First published in Great Britain in1978 by Raven Books in association withMacdonald & Jane's Publishers LimitedFirst Futura Publications edition 1979Reprinted 1980 Copyright © 1977 byWalker & Company This book is soldsubject to the condition that it shall not, byway of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulatedwithout the publisher's prior consent inany form of binding or cover other thanthat in which it is published and without asimilar condition including this conditionbeing imposed on the subsequentpurchaser.

ISBN 0 7088 1502 2 Printed inGreat Britain by Haze11 Watson & VineyLtd Aylesbury, Bucks Macdonald FuturaPublishers Ltd Paulton House R

Shenherrlecc Walk

Chapter 1 On a bright morning near the close

of the month of May in the year 1811 anelegant travelling-chaise, with a crestupon the panel, drew up before MissBascom's Select Academy for YoungLadies in Queen Square, Bath. The chaise,which belonged to that eminent peer andstatesman, the Earl of Chan-dross, waswell known in Queen Square, where it hadarrived punctually on every occasionduring the past three years when the Earl'syoung cousin and ward, Miss EugeniaLiddiard, had gone to spend her holidaysat Mere Court, the Earl's principal seat inEssex; and on this occasion, which was tobe its last appearance in the Square, MissBascom herself had condescended to

speed Miss Liddiard upon her way byaccompanying her to its door.

Not, it must be stated, in complimentto Miss Liddiard. Miss Liddiard herself,to Miss Bascom's certain knowledge, wasa very small cog indeed in the very largewheel of the Earl's interests, and, beyondpaying his ward's fees with admirablepromptness, his lordship—and, for thatmatter, her ladyship as well—had evincednot the least degree of concern for herover the period during which she had beena boarder at Miss Bascom's establishment.She had been sent to Miss Bascom'schiefly, Miss Bascom suspected, becausethere was no niche either at Mere Court orin his lordship's magnificent town house inGrosvenor Square into which a half-formed schoolgirl of independent

character and unpredictable inclinationswould properly fit, and Miss Bascom,after three years of unremitting effort toshape her into the sort of young femalew ho would fit into such a niche, wasobliged to admit that she had dismallyfailed.

It was to be hoped, Miss Bascomnot very sanguinely thought as shesurveyed Miss Liddiard's slender, chip-hatted and duffle-cloaked figuredescending the steps of the SelectAcademy, that some eligible gentlemanwould miraculously appear in the courseof the forthcoming London Season, duringwhich she was to be "brought out" byLady Chan-dross, and marry her out ofhand; for decidedly young Miss Liddiardwas in no way suited to life in a great

house as a poor dependant upon her noblerelations.

Miss Liddiard herself, who wasengaged in making her adieux to hergreatest friend, Miss Amelia Rowntree,known to her schoolfellows as Muffet,appeared at the moment to be not in theleast depressed by a sense of her ownshortcomings. On the contrary, she lookeduncommonly cheerful, and her vivid,handsome little face, with its well-archedbrows, mobile mouth, and elegant nose setbeneath a gloriously untidy mane of darksilky hair that fell over her shouldersalmost to her waist, was glowing as sheand Miss Rowntree discussed their plansfor meeting again in London a week ortwo hence. Muffet, a small, fair, ratherplain girl, was a friend of happier days,

when Eugenia had lived with her father inKent on a small but very satisfactoryestate called Coverts that had adjoinedSquire Rowntree's acres there, and sheand Muffet and Muffet's older brotherTom had been as inseparable then as al i tter of puppies, and had played andquarrelled and romped together with thesame equable abandon.

Muffet, who was less enterprisingthan her friend, had always regarded herwith a kind of hero-worshipping devotion,which had deepened almost to awe asEugenia, shipped off to Mere Court uponher father's death three years before, hadsubsequently swum once more into her kenat Miss Bascom's, full of casual titbitsabout that enormous and celebratedmansion and the excitements of living in

the orbit of the most famous names in theLondon t o n . Pr i nny (for so, Eugeniainformed her, the Prince of Wales, nowthe Prince Regent, was known to hisintimates) had stayed at Mere Court; Ladyjersey, Lord Alvan- ley, "Cupid"Palmerston, and the Seftons were frequentvisitors; and upon one memorableoccasion she had even come across Mr.Brummell, the famous Beau himself, inone of the corridors, and had had thedistinction of being looked through by himwith all his inimitable hauteur.

