, what's a million times worse, you're doingyour level best to mess up his. "

Upon the last words her voice broke piteously, and André covered hereyes. So she stood for a moment, white-faced, her lips trembling.... Then she whipped into the car and slammed the door. A moment later theengine was running. She let in the clutch, and the car movedforward.... 

As she turned on to the London road, she changed into second speed ... Into third ... Top.... 

The two men stood as she had left them, motionless, the little whitedog eyeing them curiously. 

The steady purr of the engine grew fainter and fainter. 

When it had quite died, Anthony turned and touched the other upon theshoulder. 

"There's always Gramarye, " he said. 

For a moment the giant peered at him. Then he straightened his bowedshoulders and threw up his head. 

"Yes, " he shouted, "yes. There's always Gramarye!"

CHAPTER VII

NEHUSHTAN

"It is only right, Lyveden, " said Colonel Winchester, "that you shouldknow that I am losing my mind. "

The steady, measured tone of the speaker invested this bald statementwith a significance which paralyzed. Anthony stood as if rooted to thefloor. 

"Yes, " said the other, "it was bound to shake you up. But I want youto realize it. Sit down for a minute and think what it means. "

Anthony did as he was bid--dazedly. His employer turned his back andstared into the fire. 

The silence which ensued was painful. So much so, that Mr. SamuelPlowman, Solicitor and Commissioner for Oaths, whose nerves were lesssubordinate than those of the two ex-officers, was hard put to it notto scream. 

It must be confessed that in the last twenty-five minutes the poorgentleman had encountered a whole pack of things, none of which hadbeen dreamt of in his philosophy. Little had he imagined, when he wasdesired to attend professionally at Gramarye "precisely at half-pastten on Sunday morning, " what that attendance would bring forth. Colonel Winchester had certainly a reputation for eccentricity. Hisletter was undoubtedly--well, peculiar. Mr. Plowman had smiled uponhis finger-nails--a sapient, indulgent smile. He had dealt witheccentricity before. Witness Miss Sinister of Mallwood, who hadsummoned him in just such a way, but more peremptorily. Then he hadbeen desired to superintend the cremation of a favourite cat. That wasnine years ago. For the last eight years he had superintendedMallwood. Mr. Plowman had smiled more than ever.... 

At twenty-six minutes past ten that February morning he had ascendedthe broken steps of the old grey mansion, a little curious, perhaps, but, as he would have told you, "ready for anything. " There being nobell, he had raised and let fall the great knocker, and then stoodstill in the sunshine looking placidly about him. The desolation ofthe park left him unmoved. Money, judiciously expended, could rectifythat. And the house seemed sound enough. They knew how to build inthe old days. Colonel Winchester was probably using only one wing forthe present. In time to come, possibly ... Mr. Plowman hadstraightened his tie. 

Then the door had opened. 

Clad like a husbandman, his shirt open at the neck, his sleeves rolledto his elbows, the biggest man Mr. Plowman had ever seen had stoodregarding him. The cold majesty of a lion had looked out of thoseterrible eyes; neck, chest, and arms proclaimed the strength of aHercules; the pose was that of a demi-god at bay. The carelesslybrushed fair hair, the broad forehead, the unusual distance betweenthose steel-grey eyes, the fine colour of the cheeks, the fair, close-cut beard, contributed to make the fellow unearthly handsome. But there was something behind it all--a dominating irresistible force, which rose up in a great wave, monstrous and menacing. 

Mr. Plowman, who knew little of personality, felt as if he had beensuddenly disembowelled.... 

Thereafter he had been led stumbling through the semi-darkness of astark hall, by gaunt mouldering passages to the servants' quarters. Afair-sized parlour, looking upon a courtyard, carpetless, curtainless, and something suggestive of an "Orderly Room, " had presently receivedhim. 

There a deep bass voice had bade him be seated, and he had been toldquite dispassionately that he was present to assist the speaker toprepare for insanity. 

All things considered, it is to Mr. Plowman's credit that he was ableto appreciate and answer coherently quite a number of questions whichhis client had put to him upon matters of law. The strain, however, was severe, and he was unutterably relieved when he was directed tomove to a table, where paper and ink were waiting, and take down theexplicit instructions which the voice would dictate. He had obeyedparrot-wise. 

The dictation was hardly over when Lyveden had appeared at the windowand, at a nod from Winchester, walked to a side-door and entered theroom a moment later.... 

What immediately followed his entrance, gentlemen, we have alreadyseen. Your time being precious, I have but made use of the silencewhich poor Mr. Plowman found so distressful. 

The great figure before the fire turned slowly about and, folding itsmighty arms, leaned against the mantelpiece. 

"When it will happen, " said the deep voice, "I have no idea. Sometimesit seems very near; at others, as if it may never come. Yet I know itwill. So I must be prepared.... Mr. Plowman is here to assist me inthis preparation. 

"I've tried to tell him, Lyveden, about the estate. I've tried toexplain what it means to me. I feel that I've failed. " Mr. Plowmanwas physically unable to utter the deprecative ejaculation which heknew should have been here inserted. His lips framed it, but it wasnever expressed. "I have, however, explained that I am engaged uponits restoration, and that you are my second-in-command. I have toldhim that when I--when my call comes, I wish the work to go on. This iswhere you come in. I have given him certain instructions, all of whichdepend upon you. " The speaker unfolded his arms and stood upright. "_When I'm gone, are you willing to carry on?_"

Before Anthony could answer, the other had lifted his hand. 

"Wait. Don't answer till you know where you are. 

"You'll have a Power of Attorney and absolute control. The moment I'mcertified, you'll stand in my shoes. Some of my income must be setaside--I shall have to be looked after, you know--the rest you willadminister as if you were me. You'll be the master of the other men. Your word will be law. The future of Gramarye will be in your hands. You can follow the line I've taken, or you can strike off on your own. You'll have absolute power. I'm ready to give it you, if you're readyto take it. But you must wash sentiment out. The question of myhelplessness mustn't weigh with you. You mustn't consider anythingexcept yourself. If Gramarye means enough to you----"

"It does, " said Lyveden. 

"Are you sure?"

"There's nothing else in my life. "

"Ah!"

His keen grey eyes glowing with the light of a visionary, Winchesterstepped forward, and Lyveden got upon his feet. For a moment the twomen looked one another in the face. Then Winchester shivered suddenly, put a hand to his head, and turned away.... 

The pathos of the gesture loosened Anthony's tongue. 

"You know best, sir, and it isn't my place to try to dissuade you. Letthe business go through. Once for all, whatever happens to you, I'llcarry on. I'll do everything exactly as if you were there. You canrest easy. But---- Oh, how can you think such a thing? I never inall my life saw any one less likely to go under. You're not the type, sir. It's--it's laughable. " The words came tumbling out of an honestheart. "I saw men go mad in France, but they were hardly your sort. Perhaps you're too much alone. Will you let me live with you? Or, ifit's insomnia----"

"It isn't insomnia, " said the giant. "It's insanity. "

Mr. Plowman, who was picking up the pen which for the second time hadescaped the play of his trembling fingers, started violently and struckhis head against the table. The absurd action attracting annoyedattention, he broke into a cold sweat. 

"But you can't know that!" cried Anthony. "Only a doctor can----"

"What doctor would tell me the truth?"

"You needn't ask him. You can ask to be told the symptoms, and thencompare them with yours. If they tally----"

"You speak as a child, " said Winchester. "Insanity's not likechicken-pox. There's no book of the rules. "

"I don't care. You can't possibly know. On a matter like this yourown opinion's worthless. It's the one thing no man can say of himself:You can't judge your own judgment. " Staring into the fire, Winchesterbegan to tap the floor with his toe. "I've said I'll carry on, and youcan put my name in, but I'm sorry I was so quick. "

"Why?"

"Because I oughtn't to subscribe to this belief. It's all wrong. I'madmitting a possibility which doesn't exist. I'm humouring a dangerouswhim. For over two months I've spent ten hours a day in yourcompany--I've sat at your feet--I've marvelled at your wisdom--I'veenvied your instinct--I've been dazed by your amazing efficiency--andnow I'm to put on record----"

With a stifled roar, Winchester threw back his head and beat with hisfists upon his temples. 

"You fool!" he raved. "Out of your own mouth.... The very wisdom youmarvel at has shown me what you can't see. That instinct you say youenvy has opened my eyes. I tell you I'm going mad. Time and againI've seen the writing upon the wall. I walk with Insanity of nights. Three months ago I chucked my revolver into the lake, or I shouldn't behere to-day. You babble of madness; I tell you I know the jade. Why, there are nights when the stars slip and the world lies on her side, and only the woods of Gramarye keep me from falling off. I climb fromtree to tree, man. They're like the rungs of a ladder, with their topsswaying in the wind over eternity and their roots stuck fast in agigantic wall--that's the earth ... On her side ... They're stickingstraight out like pegs. And sometimes I hear a roar coming, and thetrees are bent like reeds, and the wind screams to glory, and the wholeworld turns turtle--swings right over and round. Think of it, man. Twelve thousand miles in a second of time. And there are the stars onmy right, and I'm climbing the wrong way up.... But Gramarye holds mefast. As long as I'm in the woods---- But the roads are the devil. They make such a gap. You have to climb them to get to the other side. The trees are child's play--they help you. But the roads ... I shallmeet it on one of those roads ... One day ... One day.... "

The deep sonorous voice faded, and with a whimper Mr. Plowman slid onto the floor. 

It was Anthony who picked him up and carried the unconscious lawyerinto the open air. As he was helping him to his feet, Winchesterappeared with brandy. 

"I was so engrossed, " he said quietly, "that I never saw you go down. Was the room too hot?"

Mr. Plowman gulped down some spirit before replying. Then--

"Yes, " he said jerkily. "I--I think perhaps it was. I must apologize, sir. "

Winchester inclined his head. 

"You have your instructions, " he said. "And you have seen MajorLyveden, and heard him consent to act. Prepare the necessary papersimmediately and send them to me for signature. If any question arises, lay it before me by letter. If you must see me"--the unfortunateattorney blenched--"write and say so. I need hardly add that, withregard to what has passed between us, I expect your observation of thestrictest confidence. "

"M-most certainly, sir. "

"One thing more. " An envelope passed. "There is a cheque on account. If on reflection you wish to take counsel's opinion, and that is notenough, write and say so. " He put out his hand. "Good-bye. I'm muchobliged to you for coming. I hope you'll be none the worse. "

With starting eyes Mr. Plowman touched the great palm. Then his clientturned, and, clapping a hat on his head, strode off into the wilderness. 

As the sound of his footsteps died--

"There's a paper--in there--on the table, " said Mr. Plowman. "And myhat and coat--and bag... "

"I'll get them, " said Anthony. 

"It's--it's very good of you. "

When he returned, the lawyer had fastened his collar and was nervouslybullying his tie into place. 

"Have you a conveyance?" said Anthony. 

"N-no, sir. I sent the fly away. I had thought I would walk back, " headded miserably. 

Clearly the chance of encountering Winchester was not at all to histaste. 

"You'd better come with me, " said Lyveden. "It's the quickest way toGirdle. I live in the cottage close to the London road. "

Mr. Plowman felt inclined to put his arms round Anthony's neck.... 

Three-quarters of an hour later the little attorney stepped, with asigh of relief, on to the King's highway. Going and pace had tried himpretty hard, and he was simply streaming with sweat. He pushed backhis hat and blew out his cheeks comically. Then he set down his bagand started to mop his face. 

"By Jove!" he said, panting. "By Jove, I'm glad to be----" His eyesresting upon Anthony, he broke off and fell a-staring. "Why, " hecried, "you haven't turned a hair!"

Anthony smiled. 

"I take a lot of hard exercise, " he explained. 

"By Jove!" said Mr. Plowman, wide-eyed. "Well, I'm awfully obliged toyou. "

"You've nothing to thank me for. " Lyveden pointed to the cottage. "That's where I live. " He put out his hand. "Are you all right now?"

"Splendid, thanks. Can't think how I came to faint like that. Ofcourse... "

He took the outstretched hand meditatively. 

"The room was unusually hot, " said Anthony. 

The other stared at him. 

"Yes, " he said slowly. "By Jove, yes.... " With a sudden movement hepicked up his bag. "Good-bye. "

The next moment he was plodding down the broad white road. 

Anthony watched him till he could see him no more. Then he turned onhis heel and whistled to his dog. 

As he did so, the purr of an engine rose out of the distance, and heturned to see a large touring-car sailing towards him from thedirection of Town. 

"Come on, Patch!" he cried quickly. 

The approach of the car made him anxious. The terrier, he knew, hadcrossed the road, and there was something about this particular reachof metalling that tempted motorists to pass at the deuce of a pace. 

The car sailed on. 

It was fifty paces away, when Anthony heard Patch flouncing through theundergrowth in response to his call. In another second the terrierwould take his customary flying leap from the bank on to the road--onthe same side as the car.... 

In a flash, Anthony was full in its path, spreading out signalling arms. 

The tires were tearing at the macadam as Patch leaped into the roadand, missing his footing, stumbled on to his nose twenty-five pacesahead. 

Anthony ran up to the car, hat in hand. 

"I'm awfully sorry, " he said. "My dog was coming, and I couldn't stophim. I'd called him before I saw you. I was afraid he'd be run over. "

The fresh-faced youth at the wheel stared at him. 

"That's all right, sir, " he grinned. "How are you? You don't rememberme, Every. Met you at Saddle Tree Cross--huntin'. Valerie Frenchintroduced us. "

"Of course, " said Anthony. "I remember you perfectly. Are you allright?"

"Goin' strong, thanks. " He turned to a girl at his side. "Joan, letme introduce Major Lyveden--my sister. " Anthony bowed. "We're goin'down to Evesham to see some spaniel pups. Are you livin' down here, sir?"

Anthony indicated his cabin with a smile. 

"That's my house, " he said. "I've turned forester, and I'm working onthis estate. "

"But how priceless, " said Joan. "If I were a man, that's just whatI'd----"

"Yes, " said her brother. "I can see you gettin' up at dawn an' hewin'down trees an' things with a bead-bag on your wrist an'----"

"I said 'if I was a man, '" protested Joan. "I said... "

The argument waxed, and Anthony began to laugh. So soon as he couldget a word in--

"I mustn't keep you, " he said. 

Peter Every glanced at his watch. 

"Twenty-past twelve!" he cried. "George, no! I'll have to put heralong. I suppose you won't come on and lunch with us, sir? We'd loveit, and we can drop you here on the way back. "

"Yes, do, " urged Joan. 

Anthony shook his head. 

"You're very kind, " he said, smiling, "but I've any amount to do. Whenyou live alone, and you've only one day a week... "

"I'm sorry, " said Every. "Still, if you won't... "

He let in the clutch. 

"Good-bye, " said Anthony. 

"Good-bye, " cried the others. 

The car slid forward. 

A moment later, arrived at the top of the hill, it dropped over thecrest and sank out of sight. 

 * * * * *

It was twelve days later that Mr. Peter Every found his cake to bedough. 

Taking advantage of a general invitation, issued when he was six yearsold, he had asked himself to Bell Hammer ostensibly to enjoy a day'shunting, but in reality with the express intention of inviting MissValerie French to become his lady-wife. 

All things considered, it was rather hard that before he had been inthe house for an hour and a half he should himself have pulled his airycastle incontinently about his ears. 

This was the way of it. 

It was that soft insidious hour which begins when it is time to dressfor dinner and ends in horrified exclamation and a rush for the bath. Valerie, seated at the piano, was playing Massenet's _Elégie_, andEvery was lolling in a deep chair before the fire, studying a map ofthe county and thinking upon the morrow's hunt. In such circumstancesit is not surprising that the printed appearance of Saddle Tree Crossshould have remembered Lyveden. 

"By the way, Val, " he said, raising his voice to override the music, "Imet a pal of yours the other day. "

Valerie raised her eyebrows and continued to play. 

"Did you?" she said, without turning. "Who was that?"

"Major Lyveden. "

The _Elégie_ died a sudden discordant death, and Valerie started to herfeet. 

"_Where?_"

The flame of the inquiry scorched Peter Every's ears. 

Dropping the map and getting uncertainly upon his feet, he demandedaggrievedly to be told what on earth was the matter.... 

On trying subsequently coherently to recall what had happened in thenext five minutes, he found his memory pardonably confused. 

Valerie had taken him by the shoulders and shaken him like a rat: shehad hurled at his head an unending stream of questions--all aboutLyveden, and, when he had hesitated, had shaken him again; when he hadtried to protest, she had put her hand over his mouth; when she hadclearly exhausted his memory, she had announced that they would go upto Town the next day, and that on Sunday morning, sun, rain, or snow, he would motor her down to where Lyveden dwelt; then she had said shewas sorry she'd shaken him, smiled him a maddening smile, told him, with a rare blush, that Anthony Lyveden was "the most wonderful man inthe world, " kissed him between the eyes, and then darted out of theroom, calling for Lady Touchstone.... 

Sitting that night upon the edge of his bed, with his hands in hispockets and a pipe in his mouth, staring moodily upon the carpet, Peterhad thought ruefully upon his shattered fortune. 

"Blinkin' fine week-end, " he muttered, "I don't think. I roll up for ahunt an' a dart at the most priceless girl that ever was foaled, an' Ilose the one an' am roped in to help the other to another cove. " Helaughed bitterly. "'Minds me of a drama-play. S'pose I'm cast for theperishin' strong man wot 'ides 'is bleedin' 'eart. " He flung out adramatic arm. "'Reenunciation, 'Erbert, 'ath its reeward. ' (Loud andprolonged cheers. ) Well, well.... " He rose to his feet and stretchedluxuriously. "It's all the same in a hundred years, and so long asshe's happy... " And with that little candle of truly handsomephilosophy Mr. Peter Every lighted himself to bed. 

Upon the following Sunday, at a quarter before midday, he set MissFrench down upon the London road at the spot at which he and Joan hadmet Lyveden a fortnight before. 

"I'll wait till you've seen if he's in, " he said, nodding towards thecottage. "If he is, I'll come back in an hour. That do?"

Valerie smiled and nodded. She was just twittering. Then she flungher veil back over her shoulder and stepped off the road on to thewasted track.... 

It was a beautiful day--a handful of sweet-smelling hours filched byWinter out of the wallet of Spring. The wet earth seemed drenched withperfume; the winds kept holy-day; the sun, like a giant surprisedlyrefreshed, beamed with benevolence. 

Her knocking upon the door of the cottage evoking no answer, MissFrench decided to try the back. 

The venture was fruitful. 

There upon the red-brick pavement stood a small snow-white dog, whomMajor Anthony Lyveden, seated upon a soap-box, was towelling vigorously. 

Between the fuss of the operation and the amicable wrangle which itinduced, neither of the parties heard the lady's approach. For amoment she stood spellbound. Then she turned and waved her arm toEvery, sitting still in the car fifty odd paces away. Intelligentlythe latter waved back.... 

As Valerie turned, there was a scrabble of paws. Followed a sharpexclamation, and the next moment Patch was leaping frantically to lickher face, while Anthony Lyveden, who had risen to his feet, was staringat her and recoiling, towel in hand, as if he had perceived anapparition. 

For the two, who had shared big moments, it was the most tremendous ofall. Upon a sudden impulse that black king Fate had flung his warderup. Instantly the barriers of Time and Distance had been swept away, and Love, Shame, Fear, and a whole host of Emotions had come swarmingpell-mell back into the lists--a surging, leaderless mob, thirsty toflesh their swords, quarrelling amongst themselves.... 

Sit you there by the king, sirs, if you will watch the tourney. Climbup into his pavilion; make his grim equerries give place. I willanswer for their black looks. And the king will laugh at theirdiscomfiture. His jester for the length of my tale, I can twist thetyrant about my little finger. 

See, then, the wrangling press take order of battle. Observe theclamorous throng split into two rival companies, each of them captainedby Love, with Hope and Shame on one side, and Fear and Mistrust uponthe other. These six are the most notable; the rest you shall discoverfor yourselves, when issue is joined. One other knight only I beg youwill remark--him in the cold grey harness, knee to knee with Mistrust, whose device is a broken bough, sirs, whom there is none to counterupon the opposite side.... That is no one of the Emotions, butsomething less honest--a free-lance, gentlemen, that has ridden unaskedto the jousting and cares for neither cause, but, because he will grindhis own axe, ranged against Valerie. There is a fell influence behindthat vizor that will play a big part this February day. 