This, to Muffet, whose mostrecherche diver s ions had been anoccasional visit to Canterbury and herjourneys to and from Miss Bascom'sAcademy in Bath, was bliss beyonddreams; but Eugenia took it all very coolly

and said she would give it up in a minutefor a chance to go back to Kent and live atCoverts again. This being highlyimprobable, as Coverts was now theproperty of her father's cousin, CedricLiddiard, a very scholarly clergyman anda confirmed bachelor, who, uponinheriting it, had continued to reside in theCathedral Close in Canterbury and hadleft it entirely in the hands of an agent, sheand Muffet had recently concocted a planin which she was to marry Muffet'sbrother Tom, after which they would alllive together in Kent for the rest of theirlives in perfect happiness.

Of course Tom, who consideredEugenia a very good sort of girl but, atnineteen, was far more interested incountry sports than in marrying, had not

heard of these plans as yet, and might havesome rather strenuous objections to themwhen he did. But this was as nothing andless than nothing to Eugenia, whoconsidered obstacles only as things to besurmounted, and who had informed Muffetthe night before that if she did not wish tosound Tom out on the subject of ratherimmediate matrimony, she, Eugenia,would write and propose the plan to himherself.

“But you can't do that !" Muffet,scandalised, had said, curling up onEugenia's bed and tucking her feet underher, looking, as she did so, very youngindeed in her high-necked, prettily rufflednightdress, with her fair hair emergingfrom beneath the nightcap of fine muslinfirmly tied beneath her chin.

“Why not?" Eugenia asked.“It—it wouldn't be proper! To

propose marriage to a gentleman—!"“Pooh! It isn't a gentleman. It's only

Tom."“Yes, but—" Muffet had protested,

clutching Eugenia's pillow to her youngand meagre bosom as if for protectionagainst her friend's alarming directnessupon a matter that she had been taughtmust be approached with suitablemaidenly reserve.

“And, what is more," Eugenia hadsaid, alarming her still further, "it's not asif he won't be able to do just as he likeswhen we are married. Gussie" ( this,Muffet knew, was Augusta, LadyChandross, who had petrified her withadmiration, upon the single occasion she

had seen her, when she had been taken fora treat to Drury Lane Theatre on her wayhome to Kent for the Christmas holidays,by appearing in her box in a diaphanousgown that had clung so perfectly to herexcessively slender figure that it wouldhave delighted an anatomist intent uponcounting all her bones) "Gussie," Eugeniacontinued, "says it is very unfashionablefor a wife to interfere with her husband'spetits plaisirs, and I am sure I have nointention of doing so."

“Oh, Eugenia!" said Muffet, pinkwith admiring embarrassment at herfriend's grown-upness. "But Tomwouldn't, you know! He is not at all in thepetticoat line! Indeed, I don't think he willquite like being married, even to you.”

Which statement caused Eugenia to

remark, in a very ungrown-up way, thatshe couldn't see what difference it wouldmake to him whether he was married ornot, and if he meant to be mulish about it,she would simply have to arrangesomehow to go down to Kent and talk tohim herself.

The matter had then been left inabeyance, and as the presence of MissBascom now, and of the abigail sent byLady Chandross to chaperon Eugenia uponher journey, somewhat inhibited theparting words the two friends were ableto exchange, Eugenia was obliged todepart without any very clearunderstanding's having been reachedbetween them on the matter of how it wasto be arranged for her to become Mrs.Thomas Rowntree in the near future.