When Valerie French looked upon her lost lover, she could have wept forjoy. The sight of him, indeed, rendered her inarticulate, and, beforeshe had found her voice, came Shyness to tie up her tongue. This isimportant, because her sudden inability to speak upset everything. 

For a month after she had known the man faithful and herself for afool. Miss French had constantly rehearsed this meeting. Then, whenshe had almost lost hope that it would ever take place, the rehearsalshad lost their savour.... Forty hours ago they had been revived andconducted feverishly by day and night. She had a score of entrances, and humble opening lines to suit them all. Before Anthony could speak, she would have disarmed him by kneeling in the dust. The mostsubmissive sentences her love could utter were to be laid at hisfeet--calls which, if his love were yet alive, must wake some echoes. Too honest, however, to make a play-actress, Valerie had reckonedwithout stage-fright.... 

Lyveden was the first to recover. 

"Why, Miss--Valerie, " he said, "where have you sprung from?" He cameto her smiling and put out his hand. "I can see by your face that I'mforgiven. I'm so glad. I hate to be at variance. " MechanicallyValerie laid her hand in his. "I've got such a wonderful job here, " hewent on easily. "Are you just passing? Or have I time to tell youabout it?"

"I'd--I'd love to hear, " stammered the girl. 

Things were going all wrong. There had been nothing like this in anyof her scenes. 

"I'm restoring an estate, " said Anthony. "When you knew me, I was afootman. Now I'm something between a forester, a landscape-gardener, and a roadman. This"--he lifted an indicating arm--"this belongs to aColonel Winchester. It's been let go for over a hundred years, and heand I and a few others are working to pull it round. It's justfascinating. "

Valerie nodded. 

"I'm glad you're happy, " she said, and wondered whether that was themoment to speak her unspoken lines. Surely a better opening wouldpresent itself. Now that they could not come first, it seemed soawkward to thrust them in without any introduction. While shehesitated, the chance passed. 

"I'm sure you are. Would you care to see something of the park? I'dlike you to. It'll make it easier for you to understand what we're upagainst and what an amazing attraction there is in the work. " Togetherthey left the cottage and made for the track. "If we go down here fora bit, you'll get an idea of the condition of things, and then I'llshow you some of the work we've done. Of course it goes slow. Fivethousand acres aren't reclaimed in a day. You see.... "

The steady, even tone flowed with a surprising ease. Anthony couldhardly believe his ears. How on earth he was able to talk so naturallyhe could not divine. He was, of course, putting up a tremendous fight. The sudden appearance of Valerie had fairly staggered him. Theninstinctively he had pulled himself together, and, with his head stillsinging from the blow, striven dazedly to ward her off. The greatthing, he felt, was to keep talking.... 

Ever since his dismissal he had fought unceasingly to thrust the ladyout of his mind: latterly his efforts had met with a halting success. Now, not only was all this labour utterly lost, but he was faced with aperil more terrifying than death. The prospect of being haled oncemore unto Pisgah, the hell of viewing once again that exquisite land ofpromise unfulfilled, loomed big with torment. He simply could notsuffer it all again. The path, no doubt, would be made more speciousthan ever. Oh, indubitably. And the whips which were waiting at theend of it would have become scorpions.... Anthony had braced himselffor an immense resistance. 

The devil of it was, he loved the girl so desperately that resistancepure and simple would be of no avail. He knew he could never hope toparry the thrusts those beautiful eyes, that gentle voice, were thereto offer him. Once before he had tried, and failed signally. It wasplain that his only chance of safety lay in attack. He must press hertirelessly. The great thing was to keep talking.... 

Thank God, there was a subject to hand. Gramarye made a wonderfultopic, inviting, inexhaustible. Her blessed woods and streams, herpoor blurred avenues, her crumbling roads, the piteous havoc of theproud estate stood him in splendid stead. Anthony found himself notonly talking, but waxing enthusiastic. The queer conceit that Gramaryehad responded to his cry for help filled him with exultation. Out ofhis grateful mouth her praise came bubbling.... 

Settling himself in his saddle with a slow smile, the Knight of theBroken Bough laid on more lustily than before. 

It was Patch who unwittingly put a spoke in the latter's wheel. 

Miss French's reappearance had affected the dog powerfully. OneOctober day he had known her for Anthony's darling, and as such hadbecome her vassal. He had since seen no reason to withdraw his fealty. As we have seen, at her coming he had leaped for joy. Occasion andpersonage, however, deserved more honour than that. Ever since thethree had begun their ramble, he had been scouring the undergrowth foran offering meet to be laid at the lady's shining feet. It was the wayof his heart. 

Not until Miss French and Lyveden were standing beside a totteringbridge, and the latter was pointing the traces of a vista which oncehad gladdened all eyes with its sweetness, but was now itself blind, did the little squire happen upon a treasure worthy in his sight to bebestowed. At this juncture, however, a particularly unsavoury smellattracted his straining nostrils.... A moment later what was, despitethe ravages of decomposition, still recognizable as the corpse of alarge black bird was deposited with every circumstance of cheerfuldevotion immediately at Valerie's feet. 

To ignore such a gift was impossible. Its nature and condition saw tothat. To accept it was equally out of the question. But tacitly toreject such a love-token needed a harder heart than Valerie's or, forthe matter of that, than Anthony's, either. 

Miss French gave a queer little cry of mingled distaste andappreciation, and Anthony hesitated, lost the thread of his discourse, and stopped. 

"How very sweet of you, Patch! No, I mustn't touch it because I'm notallowed dead birds. But I do thank you. " She patted the panting head. "Look. Here's a stone I'll throw for you--down into the brook. I'msure it'll be good for you to wash your mouth. " She flung the pebble, and the dog went flying. Valerie turned to Lyveden with a glowingface. "Don't think I'm fishing for another dead bird, but I wish Icould feel you'd forgiven me as truly as Patch. Oh, Anthony, I justcan't tell you how deadly ashamed I feel, how----"

"My dear girl, you mustn't talk like this. I knew there was somemisunderstanding--I didn't know what--and I----"

"I thought you cared for Anne Alison. "

"Oh, Valerie.... " The wistful reproach of his tone, the sad-facedghost of a protesting smile hovering about his lips, brought tears toValerie's eyes. "Well, well.... I'm so glad I'm cleared in your eyes. I'd 've hated you to go through life thinking that I--was likethat.... " Suddenly he caught at her arm and pointed to the ramshacklebridge. "There's another instance of the rot we're out to stop. Another winter, and that bridge 'd be in the stream, damming it at thedeepest and narrowest point. Result, the water's diverted and spreadsall over the road, trying to find another way into its channel. Noroad can stand that, of course. Gradually----"

"Tell me more of yourself, " said Valerie. 

Anthony let go her arm and put a hand to his head. 

"Myself?" he said slowly. "Well, this is my life. I live in thecottage, you know--very simply. It was a wonderful stroke ofluck--getting the job. I saw it in the Agony Column. "

"Before or after you'd given notice?"

"After. I tell you, I was thankful. And now--I little dreamed what awonderful billet it was. Living in these beautiful woods, with nothingto----"

"Why did you give notice?" said Valerie. 

"Oh, I don't know. I think I was unsettled. After all, a footman'sjob----"

"Was it because of me?"

There was a long silence. Then--

"Yes, " said Anthony. "But that's ancient history, " he added quickly. "It wasn't your fault if I chose to take that line. Besides"--he flungout demonstrative arms--"see what you've brought me, Valerie. When Ithink that less than three months ago I was carrying coals and washingup glasses and waiting at table----"

"And in love with me, " said Valerie. 

Lyveden's outstretched arms fell to his side. 

The worst had happened. Valerie was under his guard.... 

A pitiful hunted look came into the steady grey eyes. Slowly the brownright hand stole up to his forehead. 

"I never ought to have been, " he said dully. "I ought to have had moresense. It was always--out of the question ... Utterly. I thinkperhaps if I'd had a job to put my back into, I'd 've----"

He hesitated, at a loss for an expression which would not be ungallant. 

Instantly Valerie lunged. 

"You'd 've what?"

"Behaved better, " he said desperately, turning back the way they hadcome. 

Head back, eyes closed, lips parted, Valerie stood like a statue. 

"Behaved ... Better?" she whispered. "Behaved ... Better?" Sheshivered, and, when the blue eyes opened, there was the flash of tearsspringing. "When you talk like that, " she said quietly, "you make mefeel like death. I deserve it, I know. I deserve anything. But, ifyou knew how it hurt, I think you'd spare me. " Staring into thedistance, Anthony dug his nails into his palms. "I came here to-day topray your forgiveness. Since I--found I was wrong, I've been moreutterly wretched than I thought a woman could be. I didn't know therewas such agony in this world. Aunt Harriet'll bear me out, and so willthe Alisons. I told them the truth. And when, after all these weeks, I found where you were, I just thanked God.... You and I know what wewere to each other. Try and put yourself in my place. Supposing you'dturned me down--because you were rotten.... " Anthony winced. "Yes, rotten. There's no other word. And then you'd found out your mistake. How would you feel?"

"I'm sure you had cause, " blurted Lyveden. "It was a mistake, ofcourse. But you couldn't know that. And I--I've nothing to forgive, dear. I've never thought ill of you--never once. I can't pretend Iwasn't shaken, but I always knew there was some mix-up. "

"You were--shaken?" said Valerie. 

Anthony nodded. 

"You see, " he explained, "I was terribly----"

"Have you got over it?" said Valerie. 

With the point at his throat, Anthony did the only possible thing, andthrew down his arms. 

"No, " he said steadily, "I haven't, and I don't think I ever shall. "

There was a long, long silence, which the suck and gurgle of waterfretting a crazy sluice-gate had to themselves. Then--

"What d'you mean?" breathed Valerie. 

"I think, " said Lyveden, "that I shall love you as long as I live. "

Valerie just sighed very happily. 

"I think, " she said, standing a-tiptoe, "I'm the luckiest woman of allthe ages. "

Then she slid an arm through Anthony's, and they started back.... 

Anthony's brain was whirling. He did not know what to think. What wasworse, he did not know what to do. Did she think he had called backTime? That he had asked her to marry him? Had he? Were his wordstantamount to that? Was he prepared to marry her--this wonderful, glorious creature stepping so joyously beside him--this peerless queen, who had wronged him, yet in his eyes could do no wrong? As oncebefore, that touch upon his arm sent the blood singing through hisveins. His pulses leaped and danced. An old strange joy camewelling.... It was as if a fountain within him had begun to play--anold forgotten fountain, long dry--and the sun was turning its delicatespray to a flourish of sprinkled silver. Against his better judgmenthe turned and looked at her. My lady felt his gaze, and turned to meetit with a swift smile. All the beauty of youth, all the tenderness oflove, all the shyness of maidenhood hung in that glowing countenance. As once before, twin stars had come to light the gentle gravity ofthose dark blue eyes. The mouth he had kissed in anger was a redflower.... 

The memory of that kiss came back to him with a rush. He had forgottenit, somehow. He was forgiven, of course. Still, it was only right tospeak of it--she had confessed her trespasses so very handsomely. 

Standing still, he took hold of her hand. 

"Valerie, I quite forgot. The kiss I gave you that day was the kiss ofa bully. I've never----"

A small cool hand covered his lips. 

"Hush, lad. You mustn't say it. I know you were angry, or you'd neverhave done it. But that was my fault. You know it was. And"--shehesitated, and a blush came stealing to paint the wild rose red--"it'sthe only kiss you've ever given me, and--since then--I've been veryglad of it. "

For a moment Anthony stood trembling. Then he put his arm aboutValerie and held her close. There was the whisper of a tremulous sighin his ears, the warm fragrance of quick-coming breath beat upon hisnostrils, the radiance of love-lit beauty flooded his eyes. Slowly hebent his head.... 

A wandering breeze swept out of the distance, brushed past the leaflesswoods, set the curtain of silence swaying, and--was gone. 

Anthony started violently and threw up his head, listening.... 

Imagination lent him her ears. 

The faintest silvery ripple, the liquid echo of a cool clear call wentfloating out of audience.... 

In an instant the man was transfigured. 

"The trumpets!" he cried hoarsely. "The trumpets! Didn't you hearthem?" The light in his eyes was fanatic. Instinctively Valerieshrank away. Regardless, he let her go. "I forgot. Gramarye--I'mpledged to her. It's too late, Valerie. Oh, why did you come?" Heburied his face in his hands. "You'll never understand, " he muttered. "I know you never will. It's no good--no good.... " Suddenly he stoodupright and took off his hat. Then he smiled very tenderly and shookhis head. "It's too late, Valerie--my sweet--my darling.... Toolate.... "

He turned and strode down the track towards the tottering bridge. 

For a moment Patch stood looking from him to the girl, uncertain andpuzzled. Then he went scampering in Anthony's wake. 

 * * * * *

"As soon as you've finished, Lyveden, we'll have that fir down. It'sthe only way. With that list on her, she may go any day. And, whenshe does, as like as not she'll push half the bank into the road. "

Anthony, who was munching bread and meat, nodded agreement. Hisemployer got up and strolled in the direction from which the crunch ofwheels upon a rough road argued the approach of a supply of posts andrails. 

The fence about the estate was going up. 

It was indeed high time. What was left of the old paling was in evilcase. Worm and rot had corrupted with a free hand. There was hardly achain, all told, that merited repair. So Gramarye was to have a newgirdle. For the last week Winchester and his little band had beenworking at nothing else. A spell of fine weather favouring them, thework flew. Master and men worked feverishly, but for once in a way, without relish. The industry of the gnome was still there, but it hadbecome nervous. 

The reason for this must be made clear. 

Always, till now, the little company had laboured in secret. Thethick, dark, lonely woods of Gramarye had sheltered all they did. Nostrange, unsympathetic eyes had ever peered at their zeal, curious andhostile. This was as well. They had--all ten of them--a freemasonrywhich the World would not understand. They were observing rites whichit was not seemly that the World should watch. Hitherto they hadtoiled in a harbour at which the World did not touch. Knowing naughtelse, they had come to take their privacy for granted. Now suddenlythis precious postulate had been withdrawn. Since wellnigh the wholeof the estate was edged by road, the erection of the fence at once costthem seclusion and showed them how dear they valued it. 

All day long the World and his Wife passed by, kindly, mocking, orsilent--but always curious. The little fellowship became resentfullyself-conscious.... Old wounds reopened; forgotten infirmities liftedup their heads. The three great sailors remembered that they weredeaf. The little engineer noticed his trailing leg. The lean, grey-headed joiner thought of the wife who had left him: his fellowrecalled the cries of a dying child. Anthony minded Miss French. Onlythe two old carters were spared the ordeal, their labour keeping thembusy under the cover of the woods. Winchester himself felt the unusualexposure most of all. But that the fence was to give them thefee-simple of privacy, he would have abandoned the enterprise. It wasnot that he was ashamed, but, as an atelier, he had no use for ahouse-top. "Working in a shop-window, " he styled it. If he detestedpublicity, his resentment of idle curiosity was painfully apparent. Once or twice, indeed, he had broken out and, in a voice of thunder, bade loiterers begone. Happily they had always obeyed.... 

Anthony finished his lunch, gave a few pieces to Patch, quenched histhirst with a draught of well-water out of an old beer-bottle, and gotupon his feet. Winchester had not reappeared, so he strolled across tothe fir-tree which had been marked for destruction. As usual, hisemployer was perfectly right. It would be idle to carry the palingalong this piece of bank and leave the tree standing to menace fenceand foundation. The sooner it was out of the way, the better. 

He crossed to where the sailors were crowded about the engineer, whowas drawing a rough diagram upon the sawn face of timber to illustratesome argument. Hard by, upon a log, the joiners were smoking andconversing in a low tone. 

"Where are the axes, Blake? The Colonel and I are going to fell thatfir. "

The grey-headed joiner rose and stepped to a rough litter covered by atarpaulin. The latter, being turned back, displayed a travellingarmoury of tools. As he lifted two axes out of their slots, Winchestercame thrusting out of the undergrowth. 

"Ready, Lyveden?" he queried. "Right. "

Anthony flung off his coat, made Patch fast to a convenient bush--youcould not be too careful when trees were falling--and took an axe outof the carpenter's hand. The sailors had disappeared in the directionof the waggon. A moment later the two ex-officers were felling thetree. 

It was Winchester's whim to use an axe where he could. He delighted inthe pastime, and his tremendous physique enabled him to make such playwith the tool as could few men who were not experts. Under hisguidance, Anthony had proved an apt pupil, and the two, workingtogether, could send a soft-wood tree toppling in no time. So engaged;they made a wonderful picture. Had any passed by at this moment, theymight have been pardoned for staring. 

At his fourth stroke Anthony misjudged the angle, and his axe stuck. As he leaned forward to lever it out of the wood, there was the whirrof steel falling, and he flung himself back with a cry. The other hadstruck without waiting for him to get clear. 

As an error of judgment, the thing was inexplicable. A child of sixwould have known better. And an axe was no pop-gun. 

For a moment he stared at Winchester like a man in a dream. 

His employer blinked back.... 

Then his eyes narrowed. 

"_You're_ getting curious, are you?" he said thickly. 

In spite of himself, Anthony started. 

Loosely nursing his implement, the other took a step to one side. There was not much in the movement, but it placed him between Lyvedenand the road. 

Anthony kept his eyes riveted upon the powerful hands playing with thehaft of the axe.... 

Twenty paces away a saw was going. Raised above the din could be heardthe engineer's voice calling for the return of his pencil. A distantclatter of timber told that the waggon was being unloaded. 

Anthony moistened his lips. 

For another pair of eyes he would have given anything. Any moment nowhe would have to jump--one way or the other. It did not matter which. The going was equally bad. But if he met an obstruction--caught hisfoot in a root--fell among briers at the outset, he knew he was doomed. The impulse to glance to one side was terrible. Yet he dared not takehis eyes from those terrible itching fingers. If only one of themen----

The noise of the saw stopped, and a piece of wood fell with a thud. Blake's voice was heard asking the whereabouts of his rule. The answerwas inaudible, but the next moment somebody started to move in thedirection of the fir. As they passed Patch, they chirruped. 

In an instant the axe leapt to Winchester's shoulder, and Anthonyjumped.... 

A moment later Blake parted the bushes, to see his employer wrench freean axe which had bitten into the ground, and hurl himself afterLyveden, who was on his feet again and running steadily about six pacesahead. 

For a second the fellow stared stupidly. Then he let out a yell andstarted in pursuit. 

The two ex-officers were evenly matched. If Anthony was the lighterand younger, Winchester had run for Oxford. Moreover, the latter knewthe woods like the back of his hand. Anthony, who did not, ranblindly. This was not a moment to pick and choose. All the time hewas desperately afraid of mire.... 

Briers tore at his legs, saplings whipped him across the face, a boughstabbed at his eyes and, as he turned, scored his brow savagely; arabbit-hole trapped his foot and sent him flying, but he caught at afriendly trunk and swung round to find his balance and a new linebefore him. So quick was the turn, that the giant behind him lost theyard he had gained. Down through a grey beechwood, over a teemingbrook, into a sodden drift of leaves, up through a welter of bracken, on to the silence of pine-needles, over the top of the ridge into thecursed undergrowth again, panting, straining, sobbing for breath, histemples bursting, his hands and arms bleeding, unutterable agony in hisside, Lyveden tore like a madman. The pace was too awful to last. Always the terror behind clung to his heels. 

They were flying downhill now, and the giant's weight was telling. Onthe opposite side of the valley was another pinewood. If he could onlyreach that, between the good going and the up-gradient Anthony feltthat there was a bare chance. The thing behind, however, was coming up. 

The slope grew steeper ... Precipitous ... With a shock, Lyvedenrealized that the giant must be almost above him, that he had only todrop.... With a frightful effort he swerved. A tangle of matted thornbushes opposed him. Frantically he smashed his way through, kickingdesperately at the suckers, plunging to find a footing--aholding--anything. For a moment he trod the air. Then he fellheavily, head first, into a ditch.... 

Only the sight of the road before him and the firm brown carpet beyondcould have got him upon his feet. Dazed and winded, he staggeredacross into the pinewood and started to struggle up the slope.... 

A sudden thought came to him, and he glanced over his shoulder. Thenext moment he was leaning against a tree-trunk, gazing down into theroad. 

Winchester was flat upon his face, spread-eagled, scrabbling with hisnails upon the roadway and cursing horribly. He seemed to beendeavouring to haul himself across. Had the road been a wall, youwould have said he was trying to scale it.... 

He had made no progress by the time the others arrived, and was easilysecured. Then ropes were sent for, and two of his magnificent sailorslashed his arms to his sides. 

 * * * * *

The end of a conversation held this same evening in the hall of BellHammer may be recorded. 

"He's not himself, Aunt Harriet. There's something wrong. Nobodycould have been more gentle--or handsome. He was just wonderful. Andthen... " Valerie broke off and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "His work and the place itself--Gramarye, he calls it--seem to have gotinto his blood. You never saw such enthusiasm. It was unnatural. "

"Anthony Lyveden, " said Lady Touchstone, "is not the man to go mad. "

"I know. But he ought to see somebody--a doctor. There was thequeerest light in his eyes.... And he spoke strangely, as if he heardthings. Who's the great man for--for brain trouble?"

"Sperm, " said Lady Touchstone placidly. "But you're racking my brainsfor nothing. Anthony Lyveden's not----"

"I know he isn't!" cried Valerie. "That's what makes me certainthere's something wrong. He's doing something, or taking something, orbeing given something, that's affecting his mind. It's not internal;it's some outside influence. If he didn't care, it'd be different. But he does. He said so. But he didn't seem to have room for me andthe estate at the same time. It had to be one or the other. It waslike a bad dream--past dispute, but illogical. "

"I should write to John Forest, " said her aunt. "Ask him to come andstay. He's a wise man. I don't feel equal to telling you what to do. I don't know what to tell you. If you'd come back and said that hewouldn't see you, I was going to Chorley Wood----"

"Chipping Norton, " corrected Valerie. 

"Well, Chipping Norton--myself. I was going to kneel down in the mudand refuse to get up. I was going to wear that blue face-cloth that weboth hate. I'd got it all worked out. But, from what you tell me, there's apparently nothing for me to kneel for. "

"Nothing whatever, " said her niece. "He's given me everything, and--I've come empty away, " she added miserably. 

Lady Touchstone rose and stooped to kiss the girl tenderly. 

"Take my advice, " she said, "and write to John Forest to-night. Andnow don't fret. You're a thousand times better off than you were fourdays ago. For one thing, you know where he is. What's more, he'scontent to let bygones be bygones. My darling, you've much to bethankful for. And now go and take a hot bath, and try and get a napbefore dinner. Poor child, you must be dead tired. "

With a sudden movement Valerie threw her arms about her aunt's neck. 

"I don't know why you're so good to me, " she said. 

Then she kissed her swiftly and, getting upon her feet, passed up thebroad stairs. 

For a moment Lady Touchstone stood looking after her niece. Then sheput a hand to her head and sank into a chair. She was profoundlyworried. If any girl other than Valerie had come to her with such anaccount, she would have been less troubled. But Valerie was so veryclear-headed. True, her love had got away with her, and she had hadthe very deuce of a fall. But she was up again now, and nothing likethat would ever happen again. Her judgment was back in its seat asfirm as ever. And when she said that something was wrong with Anthony, that he seemed to hear things, that there was "the queerest light inhis eyes, " Lady Touchstone knew that it was perfectly true. What wasworse, she was entirely satisfied that these things meant braintrouble. For three months after his wife had died, Valerie's ownfather had been under surveillance for precisely similar symptoms. Sheremembered them fearfully. And this Major Lyveden was so reminiscentof poor Oliver. His voice, his manner, the very way his hair grewabout his temples, reminded her strangely of her dead brother. It wasnot surprising that she attributed Anthony's condition to a somewhatsimilar cause. What troubled her most was her conscience. She had sether heart upon the match, and she was now uncertain whether it was nother clear duty to try to call it off. 

After a little she rose and crossed to a table. Taking a sheet ofnotepaper, she began to write. 

_DEAR WILLOUGHBY, _

_I think it probable that within a few days your secretary will make anappointment for you to see a Miss Valerie French. This is my niece. She does not know we are friends. When she tells you her tale, youneed make no allowance for hysteria. Believe every word she says. Shewill not exaggerate. And please remember this. It is most desirablethat she should marry the man about whom she will consult you. But itis still more desirable that she should not marry a madman. _

 _Yours always sincerely, HARRIET TOUCHSTONE. _

Then she selected an envelope and addressed it to

 _Sir Willoughby Sperm, Bart. , 55 Upper Brook Street, Mayfair. _

 * * * * *

After a nightmare three days, work at Gramarye was again in full swing. Anthony's succession to Winchester had been accepted without a murmur. If the men displayed any feeling, it was that of relief. When he hadtold them that nothing whatever would be changed, shown them his Powerof Attorney, explained that he was a steward sworn to continue the worktill--till his employer should have recovered, they had stared upon theground like schoolboys and stammeringly requested an assurance thatthings would go just the same. Reassured, they had nodded approval andexchanged gratulatory glances. Then they had gone about their business. 

Anthony's task was less simple. Apart from his compliance with theLaw--a painful and embarrassing ordeal, which Mr. Plowman fussilystage-managed, dressing every detail with such importance that thelayman's wonder melted gradually to a profound contempt--there was muchto be learned. That all was in beautiful order saved the situation. And a letter, addressed to him in Winchester's bold handwriting, proveda master-key to the mysteries of income and outgoings. 

_... There's three hundred on deposit at the Bank. That's to cover theimmediate expense of putting me away. Now look at Sheet 7. That'slast year's balance-sheet. That'll show you I was well within myincome. All the same, expenses will have to be cut--to provide for me. The wages must stand, and so must the "Horses and Stalling" (Book 2). Don't part with the roan. There'll be times when you'll have to go toTown, as I did, for odd accessories. "Tools and Materials" (Book 3)will have to suffer, but we're well set up now, so you ought to pullthrough.... _

There was an invitation, too, to live at the mansion, which Anthony didnot accept. Twice a week he would visit the office and work therefaithfully, but he could not bring himself to live in the house. 

Apart from the manner in which the blow had been dealt him, he felt theloss of his employer most bitterly. He found the tragedy even morepiteous than terrible. That so rude an axe should have been laid sountimely to the root of so glorious a tree filled him with sorrow. That the tree should have heard the step of the woodman on his way tothe felling, haunted his memory. 

So far, however, as Lyveden's health of mind was concerned, itselfgrievously inopportune, the catastrophe could not have happened at amore opportune moment. Trading upon the heels of his encounter withValerie, it made a terrific counter-irritant to the violentinflammation which that meeting had set up. Yet if the back of thesickness was broken, disorder and corrective, alike so drastic, werebound seriously to lower the patient's tone. His splendid physicalcondition supported its brother Mind and saw him well of his faintness, but the two red days left their mark. Looking back upon them later, Anthony found them made of the stuff of which dreams are woven--bitter, monstrous dreams, wherein the impossible must be performed lest a worsething befall and a malignant eye peers beneath stones which even Miseryherself would leave unturned. How he had parted with Valerie he wasuncertain. He could not remember her going. Of her coming he knewnothing at all. She had appeared and, he supposed, disappeared. OfWinchester's attack upon him, and the subsequent chase, his memory wasclearer. How he had escaped, however, at the foot of the brier-cladslope, he could not conceive. He could have sworn that for the lastthirty paces the man was not three feet behind.... 

He was thankful to get back to work, and plainly immensely relieved tofind that, during his absence, the others had made such progress withthe paling that the scene of his employer's seizure had been left wellbehind. 

A week had elapsed since that cloud-burst, and, as before, Lyveden wasfinishing his lunch, when he noticed that Stokes, the second carpenter, had not returned. The fellow had gone to his quarters, to fetch someimplement, nearly an hour before. When another half-hour had gone by, Anthony, in some impatience, dispatched Blake for the tool. Twentyminutes later the latter returned, chisel in hand, but with no news ofhis mate. When it was five o'clock and there was still no sign ofStokes, Anthony struck work and ordered an organized search. It seemedrather hopeless, but, on the whole, the best thing to do. The man wasmissing. If possible, more zealous than any, it was unthinkable thathe was playing truant. He could not have been spirited away. Anthonysupposed gloomily that he had met with a mishap. There was, indeed, noother solution. 

It was getting quite dark when they found him down in a little dellupon a patch of greensward. Considering that he was a joiner, and nota sexton, he had made remarkable progress with a very creditable grave, which, he explained, was to receive the dead with which the woods weredistributed. He added that it was a disgrace to leave so many corpseslying about, and pointed out that he had removed his boots for fear oftreading upon them. 

When they sought to humour him, he became suspicious and violent, andthere was quite a struggle before he was overpowered. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE POWER OF THE DOG

The accident was inevitable. 

Everybody present, except the driver of the green taxi, saw that. Andhe was so fearful lest the driver of the red omnibus should lose onewithering participle of the apostrophe he had provoked, that he couldnot be bothered with the exigencies of traffic and the Rule of the Road. 

Everybody, including Mr. Justice Molehill, shouted impotently; a smallpage, on his way to the postoffice, stood agonizedly upon one leg; anda moment later there was a splintering crash, the blue taxi shed acabin-trunk and a suit-case on to the pavement, and then, after aparalyzing moment of indecision, came heavily to rest against thepanels of its aggressor. 

Now, his lordship had no desire to become embroiled in a dispute whichmight easily beget a subpoena. Still, because of his elevation to theBench, he had not resigned the fellowship of Man, and, since he was thenearest individual to the blue taxi, he stepped to it quickly andopened the door. 

A man of about sixty years emerged gratefully. His cassock and thepurple about his hat argued him a prelate of the Catholic Church. 

"Thank you so much ... No, I'm not hurt at all. I sat stillbecause----"

"Good heavens!" cried the Judge. "I know you. " The other peered at himin the half-light. "My name's Molehill. We met at Rome--over adeathbed will. "

The prelate started. Then recollection came twinkling into his gentleeyes. 

"Of course, " he said, putting out his hand. "I remember perfectly. Before the War. How very strange that----"

"It's Fate, " said the Judge excitedly. "Or Providence. For the lastthree months I've been racking my brain for your name, so that I couldget into----". 

"Forest, " said the other. 

Sir Giles Molehill slapped himself upon the thigh. 

"That's right!" he cried. "Forest! John Forest!"

The presence of a rapidly increasing crowd and four constables at oncediscountenanced any further ebullition of glee, and emphasized thediscretion of withdrawal. 

The Judge thought rapidly. 

"Look here, " he continued, "my club's just over there. " He noddedacross the street. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll fetch thecommissionaire. He can take charge of your luggage, and then, ifyou'll come in and have some tea with me, I shall be delighted. "

"You're very good, " said the other. 

Mr. Justice Molehill hastened away.... 

Ten minutes later the two men were seated before a comfortable fire, absorbed in each other's conversation. 

"That will, " said the Judge, "which you and I witnessed in 1914 hasnever been proved. "

"That, " said his guest, "is, I fear, my fault. At the present momentit's lying in a drawer of my writing-table at Rome. "

"No?" cried his lordship, twittering. 

Monseigneur Forest nodded. 

"If you remember, " he said, "after you and I had witnessed the oldgentleman's signature, I took charge of it. "

"That's right. You were going to take it to the British Consulate, tosee if----"

"They'd stamp it. Exactly. Well, I was too late that day. I attendedthe next morning, and, after a little difficulty, they consented, forwhat it was worth, to put a seal on it. Then I went back to the hotel. When I asked whether the testator was still alive, they told me he'dgone. "

"Gone?" cried the Judge incredulously. "But the man was dying. "

"Dying or not, he'd left for Paris that morning. To the amazement ofthe manager he had quietly walked into the office, asked for his bill, and ordered a cab to be sent for and his luggage to be brought down. Apparently the doctor attending him had tried to protest, and had beensent away with a flea in his ear. I can only assume that the oldfellow was subject to some violent malady, which comes and goessuddenly, one of whose attacks he has been warned will prove fatal. "

"What an amazing thing!" said his lordship. "It never occurred to methat he would survive the night. However, as it happens, it doesn'taffect the validity of that will. He's dead now. He died in 1917. But the will that was proved and is lying at Somerset House was made in1910. "

"You mean to say that the will we witnessed supersedes it?"

"Undoubtedly. "

The prelate covered his eyes. 

"Dear me, " he said. "Dear me. I blame myself very much. I shouldhave sent the document after him, of course. His address was there. Iquite intended to. But I had to leave for Vienna very suddenly uponthe next day. Instead of the days I had expected, I was away formonths. I only returned upon the eve of the explosion----"

"And, naturally, you forgot all about it. So did I. The merestaccident brought the whole thing to my mind. "

"Accidents all the way, " said the priest. 

The Judge smiled. 

"It looks like it, " he agreed. "To be short, I came across the man inwhose favour our will was made. Such a nice-looking fellow--obviouslywithout a penny. Earning his living as a servant. Lyveden, his namewas--Anthony Lyveden. Don't let me raise your hopes. I've lost himagain--utterly. But everything's happening in the right order. It wasno good finding him just to make his mouth water. "

"But the other will, " said his guest. "What about that? Haven't itsprovisions been given effect to?"

"That, " said Sir Giles, tapping him on the shoulder, "is the beauty ofit. We're upsetting nobody. The other will leaves Lyveden everypenny, _provided he becomes a Knight_. "

"What an infamous condition!"

"There you have the story. Upon what he believes to be his deathbed, the old fellow repents his harshness. Recovered, our Pharaoh hardenshis heart and lets the old will stand. 'The Devil was sick, the Devila monk would be. '"

"_De mortuis_, " said the prelate. "Besides, now we're going tocanonize him, willy nilly. "

"With any luck, " smiled the Judge. "Can you send for the document?"

Ruefully Monseigneur Forest shook his head. 

"I must go for it, " he said. "I must return at once. It's the least Ican do. 'Without a penny, ' you said? Poor fellow. I was going intothe country to-morrow, to stay with my niece. But that must wait. "

"We haven't found him yet, " said his lordship. 

"That may be the deuce of a business. Of course, now our hands arefree. With the will located, we can advertise. I think, perhaps, though, we'd better wait till we've produced it to the solicitors. "

The priest agreed heartily. Then he counted upon his fingers. After amoment's calculation--

"I'm not as young as I was, " he said, "but, if all goes well, I'll meetyou here a week from to-day with the will in my pocket. "

Tea and the comparison of notes upon matters of moment, other than thefortunes of Anthony, occupied another half-hour, when, after exchangingaddresses, the two men parted, pledged to meet again in seven days'time. 

The Judge walked home thoughtfully. 

The queer little play was almost over. The strange human documentwhich it had pleased him to piece together was almost whole. He foundhimself wondering why he had shown such solicitude. After all, who wasthis Anthony Lyveden? Why had he been at such pains to set this beggarupon horseback? Perhaps Fate had meant him to walk.... If she had, she was playing a curious game. Thanks to her efforts, the fellow'stoe was practically in the stirrup. And he himself--Lyveden--had noidea of it.... 

Mr. Justice Molehill smiled. 

It was really an entertaining little play. Until it was time for hisentrance, the leading character would not even know that he was takingpart. There he was----

The smile died suddenly, as the reflection lost its savour. 

Where? Where was the leading character? Supposing, when the timecame, he could not be found.... Into what a dismal fiasco the playwould turn. All his interest would have been thrown away. Hissolicitors would have been investigating a lost cause. Forest wouldhave been sent packing back to Rome upon a fool's errand.... 

Mr. Justice Molehill gnawed at his lower lip. 

There was no doubt about it. For some reason which, for all hisprudence, he could not perceive, this Hecuba was a great deal to him. 

His bewilderment may be excused. The reason was out of his ken. Thetruth is, there was a ghost to be laid, and Fate had chosen him for thejob. Judge or corner-boy, the man himself did not matter. The lotfalling upon him, he had become in this adventure the particular agentof Fate. 

King or herdsman, jester or sage, croupier or harridan--lend her whatpersonality you please--Fate hath the reins and so the laugh of theuniverse. Ever at its rump, her pricks are insensible alike to kicksor kisses. Folly, sceptre or rake in hand, she stands or sprawls uponEternity, bending the ages to her whim. And we, poor things, at onceher instruments and butts, stumble about her business, thinking itours, setting each other up, bringing each other low, spoking eachother's wheels and all the time, wise in our own conceit, basking inthe sunshine of our fine free-will, like lack-brains toasting theirshanks before an empty cage. 

A Napoleon is still-born; a Medici never survives hisswaddling-clothes. Into the tiny graves are huddled a milliondestinies. The sexton's shovel smothers up a Renaissance; soon thedaisies will blow above History. Those eyebrows are lifted, that lipcurls, and two fair homes go down in sorrow. This man misses a train, to travel with Fortune in the one that follows. A horse is beaten onthe post, and the frantic clerk who has backed it goes for five yearsto gaol. Five years.... What are five years to Fate? Acable-operator nods over the Wheatstone, and a king loses his crown. Awitness hesitates, and an estate passes to the bastard and to his heirsfor ever.... 

And so the game goes on. 

The living grains of sand go slipping and sliding into place in thatgigantic hour-glass, striving and fretting in their vanity, but alwaysimpotently falling towards that thin neck, where days are numbered andthe punctilious turnstile ushers to those mysterious marches wherethere is no more Time. 

Look at them here. 

Judge and maiden jostling a prelate--one upon either side--each of themin a toss about the same Anthony Lyveden, yet neither aware of theother's existence, and all four falling, while they fret, first intoplace and presently, one by one, towards that thin neck where days arenumbered.... 

What? Have I whipped up a puppet without advising you? Bear with me, sirs. 'Tis but the rustle of a gown--a silk knee against satin--uponthe staircase. In another moment I shall have opened the door. 

The more Monseigneur Forest thought upon the matter, so suddenly thrustsmoking before him, the more uneasy he became. The kindest of men, hefound the picture of the poor legatee fighting for existence when, butfor another's remissness, he would have had a goodly heritage, inexpressibly distressing. Indeed, could he have started for Rome thatnight he would have done so. But for the knowledge that he was aboutto do all in his power to rectify the wrong, he could not have slept. As it was, the reflection that Anthony Lyveden had yet to be foundworried him greatly. It was, of course, most unfortunate that thebusiness had not cropped up before. Here he was on his way toHampshire, in response to a cry so instant that he had set everythingon one side, and now, however sore her need of him, his niece, MissValerie French, would have to wait. Blood might be thicker than water, but the poor pinched ghost that had been knocking so long upon his doortook vaulting precedence of any flesh and blood. In the good man'seyes this stranger, Anthony Lyveden, had earned and must be accordedthe privileges of the dead. 

Directly he reached his hotel he sat down at his bed-room table andindited a letter. 

_1st March, 1921. _

_My DEAR VALERIE, _

_I am, as you see, in London. _

_Till an hour ago I was on my way to you. Now I must leave again forRome to-morrow morning. _

_By accident there has come to me the knowledge of a grievous wrong, for which I am largely responsible. This, mercifully, it may be in mypower to repair. To attempt to do so, however, necessitates myimmediate return in quest of a paper which none but I can procure. _

_You can guess, my dear, how very much distressed I am that I must keepyou waiting, but, if I told you the case, you would be the first tohale me to the station. _

_I shall return straightway to England--that is, so soon as my yearspermit--and, all being well, I shall be here again one week fromto-day, and with you at Bell Hammer one week from to-morrow. _

_You did not tell me the nature of your trouble, so that I can offer nocounsel; if, as I suspect, it concerns the man of whom you have alreadywritten to me, remember, for what it is worth, that my faith in him hasnever wavered from the moment you told me that he had won your love. _

 _Your affectionate uncle, JOHN FOREST. _

To the prelate, who framed it, that letter was the best he could do: toMiss Valerie French, who received it, it was a great disappointment:and to an eminent brain-specialist, who had never heard of it, it wasworth exactly three guineas. 