The chaise steps having been put upand the door shut by the liveriedpostillion, the chaise at last rolled awayfrom Miss Bascom's Select Academy,leaving its proprietress uttering a mental,"Thank goodness!" and Muffet, who wasnot a sentimental girl but felt that lifewould be sadly fiat without her friend'senlivening presence, stifling an inclinationt o sniffle. As for Eugenia herself, shesettled back upon the luxurious claret-velvet squabs of the chaise beside themiddle-aged abigail, whose name wasTrimmer, and prepared to enjoy to the fullall the experiences that might presentthemselves to one during a journey ofsome hundred and twenty-five miles upona fine day in May.

Unfortunately, the day remained fine

only as far as the Wiltshire border, for asthe chaise began to climb Box Hill, cloudswere already rolling in from the west, andin a very short time rain began to fall.Eugenia, always an optimist, was sure itwould clear by the time they reachedCake; when they halted at BeckhamptonInn and partook of a luncheon of prawns,peas, and apple tarts in a coffee room withits windows dismally flooded with peltingdrops, she was convinced it must sooncome on to be fair; and when Trimmer,her nerves quite overset in late afternoonby the continued downpour and thegloomy predictions of the postillions thatthe road would be found to be washed outbeneath them if they proceeded further,suggested that they stop for the night at theKing's Head in Thatcham, instead of going

on to the more prestigious Pelican inSpeenhamland, where they were expected,she said tolerantly that she was quitewilling to do so, because she had neverstopped at the King's Head, so that it wasbound to be more interesting than thePelican, but added that it seemed a bitsilly to her to be daunted by a little rain.

This description of the weathermight have appeared a trifle inadequate toan unprejudiced observer, in view of thetorrents now being poured upon analready sodden landscape by the loweringskies overhead, but Eugenia continued toignore its depressing qualities, as thechaise drew up before the door of theKing's Head, by running through thedownpour in advance of the landlord'sumbrella, which had hastened out to meet

her with the landlord himself beneath it.Arriving inside the inn, she shook theraindrops from her cloak and looked abouther with a general air of approval.

And, indeed, the sight of well-polished brasses and a large oak settlewith a black-and-white kitten comfortablyasleep upon its cushions, and a glimpsethrough an open doorway into a snugcoffee room where several guests wereenjoying what appeared to be raisedpigeon pies and mushroom fritters, wereenough to have cheered the heart of anyw a yfa r e r. Eugenia, responding withenthusiasm to the landlord's enquiry as towhat he might do for her, said she wouldlike a bedchamber for herself and anadjoining one for her maid.

“A nice featherbed without any

lumps, if you have got one, and simplylashings of food. I am frightfully hungry!"she added; upon which the landlord, whohad taken in the crest, the elegant chaise,and the abigail in the wink of an eye andwas therefore content to overlook thecarelessly worn schoolgirl hat and theyoung lady's entire lack of any pretensionsto a la modality, said obsequiously thatshe should have his best bedchamber anda private parlour, to which an excellentdinner prepared by Mrs. Landlord herselfwould shortly be borne.

Eugenia, who liked newexperiences of any sort, looked regretfullyat the coffee room, which indubitablyoffered far greater scope for theindulgence of a free-ranging curiosity thandid the prospect of a meal taken

abovestairs in a private parlour, with onlyTrimmer in attendance, but decidedagainst pressing the point because of thefuss that would be made on all sides. Itwould, she considered, be a furtheradvantage in marrying Tom that no oneexcept a husband was permitted to tell amarried lady what she must do, and shehad not the least doubt about Tom's beingagreeable to letting her do whatever sheliked.

Trimmer having now arrived at theinn door as well, with many injunctions tothe servants who were bringing in theportmanteaux, Eugenia was prepared tofollow the landlord up the stairs at therear of the lobby when the door openedonce more on a gust of blowing rain andthree passengers from the Bristol and Bath

Accommodation-coach, which had driveninto the inn-yard just behind the chaise,entered the passage. All were very wet,their coats darkened with damp and raindripping in little rivulets from their hatbrims, by which telltale signs the landlordwas able to set them down at once asoutside passengers and therefore unworthyof his personal attention.