 * * * * *

"I should have come to you before, " said Valerie, "but I was expectingmy uncle, and wanted to ask his advice before I took such a step. Butnow he's delayed, and I can't wait any longer. "

Sir Willoughby Sperm leaned forward and picked up a pen. 

"One moment, " he said, taking a sheet from a drawer. "Now then. Whatis the patient's name?"

"Major Anthony Lyveden, D. S. O. , " said Valerie. "L-Y-V-E-D-E-N. "

The name was entered. 

"Yes. Address?"

Valerie hesitated. Then--

"Gramarye, Chipping Norton, " she said. 

The address went down. 

"Age?"

"I think about thirty. "

"Wounded?"

"Not that I know of. "

"When did you see him last?"

"Eleven days ago. "

"And before that?"

"Not for three months. "

"And his demeanour had changed in the interval?"

"Exactly. "

"Are you engaged to him?"

"No. "

"Were you engaged to him?"

"Practically. "

"And it was broken off?"

"I broke it off. "

"Why?"

"I suspected him of inconstancy. "

"Did you tell him so?"

"No. "

"And he?"

"He left the neighbourhood. "

"That was three months ago?"

"Yes. "

"Was your meeting eleven days ago accidental or by arrangement?"

"I visited him unexpectedly. "

"In the hope of reconciliation?"

"Yes. "

"How did he take it?"

"Most handsomely. "

"The reconciliation was effected?"

"Yes. "

"But his demeanour has changed?"

"Yes. "

"In what way?"

"He seems infatuated with his work. "

"To the exclusion of you?"

"Exactly. It's as if in the interval he'd become a priest, and, although he still loved me, he was no longer free. "

"What is his work?"

"Restoring an estate--the place he lives at--Gramarye. It's a verylarge estate--nearly all woods--and it's been entirely neglected for anumber of years. He and some others, including the owner, are workingto get it straight--re-making roads, building bridges, cutting downtrees. It sounds Quixotic, but I can see the fascination. Besides, hetook the work of necessity. He's very poor. "

"He seemed to consider himself devoted to the service of the estate?"

"Exactly. "

"Did he exhibit any one particular mental symptom?"

"He heard things which I could not hear. "

"Did he say what they were?"

"Trumpets. "

"Anything else?"

"When he heard them, his eyes... "

Valerie hesitated. 

"Yes?"

"--were the eyes of a fanatic. "

There was a long silence, while the pen was busy upon the broad sheet. Then--

"He should be seen, " said Sir Willoughby, "by a specialist without hisknowing it. I can't go down. Later, I may be of use. I hope youwon't need me. The obvious thing to do is to get him away. But, ifyou can't do that, no one can--peaceably. D'you think you could tryagain?"

"I feel it would be waste of time, " said Valerie. "You say some oneshould see him. Can you tell me who to go to?"

"D'you know Dr. Heron?" Valerie shook her head. "He assists me a lot. If he can go, I know of no one better. Would you like me to speak tohim?"

"I should be very grateful. "

Sir Willoughby pressed a bell. To his secretary, who answered thesummons--

"I want to speak to Dr. Heron, " he said. 

In silence the girl withdrew. 

Whilst the two were waiting, the physician spoke very kindly. 

"I'm not going to express any opinion, because it would be valueless. It's clear that there's something wrong, but I've seen so manyrecoveries. "

"Which you have brought about, " smiled Valerie. 

"I can never do more than contribute. I can only advise. It is theexecutive that works the cure. That's why I'm so hopeful about MajorLyveden. "

"The executive?"

"Such as the devotion of relatives. "

"He has no relatives. "

"Or, better still, " said the doctor, "the love of a great-heartedlady. " The muffled bell of a telephone interrupted. "Excuse me. " Hepicked up the receiver. "Is that you, Heron? ... Can you see a friendof mine this afternoon? ... At four-thirty?" Sir Willoughby looked atValerie with raised eyebrows. She nodded quickly. "Yes. That'll do... Miss French. Miss Valerie French ... A case in the country ... Urgent ... She wants your report. I won't say any more. She'll tellyou better than I. Ring me up, if you like, before you go. Good-bye. "He pushed the instrument away and turned to Valerie. "I'll haveanother word with him when you've told him your tale. "

"Thank you so very much. "

Having laid three guineas upon the table under the decent cover of aphotograph frame, Valerie rose to her feet. Sir Willoughby rose alsoand passed to the door. As he held it open, he put out his hand. 

Valerie took it and held it. 

"Nobody could have been kinder, " she said. 

The physician smiled. 

"Try not to worry, " he said. "I haven't seen Gramarye, but I don'tthink she'll stay the course. Not if you set the pace.... "

 * * * * *

It was the following Sunday morning that, after considerablehesitation, Lyveden issued an order which he could well have spared. The instruction was addressed to the younger of his two carters, andwas touching the man and the dog-cart and a seven-mile drive. In aword, it had become expedient that Major Anthony Lyveden should go upto Town. 

His employer had warned him that periodical visits to London would befound indispensable. For all his dislike of the world, Winchester hadhad to pay them from time to time. Now that the latter was gone fromGramarye, and Anthony reigned in his stead, the duty, when it arose, fell to his lot. Never relishing the idea, he would not have believedthat it could become so odious. Ere it had taken shape, it loomedvexatious. Looking it in the face, he found it repulsive. No reclusecould have been more reluctant to leave his hermitage. Major AnthonyLyveden felt positively nervous. 

Since he had been in charge the man had altered. 

He, who in the old days had shouldered with a smile responsibilitieswhich would have set his elders sweating with apprehension, found thelight weight of Gramarye a fardel to make him stagger. This was out ofall order. Had he lain sick for a month, the work would have gone assteadily. The truth is, he was investing the conduct of a waggoner'steam with the nicety requisite to the control of a tandem ofthoroughbreds. That Lyveden of all men in the world should make such acostly mistake showed that his nerves were hagridden. 

For all his dread of it, however, the visit to London could notconveniently be postponed. The need of some of the items upon hislittle list of accessories had become urgent, imperilling the work uponthe estate. A few hours in the Metropolis would be enough. He knewwhere to go. Two addresses in the City and another in Drury Lane wouldsee the whole of his pilgrimage.... 

With a sigh, the ex-officer had locked up the safe and, leaving thecold grey parlour, whence he administered, passed out of the echoingmansion into the careless frolic of a fine March morning. 

As he had expected, the younger of the two carters was in the stables, and Anthony gave his order without more ado. Then he whistled to hisSealyham and started for home. 

After a wild night the unrepentant winds were full of mischief. Amonstrous dignity of fleecy clouds scudded undignified across the blue. The precious park became a tossing waste of woodland, teased intoflurried liveliness, full of false starts and misdirection, instantlybuffeted for every blunder and bellowing good-natured protests at everycuff. Respectable brown leaves chased one another down the tracks;dark sober pools slapped their confining banks; the steady flow ofbrooks faltered irresolute. 

Nature herself being so roughly used, be sure that man and beast wereplagued unconscionably. Anthony's hat was sent whirling, and histerrier's ears were flicked inside out at the first corner. Not thatthey cared--either of them--for the sunlight leapt with a joy that tookthe sting out of the horseplay and turned the edge of the devilment. The day was as good as a tonic. By the time they had sighted theircabin the two were revelling. 

Not until he was on the point of entering the cottage did Anthonynotice the artist. Seated upon the traditional camp-stool, the latterwas sketching busily some twenty-five paces away. Apparently absorbedin his work, he never so much as threw the newcomers a glance, andLyveden was more than half minded to let him be. Patch, however, thought differently. Even as his master turned to the door, there wasa low growl, and a moment later the Sealyham was baying the intruder asif he had been a convict. 

Calling the dog sharply, Lyveden advanced to apologize. 

The lazy brown eyes hardly looked at him, and the slender fingers neverleft their work for an instant; but a pleasant smile leapt into thestranger's face, and, ere the apology was voiced, he spoke with theutmost good humour. 

"Please don't scold him. He's perfectly right. I'm a trespasser and avagabond. I have no visible means of subsistence, and, if these thingsare crimes, I'm an habitual criminal. If you really don't want me todraw your cottage, I'll stop. But you must say so right out. And itisn't the cottage so much as the background I'm after. To be frank, this looks a promising place. I'm out for woodland--something that'snot too tidy. "

Anthony smiled grimly. 

"Orderliness, " he said, "is hardly our forte at present. The park'sbeen Nature's playground for over a century, and she's made the most ofher time. "

"You sound, " said the other, "as if you had authority. Am I free ofthe place, or not?"

For a second Anthony hesitated. Strangers were not to his taste. There was, however, a quiet careless indifference about the fellow'smanner which was reassuring. Moreover, he liked the look of him, therewas nothing monstrous about his attire--he might have stepped off agolf-course--and there was a kindly expression upon the intellectualface. Somehow the droop of a fair moustache subscribed to thesuggestion of laziness which the eyes had put forward. Indeed, hiswhole demeanour argued the simple creed "Live, and let live. "

Lyveden had just decided to give the required encouragement when theother knocked out his pipe. 

"That's all right, " he said lightly. "I never take offence. And I'm arare believer in privacy. If I had a place in the country I shouldhave a ten-foot wall about it and a guard-room at every lodge. It'snot that I'm a misanthrope, but to my mind there's not much point inownership if you don't----"

"I expect you'd issue some passports, " said Anthony. "Any way, pleasedon't go. And, if Gramarye's what you want, you're free to come andwork whenever you like. Nobody'll say anything to you; but if theydid--I'm going to Town to-morrow--my name's Lyveden, and I'm the--theagent here. "

"You're very good, " said the artist; and with that he filled his pipeand set to work again. 

Anthony went about his business. 

By the time he had washed Patch, the stranger was gone. 

Dusk was falling ere Lyveden saw him again--a tall, thin figurestriding up the track from the depths of Gramarye. As he passed thecottage, the ex-officer hailed him, offering to house his paraphernaliafor the night. After a moment's hesitation, the other accepted.... With the interior of the cabin he was plainly delighted, pointing hishost a score of engaging features which only an antiquary would haverecognized. Anthony gave him some tea, and the two sat smoking for theinside of an hour. 

At length the artist rose. 

"I must get back to Girdle, " he said. "About two miles, isn't it?"

"About that. I won't say 'Good-bye. ' If Gramarye suits you, perhaps Ishall see you again. "

"Thanks to your _laisser passer_, you may. I want to get on toWoodstock, really; but your woods are worth a day or two. Good night. "

He swung off into the darkness, and a minute later Anthony heard hissteps upon the metalling of the London road. 

It was upon the following afternoon that Lyveden swore under hisbreath. At the time in question he was standing in a largeefficient-looking shop which smelt strongly of cordage and was situatein Drury Lane. 

The manager was nervously apologetic. 

"They've bin on order a week now, sir, but I can't honestly say as Iexpects them under three. You know what labour is now. In the oledays it was a matter o' 'phonin', an' hanythin' you liked 'd be 'ere byspecial messenger in 'alf an hour. But now.... "

He threw up his hands helplessly. 

"Where else can I try?" said Lyveden. 

The man mentioned two or three stores--each of them in the City. 

"But I don' think you'll get 'em, sir. You might get an hodd one, but'alf a dozen o' 'Lightnin'' mattocks at the moment is worth theirweight. "

With a sigh Anthony bowed to the inevitable. 

"There's my address, " he said, handing the man a slip of paper. "Sendme a card the moment they come in. "

"I'll set six aside for you, sir. "

"All right. "

He paid for the goods he had purchased, had them placed in a taxi, anddrove to Paddington. 

He was so ridiculously glad to see the station again that theordinarily provoking discovery that he had lost the return half of histicket but twitched the hem of his temper. With a rueful smile hedetermined to deduct the price of his carelessness from his next week'swages. 

The fact that he had broken no bread since breakfast never occurred tohim. His one idea was to get back to Gramarye. Not that the dreadedvisit had proved exacting. Indeed, as was to be expected, London hadroared as gently as any sucking dove. It was with no true sense ofrelief that he watched the bustling platforms recede. Them and theirfellows, the streets, he bore no grudge. Hideously crowded as theywere, he felt almost kindly disposed towards them. He could afford tobe magnanimous. He was on his way back. An hour or so, and he wouldstand once more under the grateful shadow of his sanctuary.... 

He had no newspaper, nor any need of one. The flitting landscape, theregular pounding of the wheels were declaring tidings precious beyondprice. A hundred times he wished the compartment empty save forhimself, that he might have exulted openly. As it was, he was reducedto hugging himself surreptitiously, to staring upon the window andwinking at his elusive reflection, which he could dimly focus in thestout pane. After a while he became pitiful of his fellow-travellers. As like as not, poor devils, they thought they were well off. And herebeside them sat one who was bound for Gramarye. Anthony hugged himselfanew. Then another station flashed by, before his feverish eyes couldread the name, to set him twittering with speculation.... 

By the time the train steamed into Chipping Norton, the ex-officer wastrembling all over. 

To Patch, who had spent the day in the wood-shed, his master's returnto the cottage was the signal for an undisguised explosion of ecstasy. Herein, as the noise of the roan's hoofs died away, he was unexpectedlyjoined by Anthony, and for a long two minutes the two wallowed in apure paroxysm of glee. 

It is to be noted, however, that while the terrier presently dispatcheda generous supper with every indication of relish, his master left hisuntasted. Of the cold well-water the latter was undeniably glad, drinking great draughts and presently drawing more and washingluxuriously. Then he drew more and drank again, but he could touch nofood. Neither, tired as he was, could he sit still before the fire.... 

Two hours later he stumbled across his threshold like a drunken man. Another draught of water revived him somewhat, and, after resting alittle in the Windsor chair, he mounted the tiny staircase and wentshakily to bed. 

 * * * * *

Eight days later the artist with the lazy eyes rose from hisleather-topped table to greet Miss Valerie French. 

Handing her to a chair, he resumed his seat, and, after a word or twoupon the weather, turned straight to the point. 

"I saw Major Lyveden for the first time last Sunday week. We met inthe morning, and he gave me tea the same afternoon. The next day hewent up to London--on business of some sort--but I saw him on Tuesdayand again on Friday and Saturday. 

"I don't propose to trouble you with technical terms. All the same, it's not always possible for a medical man to render his languageliterally into the King's English. Now and again I shall give yourather a free translation, so you mustn't hold me too tight to anythingI may say. I tell you this, because I'm going to state facts and nothand you mere expressions of opinion. "

Valerie nodded intelligently, and the speaker cleared his throat. 

"Now, Miss French, one thing is manifest. If Major Lyveden remains atGramarye, he will lose his reason. " The doctor paused, and for thefirst time Valerie noticed the sober, methodical tick of agrandfather's clock. This, so far from spoiling, served to enrich thesilence investing the latter with an air of _couchant_ dignity whichwas most compelling. "He is at present the prey of certain malignantforces--the more immediate of them natural; some, I believe, unnatural--and nothing short of his removal from where he is now canset him free. I'm not certain that even removal will be entirelyeffective. But it's obviously the first step. If a man is down withmalaria, the first thing to do is to get him out of the swamp. "

Valerie was very pale, but her voice did not tremble. 

"And supposing he won't leave... ?"

"He must be taken away--forcibly. Listen. At the village inn I pickedup a lot of news. All sorts of rumours are current--all touchingGramarye. Most of them are nonsense, and I won't repeat them. Othersare founded on hard fact. Have you heard of a Colonel Winchester?"

Valerie nodded. 

"Major Lyveden spoke of him as his employer. "

"That's right. He owns the estate, and was the working manager of thisrestoration business. "

"_Was?_" breathed the girl. 

"Was. Three weeks ago he went mad. " Valerie started violently. "It'ssaid that he tried to kill Lyveden. That I can't answer for, but he'sin a private asylum for dangerous lunatics. "

There was a painful silence. Then--

"Is--is it the place?" said Valerie faintly. 

The specialist rose to his feet and started to pace the room. 

"As a doctor, I ought to say 'No'; as a man who has spent the inside ofa week there, I'm moved to say 'Yes. ' Surroundings can depress orelevate, of course. That's common knowledge. But there's somethingmore than that here. In the village they told me the place wasaccursed. Nonsense, of course. Yet---- Honestly, Miss French, Idon't know how to tell you... There's--there's a dreadful sinisterattraction about the park: there's an unearthly magnetism about thewoods--a queer, wistful fascination about the wilderness. At Girdlethey swore it was birdless. It may be. There are such places. Icertainly saw neither bird nor beast while I was there. And that's notnatural. But it's not what you see and hear: it's what you feel. It'sterribly hard to explain, but the place appeals most powerfully to theemotions. You feel an irresistible impulse to go to _Something's_assistance. Of course my eyes were skinned, so I saw the treachery. But I felt the appeal. " He halted and threw out a hand. "Imagine aserpent disguised as a beautiful woman in distress--_that's_ Gramarye. And if I'd been there a month, instead of a week----" He stoppedsuddenly, like a man whose tongue has run away and made a fool of itsgovernor. "And now please forget what I've said. It doesn't affectthe case. I went down to see whether there was reason to fear forMajor Lyveden's sanity. I've found that there is. And I advise thathe be taken away forthwith. "

"To a home?"

"A private house would be better. If it became necessary, he could bemoved. But he shouldn't be allowed to have an inkling that his mind isin danger. "

"I'd be thankful to have him at Bell Hammer. "

"Your home?"

"Yes, " said Valerie. "In Hampshire. "

The doctor resumed his seat and crossed his legs. 

"You're prepared to undertake it?" he said. "I mean, it may be a verytrying responsibility. "

"Dr. Heron, I hope to become Major Lyveden's wife. "

The specialist nodded. 

"Good. Do you wish me to arrange his removal?"

"Oh, please. "

"Very well. Have you a closed car?"

"Yes. "

"Any brothers?"

Valerie shook her head. 

"Why, doctor?"

"Because, " said Heron, "he will resist. It doesn't matter. "

"I've two friends who will help me. "

"Young strong men?"

Valerie shivered. 

"Yes. "

"Can you trust your chauffeur?"

"Implicitly. "

"Good. Now let's see. " He turned the page of a diary and thenreturned it. "To-morrow's Tuesday. I don't want to waste any time, but we can't rush things. Please have a room at Bell Hammer ready onFriday. I'll arrange for two nurses to go to you that afternoon. Ishall go back to Girdle to-morrow evening. I hope I shall want yourtwo friends and the chauffeur with the car during the week-end, but Imay have to wait. In any event, I shall wire to you at Bell Hammer, giving them twenty-four hours' notice and telling them where to come. Please tell the chauffeur to have enough petrol and spares to go fromGirdle to Hampshire without a break. "

"Is that everything?" said Valerie. 

"Almost. There's just this. We ought to arrive by night; but I wantyou to leave all instructions and go to bed. "

"I can't do that, doctor. I'll promise not to appear, until you sendfor me, but----"

"That'll do. That's what I want. Don't think I'm being professional. Remember, I've taken Sperm at his word, and spoken more frankly to youthan ever I've done in my life. "

"I'm more than content, " said Valerie. "You and Sir Willoughby havebeen just wonderful. "

"That's the epithet he and I keep for you, Miss French. " They rose andshook hands. "And since of your amazing self-control you've asked noquestions, I'll make you a present of an answer. In my opinion, hewill recover completely. "

Valerie caught her breath sharply, began to tremble violently, and thenburst into tears. 

 * * * * *

Order means much to me, gentlemen. Indeed, I believe in the dame. Tofall foul of her ruling does not like me at all. Unless, however, I amto play the diarist, there are times when I have no choice but toretrace my steps. This is one of them. Four windy days must beclapped back on to the hasty calendar--four days, sirs, of which threedo not matter, while the fourth, or first--whichever way you look atit--concerns us mightily. In a word, it was upon the eleventh day ofMarch that poor Mr. Slumper was also among the prophets. 