Eugenia, glancing over her shoulderto survey them with equable interest asshe set her foot upon the lowest step of thestaircase, saw a dejected-looking middle-aged man who might have been a clerk, aburly farmer in stout, muddy boots and abrass-buttoned coat—and then her eyesfell upon the third passenger, a dark,enigmatic-looking young man in hismiddle twenties, with a faintly arrogant

air that, taken in conjunction with hisdistinctly shabby olive-green coat, gavehim rather the air of a gentleman who hadcome down in the world.

“Gerry!" she cried on the instant,recognising her cousin, Gerald Liddiard,who, like herself, was one of LordChandross's encumbrances, and who, ashe was possessed of some eight or nineyears' seniority over her, an even moreurgent desire for new experiences, and theadvantage of being of the male sex, hadalready caused the Earl far more troublea nd expense than she herself had everdreamed of doing. She turned aboutabruptly, thus causing Trimmer, who wasclose behind her, to fall back in somedisarray.

The three newly arrived passengers

also gazed at her in slight surprise, eachthen glancing at the others to see which ofthem was being thus addressed, the youngman in the olive-green coat appearing theleast interested of them all, however, as ifhe could not conceive how the mattercould have anything to do with him. Hewas a very bronzed young man, with thelithe figure and easy movements of onewho had spent a great deal of his time inoutdoor pursuits, but just now he appearedextremely pale, and his dark eyes had anoverbright look that a medical man wouldinstantly have diagnosed as being due tofever.

“Gerry!" said Eugenia againimpatiently, and this time it was apparentto them all that she was addressing theyoung man in the olive-green coat. "Don't

you know me? It's Eugenia—”The young man looked at her with a

politely disinterested air, shrugged hisshoulders slightly, and turned awaytowards the door of the coffeeroom.Eugenia looked at him in astonishment.She had not seen her cousin for almostthree years, as after having been sentdown from Oxford, he had embarked uponan adventurous career that appeared toleave him very little time for his relations,whose chief communication with him hadbeen in the form of letters urgentlyrequesting them to settle some of his morepressing debts; and she was aware thatthreeyears had made rather drasticalterations in her own appearance. Still itwas the outside of enough, she considered,when one's own cousin, who had spent

most of his holidays at Coverts before herfather had died and whom one had knownsince one had been in short coats, failed torecognise one and was, it appeared, aboutto cut one dead.

She laid a detaining hand upon theyoung man's arm.

“Really, Gerry," she said, "how canyou be so stupid! I know it has been threeyears, but still—”

By this time Trimmer, who was byno means an old retainer, familiar withfamily ramifications, having been engagedfrom a London Registry Office by LadyChandross only some two weeks before,projected herself into the scene, and witha scandalised exclamation of, "Now, miss,if you please!" attempted to draw heraway. She had been warned by Lady

Chandross that she would find her youngcharge an odd, forward girl, whom itwould be her duty to keep out of the briarsinto which, given the least opportunity,she was all too prone to fall; but not in herwildest flights of fancy had she imaginedMiss Liddiard's going so far as to attemptto scrape acquaintance with an obviouslyuninterested young man who hadapparently never seen her before in hislife.

“Now, miss, really—I" sheexpostulated. "Indeed, you must not—"

“Oh, Trimmer, d o be quiet!" saidEugenia, maintaining her hold upon theyoung man's arm. "It i s quite all right; heis my cousin. I have known him all mylife. And if you don't care even to speak tome," she went on, addressing the young

man, "very well! I daresay this is yournotion of a joke—”

The young man, looking somewhatenlightened by the explanatory part of thisspeech, though it had been addressed toTrimmer and not to himself, said politelyat this point, "I am afraid you are making amistake, you know. I am not your cousin.”

Eugenia looked at him, drawing herbrows together in a slight, puzzled frown.

“But you are! You must be!" sheargued. "I can't be mistaken!"

“Still I am afraid you are," theyoung man said, pleasantly but definitely,and moved on towards the door of thecoffeeroom.