 _66 Bedford Row, London, W. C. 11th March, 1921. _

_Dear Sir, _

Anthony Lyveden, Esq. 

_We understand that this gentleman was recently in your service. _

_We have to make to him a communication of the utmost importance, andone which it will be to his great advantage to receive. _

_Since, however, we have already addressed to him one letter c/oyourself, to which we have had no reply, and since we have reason tobelieve that he has quitted your service, we shall be much obliged ifyou will be so good as to inform us where he may now be found, or, failing that, the address to which he proceeded on leaving your house. If you should be unable to give us this information, we shall begrateful for any suggestion you may be in a position to make as to theprobability of his present whereabouts. _

 _We are, dear sir, Yours faithfully, BULRUSH & Co. _

 _Joseph Bumble, Esq. , The Shrubbery, Hawthorne, Hants. _

Mr. Slumper was in the act of preparing to fold the letter beforeinserting it in the envelope which he had carefully addressed, when hesaw the words "Anthony Lyveden. "

For a moment he stared at them. Then, glancing furtively round, for itwas no business of his to read the letters for whose dispatch he wasresponsible, he subjected the sheet to a hurried perusal. 

What he read excited him. There was no doubt about that. In a momenthis nerves were at leapfrog. Fingers and lips and eyelids allflickered and fidgeted in a manner painful to see. Twice he half rosefrom his chair, only to sink back upon the edge, twittering.... Herewas an intention with no drive behind it. The truth is, the back ofMr. Slumper's will was broken in twain. 

The exact moment at which the fracture had occurred cannot be statedwith any certainty. A sentence of three months' imprisonment in thesecond division was not responsible. The smash was before that. Probably it came with the realization that he stood beneath the shadowof the Criminal Law. Be that as it may, the ex-financier emerged fromprison a broken man. But for the interest of Mr. Blithe, the seniorpartner of Bulrush & Co. , who had had him met at the gates andstraightway sent him for a month to the seaside, poor Mr. Slumper musthave sunk like a stone. When he was fit to follow an occupation, hewas encouraged to accept a living wage, the work of an office-boy, anda tiny room to himself.... 

Here, then, it was that Mr. Slumper was doing battle. How much it costthe poor sinner to pick up the letter, emerge from his closet, and makehis way upstairs to Mr. Blithe's ante-chamber will never be known. That it reduced his overdraft in Heaven goes without saying. Curiouslyenough, the penetration of the barrier erected upon the obnoxiouspersonality of a managing clerk proved a less formidable business thanMr. Slumper had expected. The very truculence of the fellow stung thederelict to a sudden defiance. This was but a flash in the pan--yetenough for a bully.... After a moment's delay, Mr. Slumper wasadmitted into the senior partner's room. 

Blithe looked up with a kindly smile. 

"Yes, Mr. Slumper? You want to see me?"

All his nervousness returned with such a rush as to make theex-financier break into a sweat. But he found his voice somehow, andfell a-wondering who it was that was speaking his thoughts. 

"If you please, sir. It's--it's about this letter. "

He laid the sheet upon his employer's table. "I was--thanks to yourgoodness--addressing the envelope. I take a great interest in thework, sir: and I don't, of course, read the letters, except to obtainthe addresses. But the heading of this one, sir, happened to catch myeye. The name being familiar, I took the liberty of reading the text. And--and--I'm very loth to step out of my place, sir, but, if you areseeking the whereabouts of a footman called Lyveden, sir, AnthonyLyveden, I hardly think there can be two of that name. I mean ... "

The solicitor smiled encouragingly. 

"Go on, Mr. Slumper, " he said. 

Mr. Slumper moistened his lips. 

"It will seem strange to you, sir, but he--if it is he--was in myservice last summer. " He passed a trembling hand across his mouth. "He left me right at the last. He was very good to--to us.... And Iused to wonder sometimes what had become of him--he was a gentleman, you know. And then I saw him again.... "

Blithe leaned forward. 

"Yes?"

"Last Monday, sir. At Paddington Station. I had the pleasure offetching a bag for you, sir, from the cloakroom that afternoon. " (Itmay be mentioned that this particular commission should have beenexecuted by the commissionaire attached to the office. As, however, itwas raining at the time, that gentleman and the managing clerkaforesaid had seen no good reason why "old Slumper" should notsatisfactorily perform the duty and save his betters a wetting. Bothpaid for their blindness in due season. The principal was dismissed, with the result that, after a heated argument, the accessory before thefact was hit first upon the nose and then upon the left eye with allthe principal's might. ) "He was having some luggage labelled to gowith him by train. There seemed to be some question of over-weight. Iwas quite close to him. Indeed, it was hearing a voice I knew thatmade me look at him. I heard him say, 'I'm going to Chipping Nortonand on to Girdle. ' I very nearly spoke to him, but----"

"You're quite sure it was he, Mr. Slumper?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I've no doubt at all. "

"Splendid, " said Blithe. "I'm extremely obliged to you. I shall writeto Girdle at once. If, as I verily believe, you've found us our man, we shan't forget it. Of course I'll let you know as soon as I hear. "The speaker rose to his feet. "So you're getting on all right, areyou? I'm so glad. And keeping fairly well? That's right. Come outthis way. " He opened a private door. "Good morning, and thank you somuch. "

With a full heart Mr. Slumper passed humbly down the stairs.... 

Within the hour another letter came to his desk for direction. This heread without any hesitation. Indeed, the pleasurable glow ofachievement which it induced ushered a gleam into the dull brown eyessuch as they had not known for many a day. 

 _CONFIDENTIAL. _

 _66 Bedford Row, London, W. C. , 11th March, 1921. _

_Dear Sir, _

_We have reason to believe that a gentleman of the name of "AnthonyLyveden" is residing in your neighbourhood. We are anxious to obtainhis address in order that we may make to him a communication of thehighest importance, and one which it will be to his great financialadvantage to receive. _

_If you can furnish us with his address by return of post we shall begreatly obliged; but, if you are unable to do so, kindly causeimmediate inquiries to be instituted with a view to locating him, andadvise us accordingly. _

_Our information is that Mr. Lyveden left London for Chipping Norton enroute for Girdle on Monday last, the 7th inst. _

 _Yours faithfully, BULRUSH & Co. _

 _S. Plowman, Esq. , Solicitor, Girdle, Oxon. _

If to be told that the Probate Divorce and Admiralty Division of theHigh Court of Justice will be prepared to award you a mansion in Town, an estate in Dorsetshire--each of them, as they say, ready to walkinto--and nearly three-quarters of a million of money, is to receive acommunication to your great financial advantage, then Bulrush & Co. Hadnot overstated their case. 

There was no doubt about it, Anthony's ship was signalled. The pilotwas going aboard. Very soon the galleon would be in the stream. 

If the double journey had proved too much for John Forest, so that theprelate was compelled to rest before returning to England, at least hehad sent the will by registered post. This in due season had beenproduced to the testator's solicitor, a benevolent gentleman of the OldSchool, who, after an interview with Sir Giles Molehill and Blithe atthe Royal Courts of Justice, was entirely satisfied regarding itsvalidity. Indeed, his anxiety to wash his hands of the usurper wasalmost voluble. 

"And I may say, my lord, that I more than once spoke very warmly to myclient about that iniquitous proviso which he made me insert. But, asyour lordship knows, a testator has always been permitted to indulgehis utmost eccentricity, and my words fell upon deaf ears. He was adifficult man, sir, was Jonathan Roach. But when the time came, and Ihad to break the news to young Lyveden, it was a sorry business. I'mheartily thankful it's going to be put right. "

"I hope it is, Mr. Orphan, " had replied the Judge. "But we've stillgot to find our protégé. That I must leave to you and Blithe to pulloff. I've done my part. But you must keep me informed, for I'mdetermined to be in at the death. "

The two attorneys had promised faithfully, and left the Judge smiling. Benevolence and shrewdness seldom go hand-in-hand, and his lordship'swords had contained a subtle instruction to Blithe to shepherd hiselderly brother and not to retire from the case. The flick of aneyelid had disclosed Blithe's reception of the hint. 

With what result, we know. 

And that is the sum of my arrears, gentlemen. Henceforth, if youplease, you shall find the street of narrative straight as a Frenchhighway, with hill and dale certainly, but none of your hairpin cornersto send you doubling upon your tracks. 

 * * * * *

It was eleven o'clock of a Sunday morning. 

Never was an hour more melodiously announced. The diverse tongues ofOxford insisted upon its arrival for fully five minutes. Indeed, theharmonious argument, which had begun as his lordship's car was nearingMagdalen Bridge, was still in progress when the great grey limousineswung out of St. Giles's and on to the Woodstock road. 

All three of its occupants were in a holiday humour. The Judge wasradiant; Orphan proved splendid company; while Blithe, a brillianttalker, kept the two bubbling with merriment upon a fire of delicatewit. The miles fairly melted beneath their gaiety. Indeed, it was notuntil the Judge's eye caught the message of an odd finger-post that anyone of the three realized that they had passed Blenheim. 

"CHIPPING NORTON 8!" cried his lordship. "Gad, gentlemen, we're nearlythere. Blithe, you're a stage-manager in a million. The thing's goingto pan out like a well-written play. What time did you tell Plowman toexpect us?"

"At twelve o'clock, " said Blithe. "With any luck we shall just do itnicely. "

"Good!" said the Judge. Then: "I think we'd better pick up Plowman andtake him with us, don't you, Orphan?"

"I think so. For one thing, he knows Lyveden and can introduce us. "

"Quite so. " His lordship consulted his watch. "We ought to havelanded our fish by a quarter to one. We'd better mark down an hoteland carry him off to lunch. You'd better speak to him first and justmake sure he's our man. "

"Certainly, " said Orphan. "I think if I ask him his mother's maidenname, where he was born, his age, and the name of his uncle's butler, that ought to do. "

"Why the name of the butler?" said Blithe. "Is that a catch?"

"Quite right, " said Orphan. "Just to make doubly sure. Old JonathanRoach never would have a man-servant in the house. It was a whim ofhis. If I get the right answer, I shall be easy for ever. But I don'twant to take any risks with the best part of a million at stake. "

"I agree, " said Sir Giles. "Have you got some cash for him?"

The other nodded and touched his coat. 

"One hundred in notes and a cheque-book. I'll take his specimensignature, and put a thousand to his credit to-morrow. "

"Good!" said the Judge. "That's the style. I wish poor Forest washere. He'd 've enjoyed it thoroughly. Such a pathetic letter he wroteme when he sent the will. Blames himself out of all reason for keepingthe document so long. I sent him a line on Friday to say that we'dfound our man. I admit it was rather precipitate, but, all thingsconsidered, I think I was justified. By the time the letter reacheshim it will be a _fait accompli_--and I wanted to ease his mind. "

"If you ask me, " said Blithe, "it's all over but the shouting. Thetalk I had with Plowman over the telephone settled it. In fact, thatwas when the shouting began. Which reminds me that the trunk line fromLondon to Girdle requires attention. It was not a conversation at all. It was a joint rhapsody. "

"Personally, " said the Judge, "I detest the telephone. It's a pomp anda vanity of a wicked world. You can never be sure who you're talkingto, nor how many people are listening; there's no record of what you'vesaid and no evidence that you've even said it. The invention is aconvenient nuisance, conducive to blasphemy, and should be abated. "

The car rolled on. 

Presently, though none of them knew it, they slipped past Anthony'scottage and so down Gallowstree Hill to the village they sought. 

To say that Mr. Samuel Plowman was ready and waiting in no waydescribes his condition. The little lawyer was wellnigh beside himselfwith expectation. The prospect of meeting a Justice of the King'sBench intoxicated. The possibility of entertaining such a one in theflesh and the dining-room of The Nook, Girdle, made tales of Paradiseseem tame. A burning discussion with Mrs. Plowman had resulted in adecision not to offer his lordship lunch. That would be attempting toomuch. Cakes and ale, however, flanked by a dish of sandwiches and atantalus, made a collation at once independent of service and adaptableto every appetite. Furniture was moved, rugs were transferred, thefirst floor was spoiled to turn the spare bedroom into Mr. Plowman'sconception of a Judge's lavatory. It had been mutually agreed thatMrs. Plowman's presence would be intrusive, but, in the circumstances, to go soberly to church was more than the good lady could stomach. AnO. P. Was therefore established in the bathroom beside the geyser, towhich point of vantage Mrs. Plowman undertook to repair the moment thecar was heard.... 

The Nook standing close to a corner of the London road, seven times wasthe O. P. Occupied and evacuated between half-past eleven and twelve, and three times did Mr. Plowman actually throw open his door andadvance, nervous but beaming, into the drive, only to hear thedeceitful engine once more gathering speed. The fourth time, however, the purr of the engine fell to a steady mutter, which was maintained. The car was not at the gate, but it was not moving. Possibly itsoccupants were inquiring for The Nook.... Mr. Plowman tried not to rundown the drive. With her heart in her mouth, Mrs. Plowman peered pastthe geyser to where the branches of a monkey-puzzler maddeninglyobstructed her view of the front gate.... 

Two minutes later the little solicitor reappeared, walking mostdelicately and attending a tall, distinguished-looking man with everycircumstance of veneration. Behind them came two other strangers, whomight have been equerries. That, for all his ecstasy, Mr. Plowmanremembered to throw a smile up to the bathroom window, literallyreduced Mrs. Plowman to tears of joy. 

It was no desire for refreshment, but pure kindness of heart that movedSir Giles Molehill to accept the attorney's invitation. And, as washis way in life, he did the thing handsomely. Did he see beer?Splendid. He would have a bottle of beer. Yes, and a sandwich. Excellent. Just the thing after an eighty-mile run. What excellentroads they kept in Oxfordshire! He never remembered better. And theCotswold air was magnificent. Really, one had to spend one's days in astuffy Court in Town to appreciate the country as it deserved. 

"Yet we thrive on the atmosphere, bad as it is. Look at the time welive, Mr. Plowman. Who ever heard of a Judge dying? Yes. I reallymust have another sandwich. They're so excellent. And now we want youto come with us in the car and take us to Mr. Lyveden ... _Major_Lyveden, is he? Right ... D. S. O. ? Good fellow. Wonder what he gotthat for. And then you'll come on to lunch.... "

By the time they were back in the car, Mr. Plowman was upon the edge ofpraying for an occasion of saving his lordship's life at the expense ofhis own.... 

At the south-west corner of Gramarye the guide gave the signal, and thecar was stopped. Then Plowman and Orphan alighted and passed up thewasted track. Except for a wreath of smoke curling from the chimney, the cottage might have been deserted.... 

"I rather expect, " said Plowman, "he'll be having his dinner.... "

A second later he was tapping upon the door. 

For a moment there was a dead silence. Then a stealthy movement madeitself heard.... 

The two men listened intently. 

From the London road the Judge and Blithe were watching them closely. 

The door remaining fast shut, Mr. Plowman knocked again. 

Instantly the movement ceased. After perhaps twenty seconds it wasrenewed, but with a difference. The stealth had become hasty. 

The two men stared at one another. Then--

"Better go in, " said Orphan, with his hand on the latch. 

This yielded to pressure, and the next moment the door was open. 

The atmosphere prevailing in the little chamber was uninviting. Therewas a fire glowing upon the hearth, and the room was unpleasantly hot. From the reek of a pungent tobacco emerged an unsavoury smell ofsomething which was not fuel, burning. Scattered about the red-brickfloor were black feathers without number, and here and there amid theplumage appeared the muddy print of feet. Perched upon the logs was apot bubbling, and by the side of the hearth an old pair of bootsemitted wisps of steam. Lyveden himself was nowhere to be seen. 

Plowman looked round wide-eyed, and Orphan blew disgustedly through hisnose. 

The former raised his voice. 

"Major Lyveden, " he called, smiling, "may I come in?"

There was no answer. 

The two conferred in a whisper. Then Plowman cleared his throat. 

"Major Lyveden!" he called. "It's Plowman speaking--Plowman, ofGirdle. Can you spare me a moment?"

Still no reply was vouchsafed. 

Followed by the other, Orphan advanced into the room and looked behindthe door. There was no one there. 

He stepped to the foot of the flight of stairs and spoke upward. 

"Is Major Lyveden there?"

For a moment it seemed as if he, too, was to go unanswered. Then--

"Nao, " said a voice thickly, "'e ain't. 'E's gorn aout, 'e 'as. An'won' be beck till ter-morrer. "

Orphan looked sharply at Plowman. The latter shook his head, frowning, as if in denial, and lifted his voice. 

"Who's that?" he snapped. 

Somebody was heard to swallow. Then--

"I tell yer 'e ain't 'ere, " said the voice. "'E's--'e's gorn aout. "

"Who has?" said Orphan. 

"Majer"--the speaker hesitated--"Major Dibdin. "

The hesitancy alone would have proclaimed the impostor, and, whilePlowman ran for the others, Orphan told the occupant of the bedroom, first that he was an infernal liar, secondly that he was beingaddressed by a magistrate, and thirdly that, unless he desired to begiven into custody for stealing poultry and housebreaking, he hadbetter descend forthwith and tell the whole truth. 

As the Judge and Blithe came up, with Plowman behind them, Orphanstepped backwards out of the doorway. 

"Come on, " he said roughly. "Out in the air. "

Barefoot, of his trepidation still grasping the carcass of what hadbeen a black Orpington, there emerged from the cottage a filthy andevil-smelling tramp. A week's sandy stubble bristled upon his chin, the pendulous lips were twitching, the crafty eyes shifted uneasilyfrom side to side. 

The four lawyers stared upon the beastly apparition in disgusted dismay. 

The sickly smile of guilty embarrassment upon their _vis-à-vis'_ facehad begun to swell into the cringing leer familiarly precedent to anappeal for leniency, when the fellow leaned forward, stared fearfullyat the Judge, and, dropping the pullet with a screech, recoiled againstthe wall. 

"I ain't done no 'arm, " he cried, whimpering. "I ain't done no 'arm. I never stole that there 'en. She were dead in the way, me lord. Runned over by a cyar, she were. I only come aout last Toosday, melord, an' tryin' ter run strite an' git a good job o' work, like wotyou said, sir. It's gauze trewth I never stole that there bird. Shewas layin'... "

Out of a bad business the queer recognition stood solitarily opportune. Rhadamanthus' own promise of clemency in return for the truth could nothave been more effective. The plain facts, however, were wofullybitter to hear. 

The tramp had taken undisputed possession at eight o'clock thatmorning. The cottage was then empty. The fire was out and the bed inorder. Upon the floor of the living-room lay the fragments of apitcher, with the water, which this had held, settled in a pool uponthe bricks. A Windsor chair was fallen, Dagon-like, upon its face, with its legs in the air. What no one could understand was the factthat the lamp, which hung from the ceiling, was still burning. 

 * * * * *

More or less recovered, but profoundly depressed, Monseigneur Forestreached Hampshire upon the following Thursday. He had visited theJudge in London, and learned from his mouth first the news and then thedetails of the unpleasant truth. His lordship's contention that Fatewas opposed to their endeavours, he found it difficult to dispute. Believing that he was on his way to a triumph, he had come breathlessto participate in a rout. For three days he had dandled a new-bornjoy, to find it stark upon the fourth.... 

Valerie was not at the station, but Mason was there with the car, andthe poor man was glad to be alone. He was mourning a stolenopportunity to repair a great wrong, and would not be comforted. Thelost legatee haunted him more tragically than ever. 

As the car swept to the house he noticed two girls upon the steps. 

They were interrogating the butler. 

Observing his arrival they cut their inquiries short. The prelateemerged, however, in time to hear the servant's concluding words. 

"No, madam. Only that the improvement was maintained. Thank you, madam. "

"Who's ill?" cried Forest sharply. 

The butler inclined his head. 

"Major Lyveden, sir--a friend of Miss Valerie's. He----"

"_Who?_"

For all his training the servant jumped. 

"Major Lyveden, sir. Major Anthony Lyveden. "

Monseigneur Forest looked round helplessly. Then he put a hand to hishead and sat down on the steps. 

CHAPTER IX

VANITY OF VANITIES

In a quiet, even tone Lyveden was talking. 

The pleasant voice went steadily on, now reciting, now commenting, nowlending argument, a cool dispassionate gravity that forced the ear. Facts were so clearly stated, conclusions so reasonably drawn, pointsso firmly made--all without a trace of emotion, yet seriously offeredin the most conspicuous good faith--that it was almost impossible torealize that the speaker was insensible. But that is the way ofbrain-fever.... 

The voice faltered and stopped. 

Fervently Miss French prayed that it and the frantic brain might restfrom their labours. She wanted desperately to think--to be mistress ofher thoughts--but, so long as the voice prevailed, the impression thatshe was being addressed prevented her, first because it was so vivid, and then because of its importunity. 

It was half an hour since Sir Willoughby Sperm's car had rolled downthe curling avenue and slipped past the tall lodge-gates. If all wentwell, another fortnight would elapse before the great specialist sawthe patient again. 

The silence continuing, Valerie fell to wondering what the two weekswould bring forth. That the fever would presently abate, and theex-officer be spared his life, seemed highly probable. In fact, Valerie steadily refused to consider that he might weaken and die. What she was eternally asking was what would happen when the engine ofthe brain, at present running free, was once more engaged with thesystem it was used to control. Would the coupling break suddenly, andher man go an idiot for life? That she could not believe. Or wouldthe old balance be restored, perfect as ever? There was doubt in thedoctor's eyes. Was he, then, to wake stumbling upon that No Man's Landwhich lies between sense and idiocy? And, if so, how were histrembling steps to be guided aright? Carefully she started to weighSir Willoughby's words.... 

"What concerns me most is how to deal with his condition of mind whenthe fever has run its course. From what I've seen, and from what Heronhas told me, I'm satisfied that it is vital that Gramarye should neveragain enter into his life. That park, or estate, or whatever it is, had taken such an unhealthy hold upon his imagination, that he washalf-way to insanity. If Gramarye is permitted again to take thehelm.... Well, the ship is half-way across--half-way across thosenarrow straits which divide reason from lunacy. We've got to take thehelm and put it over just as hard as ever we can. You understand? Ina word, if, for instance, Major Lyveden were to revisit Gramarye, Ithink the game would be up. That, of course, can't happen. But it is, in my opinion, of the highest importance, not only that no reference tothe place should be made before him, but that we should do our utmostto direct his attention to other matters. We can't expunge the lastfour months from his memory--I wish we could. Half the asylums inEngland would be empty if we could do that. But we can avert our eyesfrom the record, and we can try to avert his. "

'Try to avert his. ' How? Anthony was not an infant, to be beguiledwith a rattle when he cried for a blade. And if Gramarye was proposing'again to take the helm, ' who was to stop her? Had Miss French putthat question to Sir Willoughby, he would have replied, "Yourself. "For that reason she had not asked him. Again and again he had insistedthat, if the mischief was to be mended at all, it would be at herhand.... 

There were times when the thought terrified her, when the panic fear ofthe condemned sat in her eyes. For Valerie knew it was just. It wasshe who had brought a gallant gentleman to this pass--she who hadsmashed the exquisite wonder of melody their hearts had danced to--shewho had hacked asunder the silken bridge of love and sent her loverinto the arms of Gramarye. 

Gramarye!

Her solitary visit to the park stood out of the girl's memory like asnow-covered peak, vivid and frozen. There was no mercy there. Whatwas far worse, there was an unearthly appeal. Flesh and blood were onething, but a wild mystery of woodland, the desolate grandeur of aruined park, the majestic havoc of a proud estate--these were anothermatter. Looking upon her rival's face, she found it notable.... Valerie set her white teeth. That its beauty was a mask hiding somedreadful influence, made her heart faint within her.... 

Yet, if this fainted, it always revived. Valerie French waswell-plucked. If it was ordained that she should fight with BlackMagic, with Black Magic she would fight. It was her own fault.... Itwas typical of the girl that the fact that she had already paid veryheavily never once occurred to her. She had called the tune withoutasking how much it would cost. That the piper's bill was so long wasdue to her recklessness. She did not dispute the account. 

For the hundredth time she wondered what line Gramarye would take.... 

It seemed, mercifully, that the fell influence of the estate was not tohave things all its own way. While the sick man in his delirium talkedmuch of Gramarye, he spoke of Valerie too--frequently. For hourstogether, sometimes, he dwelt upon their love. As a rule, he debatedwith himself whether it was fair to her to let her see him again. (Listening to these heart-searchings, Valerie's heart burned withinher. ) Then he would call his Sealyham and speak to him of the lady, asking if she were not wonderful and a sight for sore eyes. "When shecalls you, Patch, aren't you proud of your name? And she took yourhead in her hands to-day. I saw her. Such sweet, pretty hands.... And you looked in her eyes, Patch, and then you licked her nose--verygently, like a good little dog.... " Then, again, Anthony's life as afootman was often remembered. Mr. And Mrs. Bumble were gratefullydiscussed. The Alisons--George especially--figured constantly. Evenhis life in the Army was sometimes mentioned, and other older days, hard to identify.... Gramarye held a good hand--undoubtedly: but therewere other cards in the pack. 

The door opened noiselessly, and a fresh-faced nurse stole into thedarkened room. Valerie and she exchanged whispers, and, after anotherglance at the silent figure upon the bed, the lady of Bell Hammer gaveplace to the professional and made her way slowly downstairs. 

 * * * * *

It was past three o'clock of a sullen March afternoon when Mr. PeterEvery dismissed his parade. 

The men turned away listlessly, hollow-eyed. 

Only the little lame engineer said anything at all, and that was aninaudible communication to the three great sailors, whose hearing wasgone. Gloomily the latter watched his fingers stumble over their rudetranslation of Every's last words.... 

"So there you are. Colonel Winchester's gone. Major Lyveden's too illto ever come back. Without the authority of one of these two, notanother penny can be spent on this estate. Obviously the work's got tostop. I know you don't want wages, but you've got to live.... AndI've come, as Major Lyveden's friend, to tell you this before the Lawsteps in--as it will--and does it more bluntly. 

"I know it's rough on you, and I'm devilish sorry, but it's got to befaced.... And, as I say, I'm commissioned to offer you all yourpassage to Canada and fifty pounds apiece to tide you over there tillyou can get going. 

"You chaps think it over. 

"I'm staying at _The Rose_ at Girdle, and those who want to accept, report to me there to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Then I'll tellyou the details and fix everything up. Right. "

Leaning against the trunk of a fallen beech, Every watched his littleaudience wade through the weathered fringe of bracken and turn on tothe rough brown road that dipped and curled into the heart of Gramarye. 

The droop of their shoulders, the heaviness of their steps, the silencein which they went, trumpeted misery. Anything, however, was betterthan the dull sightless stares with which the news that their work wasover had been received. Every, who was no coward, had been preparedfor suspicion, defiance, violence. Instead, his service of the warranthad been accepted without a word. He had no shred of authority, butnot the slightest attempt had been made to call his bluff. It hadbeen, in fact, a painful walk-over. The seven labourers seemed toexpect a death-blow. When it fell, they met it with the apathy ofdespair. Every felt as though he were sentencing a bunch of forestponies to the pits, and the dumb hopelessness of their demeanourplucked at his young heart-strings.... 

For two or three minutes after the little group had passed out of sightthe young man stood motionless. Presently his eyes wandered from thetrail up a rude bank, all starred with primroses, through the dimbreathless magic of a pinewood on to a peering screen of new-bornleaves, pale-faced and trembling. After a moment's rest, they turnedsouthward to where the lean brown road went paving a deep corridor, straight, silent, its black walls towering. Distance and gloom lentthese a grim symmetry, suggestive of duress; above, a grey ribbon ofsky issued a stony comfort, such as prisoners use.... With a shiver, Every turned away his head. To the north the ground fell sharply, andthe cut of the road vouchsafed a glimpse of what it led to--woods, woods, woods, swelling, rising, tumbling, bolstering one another up, shouldering one another aside, some with their limbs still bare, otherslaced with the pale pinafore of spring, all of them dense andorderless, composite regiments of timber, where squire and skip-jackstood back to back, and the whelps of both thrust and quarrelled for aplace in the bulging ranks. 

Every became suddenly conscious of a silence more tense and death-likethan he had ever dreamed of.... 

Then a wind breathed--miles away ... To the north. He could hear thebreath coming, a mere whimper among the tree-tops. The whimper becamea whine.... Reaching the pinewood, the note slid into a moan, thatrose slowly to a thin wail as the breath fled up the corridor with thetowering walls. The wail fell to a sigh.... 

With straining ears, the man waited for this to fade.... 

"Mopping up?" said a quiet voice. 

Every started violently and turned right about. 

Ten paces distant, within the shadow of the beechwood, was a bigupstanding grey, with ears pricked, vigilant. Square in the saddle sata girl, in a habit of dark blue cloth. So dim was the light that Everycould not distinguish her features, but he marked how the eyes burnedout of a pale face and noted the glint of copper beneath the hard felthat. 

"Mopping up?" she repeated quietly, but this time there was a silkinessin the tone that put the man on his guard. 

"That's one way of puttin' it, " he said lightly. "I'm sort of windin'up the Company. "

"The Garden of Eden Limited, " flashed the girl. "History repeatsitself. " For a moment she hesitated. Then--"Where's Adam?" she saidcarelessly. 

"Done a bunk, " said Every, with no idea of what she meant. "Are you acreditor?"

Miss Strongi'th'arm regarded him. 

"Either, " she said coldly, "you are a liar or else a fool. "

Every stared at her speechless.... After a moment the girl shruggedher shoulders. Then a riding-boot flashed, and the grey sprang forward. 

As she pulled up beside him--

"By what authority do you dismiss these men?"

Every looked up steadily into the angry eyes. Then he took off his hat. 

"Forgive me, " he said quietly, "but by what authority do you ask?"

For a second he thought she would strike him. The cold fury of thepale peaked face, the haughty set of the lips, the blaze of the greatbrown eyes, heralded violence.... 

Every never moved. 

With a sudden movement André turned her head to stare into thedistance. At length--

"I've lost all I had in this estate--this venture ... And a lotthat--that wasn't mine, " she said slowly. "Is that good enough?"

Before the weariness of her tone, Every's resentment went down with arush. 

"I'm most awfully sorry, " he said gently. "I'd no idea of this. Idon't think any one has. Of course, if I'd known for a moment that youwere--er--interested, I shouldn't have dreamed of moving in the matterwithout your consent. " He hesitated. Then-- "But surely you canrecover something. I mean, the place can be sold, and I'm sure thesolicitors would see to it that you----"

André gave a dry laugh. 

"I hardly think they'd allow my claim, " she said shortly. 

Every swallowed before replying. 

"You could try, " he said desperately. 

"Fool, " said the girl contemptuously. "It's not a question of money. It's a question of men. " And with that she fell to whistling under herbreath. 

Every decided that she was mad. 

"I'm afraid I don't understand, " he said stiffly. "What I'm doing, I'mdoing with the approval of Mr. Plowman, solicitor to ColonelWinchester--he's the owner of this park: and, if you apply----"

"Yes, I know that, " said André quietly. "But for this park, I shouldbe Mrs. Winchester. "

The scales fell from Every's eyes. The picture of the giant, of whomPlowman had told him, pacing a madman's cage, rose up before him, and agreat wave of pity for his companion swept into his heart. It occurredto him suddenly that, but for the grace of God, Valerie French wouldstand by this strange girl's side.... 

"Think you understand, don't you?" sneered André. She laughed shortly. "You've got a lot to learn yet. First of all, my friend, this isn't apark. It's a temple. The very place you're standing on is holyground. And those clowns you're sacking are priests--sworn to moil andtoil for Gramarye until she's sucked the brains out of their heads. And you're spoiling her game ... I should go carefully, if I were you, my friend. And if you get safe out of her to-day, I shouldn't comeback--_if you can help it_... I don't want to be rude, but she'sbrought down bigger game than you--far bigger.... And they were her_favourites_. "

"I'm not afraid, " said Every. 

"Of course you aren't. If you were, you'd be safe. If Samson hadfeared Delilah, he wouldn't have lost his eyes. " She broke off andshrugged her shoulders. Then--"And now, if you're satisfied with myauthority to question you, what's yours for dismissing these men?"

"I have none, " said Every. "But the chap who was here--Lyveden----"

"Yes?" breathed André. 

"Well, he's too ill to----"

With a moan, the girl dropped the reins, flung back her head, andclapped her hands to her temples. 

"I knew it, " she wailed, "I knew it! First Richard Winchester, andthen Anthony ... My darling ... Anthony Lyveden ... "

Every stood spellbound. The tragedy had taken a new--a frightful turn. Valerie--trustful, unsuspecting Valerie--was hideously involved. Hewondered if Lyveden delirious would babble of this strange girl. If hedid.... And when he recovered--what then?

Hurriedly he reviewed the position. 

Under Dr. Heron's direction, Lyveden had been drugged here, atGramarye, and brought to Bell Hammer. The whole object of his removalwas to smash his infatuation for Gramarye, so that he might feel freeto worship Valerie. On their joint love the whole thing was founded. Everything had been arranged on that basis. And now ... If Lyveden hadbeen consulted, perhaps he would not have come--not because ofGramarye, but because of a girl--a girl with auburn hair.... 

"Where is he?"

The words cut his reflections with a clean slash. 

"Who?"

André Strongi'th'arm's eyes narrowed. 

"The high priest, " she said. 

"D'you mean Major Lyveden?"

"I do. "

Every paled. Whatever might be the other's standing, with him Valeriecame first. It might be rough on the girl, but that could not behelped, and would eventually, he supposed, be mended. One thing wasplain. Not at any price must she go to Bell Hammer. 

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you. "

"Why?"

"If you're thinking of visiting him, I assure you----"

"I wish to know where Major Lyveden is. "

Every drew himself up. 

"I'm very sorry, " he said, "but until I've seen those in charge of him, and have their permission to tell you----"

"I have a right to know. "

Every winced. Then he looked up boldly. 

"As Colonel Winchester's _fiancée_?" he said. 

André caught her breath. Then she bowed her head. 

"As a most miserable woman, " she said brokenly. "Somewhere it says, 'From him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath. '... Well, it's as one of those outcasts ... One of those hopelessdouble bankrupts----"

"Stop!" cried Every, aghast. "Stop! I don't want to hear.... Listen. I'll be at Girdle till Friday. That day I'll leave a note for you atthe inn, with Lyveden's address inside. "

He had, I suppose, some vague idea of getting to Hampshire before her. 

For a second the girl stared at him with knitted brows. Then--

"You appear, " she said coldly, "to be not only a fool, but a poisonousfool. After all, if you won't tell me, I suppose there are otherways.... " She picked up the reins. "And so you're a friend of MajorLyveden's? To tell you the truth, I shouldn't have thought he'd havehad much use for you. "

With her words, the hunter moved forward.... Dazedly Every watched thetwo pass at a walk into the gloomy corridor and dwindle slowly to amere blur of blue and grey under the shadow of the towering walls. Atlast distance and dusk swallowed them, and he could see them no more. 

By the evening of the following Thursday the young man's work was gone, and by ten o'clock on Friday morning his car had left Girdle and wasflying up Gallowstree Hill. 

Provision had been made for the men; the horses in the stables atGramarye had been disposed of. He had only come, with Valerie'sapproval, out of sheer pity for helpless men and beasts. Hisunexpected interview with André Strongi'th'arm worried him sorely. Hewas convinced that between her and Anthony there had been a seriousaffair. Himself devoted to Valerie, this made him furious; rememberingher devotion to Lyveden, it scared him. If, after all that hadhappened, Valerie was to find, not only that her cake was dough, butthat it was not even her cake, but another's, Every verily believed theshock would send her out of her mind. The mortification alone would beenough to unhinge any woman.... 

The sight of Anthony's cottage at the edge of the park reminded him ofhis proposal to recover his tobacco-pouch. He had laid it down on thetree-trunk whilst he was addressing the men that memorable Mondayafternoon. 

Not daring, for fear of thieves, to leave the car upon the highway, hedrove her gently on to the wasted track. Even then he was notcomfortable, for she could be seen from the road. After a moment'shesitation, he decided to risk it. He could not drive to the spot, forfrom here, for a furlong or so, the road was in ribbons. They seemedto have been hauling timber. The only thing to do was to be as quickas he could and hope for the best. Going fast, he should be back againin twenty minutes.... 

There had blown a gale in the night, and Every was not surprised tofind one of the tall dark pillars of the gigantic corridor fallenacross the lean brown road. It was his haste in surmounting thisobstacle that was responsible for the simple but painful fracture ofhis left leg. The trunk was slippery, and he had jumped untimely tosave a fall. Two stout boughs had been waiting, and the rest waseasy.... 

Now, Peter Every was, as we know, no coward; but when, lying there, hereflected that, thanks to his efforts, the estate was now deserted, hebecame extremely uneasy. And presently, when he remembered MissStrongi'th'arm's words, he broke into a cold sweat. 

'If you get safe out of her to-day, I shouldn't come back--_if you canhelp it_. '

 * * * * *

"I'm told, " said Anthony weakly, "that I'm at Bell Hammer. "

Lady Touchstone smiled and nodded. 

"That's right, " she said gently. "And Valerie should be here towelcome you, but she's asleep. So you must make shift with me. "

The truth was, Valerie French had broken down. The strain of waitingand watching for the hour for which she longed, yet dreaded, had provedtoo much. Only the day before she had fainted suddenly, and, honestlyglad of an excuse, the local doctor had ordered her to bed forthwith. Valerie had obeyed dumbly. She knew that she had come to the end ofher tether, and so to that of her wit; and since, to deal at allhopefully with Anthony's return to consciousness, her understandingmust be on tiptoe, she knew that she was better away. If the changewas to come before she was fit for duty, it could not be helped. Inher present condition she was, she felt, worse than useless. 

Two hours later Anthony had tried to sit up, failed, looked dazedlyabout him, and when the fresh-faced nurse stole to his side, askedfirst for some water and then, shakily, to be told where he was. Hehad promised, in return for the answer, to ask no more questions, butto go quietly to sleep. This promise he had immediately broken byasking anxiously for news of his dog. Learning that Patch was below, and well and happy, he had spoken no more. After eighteen hours he hadawaked, greatly refreshed, to find himself the cynosure of three pairsof eyes. These were all kindly and full of cheer. Two pairs werecontributed respectively by the nurse and Lady Touchstone, while thethird was set in the face of an overgrown cherub, who smelt agreeablyof Harris tweed and was gently furbishing his _pince-nez_ with anenormous handkerchief. 

"This, " continued Lady Touchstone, "is Dr. Gilpin. " The cherub grinnedreassuringly. "He's extremely pleased with you, and, when you'rebetter, I think you'll return the compliment. "

"I've been ill, " said the patient stupidly. 

The cherub nodded. 

"Gave us quite a turn once or twice, " he said, smiling. "But you'reall right now. And if you'll promise to obey orders, I'll have you outof bed in a fortnight. "

Anthony's face fell. Then--

"I'm in your hands, sir, " he said. "And I'm very, very grateful forall you've done. " His eyes turned to Lady Touchstone. "And you. Idon't understand anything yet, " he added plaintively. 

"Good, " said the doctor. "Now we know where we are. " He took out hiswatch. "If you would like it, you and your hostess can have a littlechat--for ten minutes only--just to clear matters up. Then Nurse Fordwill take over. "

"Please, " said Anthony. 

A moment later the two were alone. 

"I don't know how I come to be here, " said the patient slowly, "but I'mafraid it must have been a terrible inconvenience and--and expense. You know I've no money. "

Subduing an inclination to burst into tears--

"On the contrary, " said Lady Touchstone, "you're quite respectably off. Since you've been ill, you've come into money--more than enough to payfor everything. So don't let that worry you. "

She felt that it was not the moment to tell him that he was virtually amillionaire. 

For a moment the man did not speak. Then--

"How did I get here?" he said. 