Eugenia looked after him with adisapproving expression upon her face.

“Oh!" she said. "If that isn't just like

Gerry, to play such a trick on one! And tento one he will come knocking on my doorin half an hour, expecting me to laugh overit with him!"

“But, my dear Miss Liddiard,"fluttered Trimmer, looking askance at theclerk, the farmer, and the landlord, whohad taken in the entire scene with thegreatest interest and were still standingwith their mouths acock, "are you quitesure—? After all, if it has been some timesince you have seen your cousin—”

Eugenia said definitely that she wascompletely sure, and, gathering her cloakabout her, was preparing once more tomount the stairs when she was againinterrupted by a sudden commotion frombeyond the coffeeroom door. Withouthesitation she turned about, walked into

the coffeeroom, and beheld a pair ofastonished waiters regarding theunconscious form of the young man in theolive-green coat, which lay slumped uponthe floor.

“I thought so," she said briefly."Fever, I expect." She turned to thelandlord, who had followed her into theroom. "This is my cousin, Mr. GeraldLiddiard," she said. "I expect he has beenill, and, as you see, he has fainted. Willyou have him carried up to a bedchamber,please, and send at once for a doctor?”

The landlord, who was notaccustomed to taking his orders fromschoolgirls, looked doubtfully at Trimmer.She looked back at him with an equallydubious gaze, but as Eugenia was nowengaged in supervising the attempts of the

two waiters to carry the recumbent youngman's six-foot form out of the coffeeroomand up the stairs, it was really of verylittle importance, it seemed, whether theyapproved or not. They trailed out of thecoffeeroom after the stumbling waiters,and at the head of the stairs the landlord,succumbing to Eugenia's imperativelyquestioning gaze, opened a door just offthe landing and led the little processioninside.

“You can put him down here," hesaid rather gloomily to the waiters, for,crest or no crest, he was far from certainthat young Miss Liddiard's travelallowance was sufficiently large to covera surgeon's fee and an additionalbedchamber, and the young man'sdefinitely threadbare coat did not speak of

prosperity.But under his young guest's cool

hazel-green ,eyes he hardly likedsomehow to put his doubts into words,and went off, muttering to himself about a"hem queer setout," to send a boy to fetchthe doctor and a chambermaid to bringsome hartshorn, this also by Eugenia'sorders.

Meanwhile, Eugenia, afterinstructing the waiters to pull off the youngman's boots and remove his coat, herselfloosened his cravat and tucked him upefficiently beneath the patchwork quilt thatlay upon the bed. She then wetted herhandkerchief in the yellow ware jug on thewashstand, applied it to his brow, and,taking one of his hands, began to chafe itbetween her own, instructing the agitated

Trimmer to do the same with the other.“But, my dear Miss Liddiard, are

you quite, qui te sure it really is yourcousin?" Trimmer twittered once more,taking in an exceedingly gingerly fashionthe bronzed hand that lay limp upon thecoverlet. "Only think how dreadful itwould be if it were not! A perfectlystrange young man—I do now know whatLady Chandross will think if I havepermitted you to enter a strange man'sbedchamber—I"

“She won't think anything at allabout it if you don't tell her," Eugenia saidpractically. "Besides, it i s Gerry. I amquite sure of it. I expect we shall have totake him back to Mere with us, for it looksvery much to me as if his pockets were tolet, arid he has certainly been quite ill. I

wonder what he has been doing withhimself. It has been almost a year sinceanyone has heard from him, and then hewas insome sort of trouble in Cheltenhamover an heiress he tried to rim off with.”

Trimmer shuddered, with a startdropped the hand she had been chafing.

“Oh, you needn't worry; he didn'tsucceed," Eugenia said kindly. "It is rathera pity in a way, though, that he didn't,because he hasn't any money except whatLord Chandross gives him, and it wouldhave made things so much morecomfortable for him, wouldn't it? And hehas a great deal of charm, so she wouldhave had something for her money." Shelooked critically at the young man's face,where a touch of colour had begun tocreep into the pale cheeks. "He is coming

round, I think," she said. "Do see if youcan hurry that girl with the hartshorn,Trimmer—or, better still, go and fetchyour own. I daresay you have some byyou.”