"You may well ask, " was the reply. "If I hadn't seen it with my owneyes, I wouldn't have believed it possible for George Alison to lift aman of your inches and carry him single-handed right from the frontdoor. I know he rowed for Cambridge, but, all the same, it was the actof a fool. And I told him so. Of course, he only grinned. You knowthat inane, irresistible grin of his when he's done something he knowsis----"

"George Alison?" said Anthony. "George Alison? How on earth----" Hestopped short and started up on an elbow. "What month is it?"

"April, " said Lady Touchstone. "And now lie down again, there's a dearboy.... And why shouldn't Alison have----"

"But if it's April---- _Good God!_" he cried hoarsely, raising atrembling hand. "_D'you mean to say I've lain here in this house forsix months?_"

The woman's heart leaped into her mouth. 

"And why not?" she said quietly. "I know a case of a man who layunconscious for over two years--the result of a fall hunting. And whenhe came to----"

She stopped to peer at the patient. 

Then she rang for the nurse---instantly. 

Anthony had fainted. 

 * * * * *

Thus fell that formidable position upon whose delicate reduction allthe science of physic, the love of women, the wisdom of friends, hadbeen feverishly concentrated by day and night for nearly three weeks. 

Chance and a woman's instinct had done the trick. As by a miracle thehopeless had come to pass. The helm had been put hard over, and thecraft had answered as sweetly as any swish-tailed circus nag. Gramaryeand all her works, if not forgotten, had in the twinkling of an eyebecome the fabric of a dream--mere relics of a fantastic age for a sanemind to marvel at. 

For two or three days after the momentous interview Anthony said verylittle. When he had again seen Lady Touchstone, and the two--blindleading the blind--had satisfactorily fixed the very date of hiscollapse, George Alison was sent for. Carefully schooled, the latterspent a fruitful five minutes by the sick man's side. Upon the thirdday came Valerie.... 

The girl was exalted. Gratitude had set the crown upon the glory ofher array. No one had ever seen her look so beautiful. Out of thefurnace the fine gold had come refined, dazzling. 

My gross pen cannot picture her. 

The dark lustre of her hair, the exquisite curve of her lips, her prideof carriage, were things for sonnets. Her small firm hands, the whitecolumn of her neck, the colour springing in her cheeks, made threesweet wonders. The style of her was superb. Tall, straight, clean-limbed, her figure remembered graces of a younger age. Thesimple flowered-silk dress looked as though all who put it on must goin elegance. Silk and satin covered her precious feet. A nosegay ofviolets, brooched to her gown, echoed the hue, but not the magic of hereyes. Had the poor flowers been blowing still upon their mother bank, all wet with dew, and had a star stooped to prove how sweet theysmelled, then, sirs, they should have rendered more faithfully mylady's eyes. 

Anthony had wondered when she would come.... 

A breath of perfume, a swift whisper, the rustle of silk--and there wasValerie by his side. 

"Oh, Valerie!"

Miss French fell upon her knees. 

Very gently Lyveden put her hand to his lips. Then he turned away hishead and began to cry. 

With a bursting heart, Valerie almost gathered him in her arms. 

"D'you love me, Anthony?"

By way of answer he just clung to her. At length--

"I'm--I'm sorry, my sweet.... It's--I think it's just because ... Ilove you so much. " With an effort he mastered his lips. "And I'm sovery sorry, dear, I kissed you like that--the day I went down. Idreamed about it. I dreamed you came to me, and I apologized. " Withher heart in her mouth, Valerie smoothed his brow. "And you were--sovery sweet. You said"--he hesitated--"you spoke so very handsomely. "

"I'm so glad, darling. "

"And, oh, Valerie, "--he was himself again now--"I've had such awonderful dream. I've been waiting for you, my darling, before I spokeof it. "

"What did you dream, lad?"

"I dreamed that I'd left the Bumbles--I had given notice, you know--andgone, in answer to an advertisement, to a place in the Cotswolds. It'sall so real, so vivid, that it's almost impossible to appreciate thatit's all a dream. I can remember every detail of the journey--I hadPatch with me--down to the faces of my fellow-passengers. A woman witha baby got out at Oxford and left a parcel behind. And I ran after herwith it. I can see her scared face now, poor soul, when I touched heron the shoulder.... "

The story of the last four months came pelting. Anthony fairly openedhis heart. At first, listening to the bare truth told with theconfident naïveté of disbelief, Valerie felt as though she werecheating the blind. After a little, this sense of shabbiness wassuddenly supplanted by a perfect torment of apprehension lest Anthonyshould detect her hypocrisy. Presently, before her breathless interestin the narrative, the girl's uneasiness slipped unremarked away, and, when the door opened and the gentle nurse appeared to part them, shewas following the ingenuous recital with unaffected eagerness. 

Valerie nodded her acquiescence in the unspoken order, and the nursewithdrew. As the former rose to her feet--

"Ah, must you go, my lady?"

"Till this evening, dear lad. "

Anthony sighed fretfully. 

"And I've wasted all our precious time with my old dream. I've hardlyspoken of you, and there's so much I want to know. "

"We've plenty of time, darling. Think of it. Once we never knewwhen--if, even, we should ever see one another again. Now ... Oh, Anthony, we're very rich. "

"I am, " said Anthony, smiling. "And when you say you are--why, then Ifeel like a king. "

Valerie flung up her head. An instant, and she was singing.... 

 "_If I were a queen, What would I do? I'd make you a king And I'd wait upon you-- If I were a queen. _"

Never melody knew such tenderness. Poor Anthony could not trusthimself to speak.... 

Valerie stooped and laid a soft cheek against his. Then she pressedhis hand to her lips. 

The next moment she was gone. 

 * * * * *

When Sir Willoughby Sperm learned of his patient's progress, he struckthe words "Major Lyveden" out of his diary. The action cost himexactly one hundred guineas, and the secretary by his side bit her lip. To keep that Saturday free for his visit to Hampshire, she had refusednine appointments. But, if he was a bad business man, Sperm was a gooddoctor. Anthony was out of the wood. Very well. Considering thenature of the peril with which the wood had been quick, the less thefugitive saw of strange doctors, the better for him. To insist uponthe gravity of his late disorder was most undesirable. Besides, if atthis juncture a specialist's visit to Bell Hammer could serve anyuseful purpose, Heron was the man to pay it. It was he who had walkedand talked with Lyveden when the latter's brain had been sick. So healone of the doctors could compare Philip drunk with Philip sober. Happily no such comparison was necessary. Had it been vital, it couldnot have been made. For the patient to renew the acquaintance of theartist he had met at Gramarye--and that in the person of adistinguished brain specialist--would hardly have conduced to hishealth of mind. Indeed, from the moment that Anthony had reached BellHammer in safety, so far as the inmates of that house were concerned, the very name of Dr. Heron was, by his own advice, religiouslyforgotten as though the man had never been. It was natural, however, that one who had done so much to arrest the disorder should care tohear how Anthony was faring. By a mutual arrangement the cherubic Dr. Gilpin wrote to the former faithfully three times a week. 

Similar, though less frequent, reports were regularly rendered to Mr. Justice Molehill. 

One of these latter I will set out, for it was a wise man that wroteit, and the matter is to the point. I would, sirs, that I could showyou the handwriting, so fine and easy to read. 

 _Bell Hammer, nr. Brooch, Hants. April 11th, 1921. _

_DEAR SIR GILES, _

_Major Lyveden continues mercifully to make good progress. _

_I saw him myself yesterday for the first time, and must make haste toconfess that I am overjoyed. When I say this, you will understand thathe is not only the stranger whom we are helping to the acquisition of agreat fortune, but the man whom my niece is delighting to honour. Lyveden is a man of great personal charm and fine character, and I amsure that he will administer his heritage wisely and faithfully, andthat he will make Valerie a proud and happy woman. I am glad to say, too, that your memory of his appearance is as true as your judgment. In short, he is a splendid specimen of manhood. _

_There is, of course, no doubt at all that he is our man, i. E. The onlynephew of the late Jonathan Roach. Boldly advancing out of myprovince, I begged leave to ask him a question or two, to which themost exacting of opponents could not in decency have objected. Hisreplies made me ashamed of the doubts which I never--evenofficially--harboured. _

_Of the nature of his brain trouble and of his escape I have alreadytold you. Enough that that wondrous bridge which an OmnipotentProvidence threw across the river, while we stood gaping upon the otherbank, stands fixed as any rock. As often as he will revisit Gramarye, the patient treads it with a firm, confident step. I do notmatter--besides, I must soon return to Rome--but, by my advice, Valerieand those who are and are to be about him are schooling themselves touse this same strange bridge. Future safety, I contend, lies in makingit a thoroughfare. So only approached, Gramarye will indeed become'such stuff as dreams are made on, ' and the four months he spent therebe 'rounded with a sleep, ' for ever. _

_I have told Major Lyveden the story of the lost will, and of yourclose interest, to which alone he owes his fortune. His great desireis to thank you personally. My own remissness he forgave inundeservedly generous terms. _

_I expect to leave for Italy early next week, and while I shall writeagain before that, I shall hope, if you are then in London, to visityou on my way. _

 _Believe me, Yours very truly, JOHN FOREST. _

The prelate was not the man to exaggerate. Anthony's recovery went onamain. His state of independence had, as we know, been broached byLady Touchstone: it was becoming that the true extent of his fortuneshould be disclosed by Monseigneur Forest himself. 

The sick man received the news with some emotion. 

He felt as though suddenly a wand had been set in his hand--a wandbeneath whose careless touch the shifting flux of wishes must set andcrystallize. For more than eighteen months he had "thought inpennies. " Henceforth it would be unnecessary to think at all. Thespectre of Ways and Means was laid for ever. Often, when his purse hadbeen lightest--when he had been forced to eat sparingly of the cheapestfood--he had been used to remember an old fragment of Virgil that hehad learned as a boy. _Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit_. Timeswithout number he had been glad of the tag. And now it had served itsturn.... Looking back upon his penury, he could not wish that he hadbeen spared those lean, ill-favoured days. And when, because of these, Monseigneur Forest reviled himself, Lyveden refused to listen, declaring that the experience had been invaluable, and must surelystand the camel in good stead when the time came for him to negotiatethe needle's eye. For a prelate to withstand such a contention wasmore than difficult.... Yet if the patient spoke to the point, it wasby accident. His thoughts were elsewhere. Childishly excited, he waswanting to use his wand. Ridiculously enough, his romping brain couldnot furnish a wish to be converted.... Suddenly an idea came to him. His dog, his little faithful dog, had gone in need of a collar for overnine months.... 

Patch!

Mercifully the terrier was dumb. Otherwise the prelate's "Bridge ofProvidence" must have returned unto the air whence it came. As it was, the dog was brought to the sick-room twice every day. The tendernesswith which he treated Anthony was wonderful to see. Naturallyboisterous, the efforts with which he mastered the frenzy theseinterviews provoked, were manifest. He knew that Lyveden had beendangerously ill. He knew that he was mending. The twofoldconsideration set the flame of his devotion flaring. Yet, when hevisited his master, the jet must be reduced to a pilot.... The marvelis the dog did not burst. Instead, placed within reach, he would set aquivering foot upon the bed and lick the caressing hand with a touchthat would not have broken a bubble. Presently, whimpering withexcitement, he would post about the chamber, seeking an object topresent to his lord. Of such, the choice which the room afforded wasstraitly limited, and when for the second time he had selected one ofthe knobs of a chest of drawers, endeavouring to detach this by dint ofbiting it off, the fresh-faced nurse was advised of his intention, anda log of wood was procured to be kept in a corner. Thereafter twice aday the billet was brought reverently to the-bedside. 

Poor Patch! It was the best his dull wit could devise. 

Oh, Patch, could you but see how idle and clumsy is your act, you wouldhang your small head. Could you perceive the vanity of repetition, your bright brown eyes would fill with tears. Could you be told whencecomes the gift which you give Anthony, your little tail would beclapped between your legs.... Yet have I heard tell of a ram caught ina thicket by his horns; of altar steps worn thin by the observance ofthe same offices; of spikenard that might have been sold and given tothe poor.... 

Sirs, this poor scrap of a dog errs in good company. 

The April days slipped by, smiling, or shrill, or tearful, as the moodtook them. 

A letter which Valerie had received from Peter Every, written andposted at Girdle upon the last day of March, had set her mind at restabout Anthony's stewardship of Gramarye. Apart from the action of theLaw, that book had been closed as gently and firmly as mortal man couldclose it. By the removal of the steward, neither men nor beastsengaged there had been left one penny the worse. The former, indeed, were well out of a bad business. Incidentally, they would very soon bewell out of Anthony's way. Never had money been so advantageouslyspent. Valerie had written to Every a letter of heartfelt thanks. 

By the courtesy of the Bumbles, their chauffeur came to Bell Hammer twoor three times a week. He did not always see his late colleague, butAlison was no fool, and points were constantly arising upon whichValerie was glad of his advice. It was he who went through Anthony'swardrobe with the utmost care, saying which of the garments he had seenbefore and which had been acquired since their owner's departure fromHawthorne. The latter were carefully destroyed. Lyveden's fewpersonal effects were subjected to a similar scrutiny and partialdestruction. Nothing was left to chance. If George was uncertain, Betty and Anne were sent for. If no one could be sure, whatever itwas, the article in question went to the furnace. Never was thehigh-road of convalescence more faithfully reconnoitred. 

Less actively, Lady Touchstone and Forest contributed according totheir means. These were substantial. The electric personality of theone, the gentle charm of the other, were better than physic. The onestimulated; the other composed. A twinkling hour of Lady Touchstone'scompany was like a glass of champagne. A talk with the Monseigneurrivalled the quality of old Madeira. Wisely administered, the winebuilt up the wasted tissues of the mind. The latter's digestion beingsound, Lyveden throve upon the diet. His brain put on weight daily. 

So far as his body was concerned, no one had any anxiety at all. Anthony's fine constitution and the open-air life which he had led atGramarye stood him in splendid stead. So much so, that when, upon St. George's Day, Patch came trotting with a red rose in his mouth, hefound the bed empty and his master sitting cheerfully upon a sofabefore the fuss and worry of a bright wood fire. It was clear that anew era had begun. Patch dropped the rose and fairly hurled himself ata small log lying conveniently in a corner beside an old _prie-Dieu_. 

 * * * * *

A mischievous look came into Valerie's eyes. 

"You haven't heard a word, " she said, bubbling, "of what I've beensaying. You know you haven't. "

Anthony laughed guiltily. 

"Yes, I have, " he protested. "You were saying you'd half a mind togive up having hydrangeas and--and--er--not have them at all, " heconcluded lamely. 

Valerie uttered a little crow of triumph. 

"Scandalous, " she said. "Simply scandalous. It's no good pretending. I know perfectly well what you were thinking about. You were thinkingof Gramarye. That old dream of yours ... "

Mark, sirs, how the mighty may fall and how familiarity may breedcontempt. Gramarye had lost her sting. Spoiled of her puissance, shehad sunk to the level of "Boney"--fare for the ears of children, foodfor a jest. 

"No, I wasn't, " said Anthony, smiling. "At least, not directly. I wasthinking of an argument the Monseigneur put up about my dream. "

"What did he say?"

"Well, his contention was this. You know, if, for instance, a bellrings when you're asleep and dreaming, as likely as not the noise isintroduced--not necessarily in the same form--into your dream, isn'tit? Very well. That shows the senses are working. The messagearrives distorted, but it arrives. Well, he said that in his opinionpractically everything that came to pass in my dream was originallysuggested by some outside influence. Water being poured into a basinsuggests a brook. A sewing-machine becomes a train. The hiss of aburning log escaping steam. So much for the ears. Now for the eyes. A maid helps the nurse to move a sofa--I see timber being hauled. Thedoctor shakes his thermometer, and there's Winchester wielding anaxe.... It's a pretty theory, and the more you study it, the sounderit seems. " He crossed his legs and started to fill a pipe. "All thesame, I must have a fertile imagination. I think I always had. As achild I was left alone a great deal, and I fancy that helped. "

It was a lazy Sunday morning--the fourth in the month of May. JohnForest had been gone a month, and Lady Touchstone was properly atchurch. Greenwich would have told you that it was ten o'clock, and thegorgeous tapestry of Summer was still wrought with the brilliantembroidery of a heavy dew. Lawns, flower-borders, and stiff boxcharactery sparkled and shone in the hot sunshine. The sky wascloudless: a haze kept to itself the distant promise of the park: therewas no wind. The sleepy hum of insects, a rare contented melody, tilted the hat of Silence over that watchman's eyes. The wanderingscent of hawthorns offered the faultless day a precious button-hole. 

Sitting easily among the cushions of a teak-wood chair, Anthony let hiseyes ramble luxuriously over the prospect. In a _chaise longue_ by hisside Valerie was engaged in the desultory composition of a letter toher uncle in Rome. Stretched blinking upon the warm flags, Patchwatched the two vigilantly for any sign of movement. 

"Did I ever have a red-haired nurse?" said Anthony suddenly. 

Valerie shook her head. 

"No, " she said. "You had the same two all the time. Why?"

"I dreamed of a red-haired girl. " Valerie sat very still. "André, hername was. I met her first in the road... I remember she knew me. She'd been hunting and looked like a Bacchanal. She turned up againlater on--one night. I was just going to bed. " He frowned at therecollection. "I wonder I didn't chatter about that. I was worried toblazes.... "

"That--that's the worst of dreams, " said Valerie slowly. "You'reimpotent. "

With a shock she realized that she had written ANDRÉ in capitals in themiddle of her letter, and, below it again, BACCHANAL. Casually shescratched out the words till her pen ploughed up the sodden paper. 

"It's a wretched feeling, " said Anthony. "I dreamt she--cared for me. And I--I never got there. She had to tell me right out.... Oh, Valerie, it was awful. "

Miss French felt as though her heart had stopped beating. She couldhave screamed to Anthony to go on. Instead--

"Poor old chap, " she said gently. 

She had her reward. 

"When she saw there was nothing doing, she went.... And thenWinchester appeared with Patch, as I was putting her into her car. Iremember he called her 'André'--that's how I knew her name.... Andthen he cursed me, because she was his _fiancée_, and she fairly torehim up. Then she chucked down his ring and drove off. There must havebeen a car leaving Bell Hammer just then. I can hear her changing thegears now. " He passed a hand over his eyes. "I can't remember anymore, except that Winchester was shouting.... "

For a long moment the two sat very still. Then Valerie scrambled toher feet and put her head on one side. Her eyes were just dancing. 

"You and your red-haired sirens, " she said reproachfully. "And nowcome along, and I'll pick you a buttonhole. "

The cloud poor Peter Every had found so menacing had discharged rain ofpure gold. Love had emerged from the shower, refreshed, glistening. The two could not know that, while they passed down the steps into thesunlit flower-garden, a girl with auburn hair was pushing a franticthree-year-old through the Scotch mist of Donegal, and wondering atevery bank whether she would have the good fortune to break her neck. 

Still, though their rain be golden, clouds beget shadows. If Lyvedenresponded to Valerie's invitation, he did not rise to her mood. Thethrowback to Gramarye had set him thinking.... 

"Valerie, " he said slowly, knitting his brows. 

The girl had been upon the point of stopping to pick a rose. Hisserious tone, however, made her look up. The bloom was spared. 

"Yes. "

"When I went down--in November--there was something wrong. I mean, wewere at variance. "

With difficulty the girl repressed a shiver. 

For a while she had hourly dreaded an allusion to the grim episode. Then, when the weeks went by and none was made, she began, at firstfeebly, to hope that it was buried. Gradually the hope had swelledinto belief. Lately she had made sure that upon the first day, whenAnthony had wept in her arms, he and she had been treading upon itsgrave. And now here it was--like a river full in their path, aswift-flowing treacherous stream which they must ford together. Shewould have given anything for a moment to collect her thoughts, butAnthony had started across. Already he was up to his knees.... 

To be frank, she was in a tight place. The issues she had to deal withwere clogged. Her treatment of them was to be governed by ruthlesspremises. Finally, if she made a false step, her fortunes and those ofAnthony would be again in the melting-pot. 

For an instant her brain zig-zagged. The next moment she had it inhand. 

"Yes, " she said slowly, "we were. I hoped you'd forgotten. You see, I'm very much ashamed. And, when my eyes were opened, I was justterrified. I felt as if I'd committed murder. "

As she spoke, her brain fairly flashed through the rules which mustgovern this talk. 

Everything hinged upon one mighty postulate--that _Anthony hadcollapsed precisely at one-fifteen upon the 16th of November_. He had, of course, done nothing of the sort. But that did not matter. 

_From that hour, for four months and a half, he had lain in a trance_. This was the second article, which except Anthony believed, he couldnot be saved. 

Anthony's memory, however, was a faithful servant--not to be tamperedwith. To reconcile the servant's report with the articles of hisfaith, a third tenet became essential. This was that _what Anthonyremembered was the burthen of a dream_. 

There go the governing principles. 

Now for the issues. 

Her sudden--perhaps excusable--jealousy of Anne Alison, her barbarousdismissal of Anthony, her quite inexcusable failure to give any reasonfor such treatment, her subsequent enlightenment by Anne herself--thereis the skeleton whose dry bones he and she are to pick over--a gruesomebusiness _which has already been dispatched_ ... Upon the twentieth dayof February, gentlemen, up in the Cotswold Hills. They both rememberit perfectly. Yet Valerie must forget it, while Anthony must think itwas a dream ... _must_.... 

Neither by word nor look must Valerie suggest that the highly delicateground she knows so well has ever been broken before. 

Think, sirs, what a slip on her part will do. 

It will plainly knock the three precious articles aforementioned into acocked hat. Thence they will be retrieved to be turned againsther--used to her condemnation by Anthony frantic. As for their love, the fragments of this that remain will not be worth taking up.... 

Anthony passed a hand across his forehead. 

"Shall I tell you what I dreamed?"

"Yes, " said Valerie. 

"I dreamed that you came to me to make it up. And I was afraid. Itried to keep off the subject. I'd come such an awful cropper that Ididn't want any more falls. But you would have it out.... And yousaid--don't laugh--that you'd turned me down because of Anne Alison. "He stopped still and looked at her. "What was the real reason?"

Leaning her back against a green box wall, Valerie moistened her lips. Then--

"It's perfectly true, " she said quietly. 

Anthony stared. 

"What's true?"

"Listen. You remember the meet at Saddle Tree Cross?"

"Yes. "

"When we spoke of my 'window, ' and you said the spot meant so much toyou that you couldn't keep away?"

Anthony nodded. 

"D'you remember I said I was going away the next day?"

"Perfectly. "

"It fell through, and I didn't go. There wasn't time to tell you, so Iwent--to the 'window. '" Anthony started. "That's right. I found youthere with Anne Alison. "

"But, Valerie----"

"I know, I know. Anne told me, after you'd gone--_down_. " The slipshe had so nearly made set the girl sweating--literally. "I was mad, Anthony, mad, " she panted. "I couldn't think straight. I nearlyjumped over the cliff. I think the shock sent me blind. I'd alwaysgrudged her being so much with you. I want you to know the truth. Shewas always at the back of my mind. And when I saw you together--there, at our window----" She buried her face in her hands. "I know it wasvile of me, dear. You see what I'm like. And if, now that you know, you'd like to go to an hotel... "

"But, Valerie, why didn't you give me a chance?"

"I was mad, " she wailed, "mad. I loved you so wildly, Anthony, that Iwas stunned. And, in spite of it all, I loved you just as much. Andthat made me so furious, I could have torn my hair. I wanted to hurtyou cruelly, and when I did, I bruised my own heart. "

"But why----"

"I was too proud. You'd dared to touch my pride"--she laughedhysterically--"my precious, sacred pride--my Ark of the Covenant. D'you remember how Uzzah died because he touched the Ark? Well, youhad to die.... And now"--she spread out her arms pathetically--"it'sthe pride that's dead, Anthony. Dead ... Dried up ... Shrivelled.... And I know what I'm worth. "

She stopped. 

Out of the neighbouring silence floated the comfortable note of awood-pigeon. Clear of the shadow of the green box wall two butterfliesflitted and whirled in the hot sunshine, while a fat bumble-bee hummedwith excitement before the promise of a tall blue flag. 

With his face in his hands, Anthony never moved. 

"And that's all I've got to say. When I found I was wrong--well, Ididn't know there was such agony in this world.... I deserved it, Iknow. Don't think I'm complaining. I deserve anything. But ... Iftears count, then I've paid--some of the score.... "

The man's hands were quivering. 

Looking upon him, Valerie could see that he was gazing between hisfingers. 

"I'm afraid to speak, " he said uncertainly. His voice was tremblingwith excitement. "I'm afraid to go on. Don't think I haven't forgivenyou. I have, Valerie. I did--oh, ages ago. But ... We're skating onterribly thin ice--terribly thin. We must go frightfully carefully, Valerie. You've no idea how carefully. " The girl stared at him. Thiswas uncanny--as if he could read her thoughts. He went onbreathlessly. "My dream, dear. This is what happened in my dream.... You reproached yourself in just the same handsome way. You used thesame phrases. " Valerie started. "And then--after all--_something wentwrong_.... What it was, I don't know. I can't remember. And that'sthe trouble. I can't remember what happened. But it's been the sameso far, and then--something went wrong.... "

Valerie stood paralyzed. If Anthony was afraid to continue, she wasterrified. 

With an ungracious buzz the fat bee emerged clumsily from the tall blueflag and sailed noisily out of earshot. The sudden snap of jawssuggested that Patch, who was waiting patiently for the walk toproceed, forgave the flies no trespasses. 

"You can't understand, dear. But you must take my word for it. I'vetrodden this way before. And presently--very soon now--there's asnare--a hole in the road. And if we go in, Valerie, it's--it's allup. I know it. It happened in my dream.... And I'm afraid to go on. "

The tremulous misery of his tone wrung the girl's heart. 

Instinctively she stretched out a hand. 

Anthony recoiled with a cry. 

"Don't! Don't touch me! I remember. You took my arm. " Head back, heclawed at his temples. "That's right. And we started to walk. We hadbeen standing. We started to walk back towards the cottage. And Ifelt absurdly happy--all of a sudden.... That was just before the end. And then---- Oh, if I could _only_ remember.... "

The agony of desire in his tone seared Valerie's brain into action. With a shock she realized that there she was standing like a dolt, _quietly watching Lyveden cudgelling his brains for the password backto Insanity_. Any second he might stumble upon it. For once, mercifully, his memory was sluggish--would not respond. And there hewas flogging it, to extract that hideous fatal delusion that he waspledged to Gramarye.... 

Frantically she sought for a distraction. Her brain, however, wasaway, with the bit in its teeth. She could do nothing with it. Theonly thing she could think of was that dreadful pass, which Anthony wasstraining every nerve to recall. This rose up vivid. His reference tothe kiss he had given her--her soft reply--the way he had taken her inhis arms--then that mischievous breeze that had come whispering out ofthe silence, remindful, suggestive--the start he had given at itstouch--the hoarse cry--the terrible light in his eyes.... 

Anthony gave a great shout. 

"_I_ know, " he panted jubilantly. "_I_ know.... It's coming back, darling, it's coming back--bit by bit. Then I spoke of that kiss. Isaid how sorry I was and asked your forgiveness. And you said----" Hestopped suddenly and clapped a hand over his mouth. After a moment, "'Sh, " he said shakily. "I mustn't repeat your words. That'd bemoving. And we mustn't move, Valerie. We're just at the edge of thepit. We mustn't move an inch till I can see where it is. Don't befrightened, dear. It's all right. All our happiness depends upon myremembering, and--it's coming back.... "

His voice faded, and in an instant he was deep in thought. 

Eyes narrowed, his under-lip caught between his teeth, he staredfixedly ahead, making a supreme effort--plainly. 

Valerie stood spellbound. 

A pompous hum argued that the fat bee had decided to revisit thevicinity. 

Far in the distance there was a movement--leaves shaken with the wind. A breeze was passing. The timber of the park murmured the newsfaintly.... With a sigh the tall elms of the avenue confirmed thepark's report. A breeze was passing ... Coming ... _a littlemischievous breeze_.... 

For one long moment Valerie's heart stood still. 

Then she threw back her head and began to sing. 

 "_Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie.... _"

Anthony stared at her open-mouthed. Her throat felt as though it hadsteel bands about it. She just smiled and sang on. 

 "_There I couch when owls do cry, When owls do cry, When owls do cry.... _"

The leaves of the lime-trees beyond the green box wall weretrembling--she could see them--beginning to bob up and down. Theboughs themselves were beginning to sway elastically. Valerie sanglike a book. 

 "_On a bat's back do I fly, After sunset, merrily, merrily, After sunset merrily.... _"

The lime-trees had stopped trembling. The breeze had passed.... Anexultant note swept into the melody. 

 "_Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough-- Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough-- Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. _"

With a fine, happy smile, Lyveden heard the song out. 

Then he stepped to my lady and caught her two hands. 

"Exquisite, " he said, glowing. "Exquisite, Valerie. I never knew youhad such a lovely voice. "

As he spoke, the girl's knees sagged, and he was just in time to catchher before she fell.... 

Her collapse was momentary. She was not, I suppose, unconscious formore than five seconds. It was, indeed, at her bidding that Anthonyset her down upon a low stone seat. 

It was natural that he should be greatly concerned. 

"Oh, my sweet, it was my fault. I frightened you. I know I did. Leanyour head back. That's right. I was all worked up about that rottendream. I'll never mention it again. I'm so very sorry, dear. Iwouldn't have upset you for anything. And you sang so beautifully.... Why did you sing, Valerie?"

"I--I don't know. I heard a bee humming, and that made me think of thesong. It was very silly. "

"It was very sweet, lass. And I just loved it. And, oh, my lady, please never think of our misunderstanding again. I felt I wanted justto know, but that was all. D'you feel better now?" Valerie nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Quite. "

"Shall I get you some water?"

"No, thanks, lad. I'm all right now. "

Kneeling on one knee beside her, Anthony patted her hand. 

"I'm so thankful.... I can't get over your singing like that ... Ifelt--carried away. I shall remember it always. " He sighed happily. "I've got so many happy memories to take away. "

Valerie sat up straight. 

"To take away?" she breathed. 

"My dear, I've been here nearly six months already. It's only with aneffort that I can remember that I'm your guest. I don't want to go. Drifting along like this is simply perfect, but ... There's such a lotto be done ... Heaps. "

"There's plenty of time. "

"I know, but--well, look at my clothes, for one thing. I'm not fit tobe seen. "

The girl breathed again. Then--

"Oh, yes, you are, old chap. Fitter than you think. Besides, youdon't have to stay in London because you're going to a tailor. "

"I know, " said Anthony slowly. "I know. But it isn't only that. Yousee, my lady, when I came here to your house, it was as a footman.... And I think I'd better leave it as--well, no more than a friend. That's a big enough step, in all conscience. After a little--a verylittle--I shall come, again, Valerie.... "

His fingers closed about hers. 

"You never came here as a footman, " said the girl. "You came as mybeloved. You went out of the garden of _The Leather Bottel_ that veryfirst day--my lord. What does it matter what else you were--are--willbe? Oh, Anthony, you dear, honourable child.... "

With his disengaged hand Lyveden covered his eyes. 

"I meant to be so strong, " he said humbly. "God forgive me, I'm veryweak. You see--I love you so. " His head bowed, he took hold of herother hand. "My lady, my beautiful lady, will you marry this lover ofyours--this irresolute child?"

"Yes, " said Valerie, "I will. "

Anthony fell upon both knees. 

"I worship you, " he said simply. "Ever since that first day at theinn, you've had my heart in your hands. Sleeping, waking, your voicehas rung in my ears; and my eyes have seen you in the background--atall dark girl, with the air of a queen ... Always ... Always.... You've lighted pantries, you've honoured servants' halls, you've turneda third-class carriage into a bower.... And, when I came to know you, the face of the earth was changed. I didn't know there was such abeing in all the world. I don't think you ever were born: I think youstepped out of a fairy tale some midsummer eve. " He stopped to lay hishead reverently upon the blue silk knees. "And you--are--to be--mywife.... In a few short weeks' time you're going to take myname--stand all in white by my side--put off your glorious girlhood forthe last time, and go away--to live with me--for ever.... " The coolfirm fingers laid hold of his. "Wherever I am, your footfalls will beabout me, your perfume will be in the air, your smile will gladden myeyes.... Oh, Valerie, my love, my darling, my queen--you've made me aking.... "

Slowly Valerie led the strong rough palms up to her throat. 

"If I've made you a king, lad, " she breathed, "you mustn't kneel to me. "

Getting upon his feet, Anthony pressed his lips to the slight fingers. 

Valerie rose also. 

"If I've made you a king, lad, you mustn't kiss my hand. "

Anthony took her in his arms and looked into her eyes. 

"I was wrong, " he said, smiling. "You didn't step out of your fairytale. You never left it. You've just invited me in. "

Valerie put up her mouth. 

 * * * * *

Nineteen days had slipped by--careless, halcyon days, the matchlessmorning of a golden festival. 

Jack and Jill were beyond imagination happy. 

Lyveden had been prevailed upon to stay in Hampshire, and when he mustvisit London, to return the same night. I am not certain that thesedays were not the best of all. Valerie saw him off in the morning: thetwo had all day to think upon their state; his home-coming at evendelivered a perfect reverie. 

The last of these flying visits must be recorded, for it was unlike itsfellows, and, though I cannot answer for Lyveden, Valerie will rememberit always. 

There is no doubt at all that Anthony was growing quite accustomed tothe liberal atmosphere of Lincoln's Inn Fields. As he bent his stepswestward, he found the huge square admirable. For comfortable dignity, no other square he could remember compared with it. This, he decided, was because its sides were not too high for its area. London, as awhole, had grown up. Had she grown outward instead, perhaps... Heremembered suddenly that she had grown outward as well--out of allconscience, since Pepys had taken pleasure in Lincoln's Inn Fields. With a contented sigh Lyveden reflected that by nine-thirty thatevening he would be back at Bell Hammer. The sweet smell of thecountry, the song of the wind in tree-tops--above all, the abundance ofcool soft air, seemed to have become essential to his life. For thepresent, at any rate, he had no use for Town. It choked him. He wasglad, however, that his solicitor's office was in Lincoln's InnFields.... 

Some clock announced the hour--a quarter to four. The ex-officerquickened his pace. Savile Row had to be visited, and Pall Mall. Mostimportant of all, a coupe had to be proved.... Anthony's heart beatfaster. The car was for Valerie. 

As he left Kingsway behind, the gross belch of an 'Alarum' demandedpassage. Anthony fell to wondering whether his sweet would not prefersome other usher. An 'Alarum' got there, of course; but it wasRabelaisian. Perhaps ... 

The sound of a collision between two pedestrians disturbed his musing. 

It was nothing. Chin on shoulder, an errand-boy had collided with aman in a silk hat. Anthony was so close to the latter he could havetouched him. 

The boy muttered an apology, and the man laughed. 

"My fault as much as yours, " he said lazily, and passed on. 

It was Dr. Heron. 

Anthony reeled against the wall. 

Observing his movement, two typists squeaked with pretended alarm, andthen, giving him a wide berth, lurched on, convulsed with mirth andclutching one another. 

To the poor woman who approached him and asked if he were ill, Anthonyat first said nothing at all. Then he replied dazedly that he was "allright, " and moved uncertainly away. 

Arrived at the corner of Drury Lane, he hesitated, looking roundhelplessly, as if he were not sure of his way. Immediately opposite, alarge efficient-looking ironmonger's shop presented a plain, well-kept, _familiar_ face.... 

Anthony stared at it with a dropped jaw. 

The errand-boy, who had found his demeanour promising, and had beenloitering in the hope of developments, took up a good position in thegutter and fairly drank Lyveden in. Almost at once another of hisspecies joined him. 

After a prolonged stare--

"Wot's 'e doin' of?" said the new-comer. "Sayin' 'is prares?"

The other sniggered. 

The noise aroused Anthony. With an effort he straightened himself.... Then he walked unsteadily across the street and into the shop. 

The manager came forward. 

"Have those mattocks come in?"

For a second the man peered at him. Then--

"Oh, Major Lyveden, isn't it? Yes, sir. Six 'Lightnin'' mattocks, itwas. I sent you a card, sir, three weeks ago. I've got the six on oneside for you, sir. "

"I'll take them now. "

"Certainly, sir. " He turned to an assistant and gave directions. Then: "Excuse me, sir. Jim!"

A boy came at a run. 

"Fetch me that envelope off of the top o' my blottin'-pad. It's pinnedthere. " He turned to Lyveden. "When you was 'ere last time, sir, youdropped your ticket. I kept it by, in case you come in again, thinkin'you might be glad of it. It ain't six months yet, sir, since you was'ere, so it's still good. "

A moment later Lyveden was looking fixedly at the return half of athird-class ticket which had been issued at Chipping Norton. 

"Thanks, " he said slowly, slipping it into his pocket. "I'm muchobliged. "

He paid for the goods and waited whilst a taxi was fetched. 

Then he followed the mattocks into the cab, and told the surly driverto go to Paddington.... 

Five hours later he staggered, rather than walked, along the wastedtrack and up to the cottage door. 

There had been no man to meet him, and the mattocks had made theirweight felt after the first two miles. He laid them down thankfully. 

For a moment he looked about him. 

Behind him--over towards Girdle--the sun had just gone down. AndGramarye ... Gramarye had never looked one half so beautiful.... Allher hard lines were gone. Every sacred twig of her had put on awedding garment. The wild mystery of the place had been exquisitelyveiled. The majesty of desolation was in full dress. Far as the eyecould reach, the toss of the glorious woods had become unspeakablyenriched... Maddening.... 

His eyes glittering, Lyveden hugged himself in a paroxysm of glee. Theman was just gloating.... 

Then he strode to the wood-shed. 

"Well, Patch, " he said cheerily. "Has Patch been a good little----"

The sentence snapped off short. 

For a moment Anthony stared at the empty staple. 

Then he turned on his heel. 

"Patch!" he cried sharply. "Patch!"

After listening intently for a moment, he stepped hastily on to thewasted track and began to whistle.... 

Presently, trembling with anxiety, he started to stumble along thetrail, whistling frantically.... 

 * * * * *

Seated in the hall at Bell Hammer, Valerie looked at the clock. As shedid so, the faint crunch of wheels upon gravel told that the car wasleaving to meet the down train. An instant later the clock strucknine. Miss French threaded her needle thoughtfully.... 

Curled by her side upon the sofa, a little white dog with a black patchbreathed stertorously. 

A door opened, and a servant appeared with a letter. This had beenexpressed. Valerie laid down her work, and, after a glance at theenvelope, opened it curiously. 

_DEAREST VALERIE, _

_Do you know anything of Peter? We only got back from America two daysago, and when we rang up his club--he was living there while we wereaway--they said they hadn't seen him since March. Of course we'refrightfully worried. He had the car with him, and we're trying totrace that. Oh, Valerie, father's just come in and said that the car'sbeen found at Carlisle. In a garage there, and that two men left it tobe seen to a month ago, but the police think he bought it from them andis afraid. Please wire if you----_

With a crash the small table by her side upset its complement ofviolets on to the parquet, there was a wild scrabble of paws, and Patchwas at the front door, snuffing the sill and whining tremulously.... 

Valerie got upon her feet. 

"What is it, Patch?" she said. "He isn't here yet. "

For a second the terrier listened. 

The next moment he was almost beating himself against the woodwork. 

Letter in hand, Valerie crossed the hall and opened the door. 

The dog rushed out into the drive. 

For a moment he stood there, plainly straining his ears. 

An instant later he was flying down the avenue.... 

 * * * * *

The glow of the sunset faded. Evening gave way to dusk. Night stoleinto her throne-room.... One by one, men, spent with their labour, went to their rest. Pillowed upon the bosom of the country-side, villages fell asleep. And through them, while they slept, a littlewhite dog went pelting breathlessly under the cold moonlight--nowrunning, now dropping to a fast walk, now hesitating, now plunging ondesperately, sometimes to the east, sometimes to the west, but in themain northward ... Due north, sirs ... In the direction of theCotswold Hills. 

THE END