Trimmer, impressed by thecompetence with which her youngmistress was dealing with the patient,went reluctantly away, quite unaware thatshe was merely the latest in a long seriesof servants whom Eugenia, cast fromchildhood in the role of companion andguide to her cheerful, reckless father byher mother's early death, had dragooned orcajoled into doing what was needed forthe helpless male creature currentlyrequiring her care. Eugenia continued tochafe the young man's hands, and in a fewmoments was rewarded by seeing his eyes

open and fix themselves with a vague,puzzled look upon her face.

“You fainted," she informed him."You've been ill, I expect. Fever?"

“Yes," he said, in automaticresponse. "But I'm all right now."

“You will be, I daresay, if you takeproper care of yourself," Eugenia saidpractically. "I don't know what you are upto or where you are intending to go now,Gerry, but if you have the least degree ofsense you'll come to Mere with me and letyourself be looked after until you're inbetter frame.”

The young man, obviously stillgathering his wits together from the mistsof unconsciousness, frowned slightly as heapparently recalled the scene downstairs.

“I haven't the least notion who you

are, you know," he said after a moment, inhis cool, lazy, agreeable voice, attemptingto raise himself from his recumbentposition and finding himself at once firmlyrestrained by a light hand upon his chest.

A shade of impatience crossedEugenia's face.

“Oh, Gerry, don't begin that again—" she said, and then halted abruptly, aslight uncertainty appearing in her eyes asshe scanned the young man's face. "I'mEugenia—Eugenia Liddiard, of course,"she said rather hesitantly, after a moment."Your cousin—”

She paused once more. The youngman's expression had changed as she hadspoken the name; a slight flush came intohis bronzed face.

“Liddiard," he said slowly. "Yes, I

expect that explains it."“Explains what?"“Your thinking I was related to you.

I daresay in a way I am. That is, if a mannamed Charles Liddiard was yourrelation, too."

“Charles Liddiard?" The look ofpuzzlement deepened upon Eugenia's face."Charles Liddiard? Why, yes. He was myfather's first cousin, but he's been dead forages. Before I was born. What has that todo—?"

“I'm his son. Richard Liddiard."“Oh!" Eugenia, who had been sitting

on the bed, got up and backed away alittle. "But Charles Liddiard," she said,"never—" and then coloured up and bit thesentence off short.

“He never married, and so I've no

right to his name?" the young man saidpleasantly. "They've told you that, Idaresay—Chandross, your father, all therest of the Liddiards—”

He was sitting up now, his feetswung over the side of the bed, andEugenia, recovering herself, said to himfirmly, "You had much better lie down.You'll only go off again if you try to get uptoo soon.”

He sent a quick, rather quizzicalglance at her from under his black brows.

“Well," Eugenia said reasonably,divining the cause of his surprise, "youreally are just as much my cousin as Gerryis if you are Cousin Charles's son, aren'tyou?—whether he was ever married ornot. So I expect I had as well stay and seethat you are properly taken care of."

“Your relations," the young mansaid dryly, "might not share yoursolicitude."

“No, I daresay they wouldn't. Theywouldn't care much what 'happened toGerry, though, either, as long as he wasn'tdoing anything to disgrace the Liddiardname, so that doesn't make any difference,you see. You really are amazingly likehim," she added, surveying the dark facewith its strongly marked black brows,cleft chin, and general appearance ofarrogant distinction as he lay back uponthe pillows once more with an unwillingair of exhaustion. "I wonder you havenever been taken for him before. Have youbeen living in England?"

“No. In Ireland."“That accounts for it, I expect. I

don't think Gerry has ever been in Ireland—though of course one never knows,because he seems to move about quite abit."

“Is he a bad lot?"“I expect people would say so.

Cecil—that is my cousin, Lord Chandross,you know—certainly thinks he is, but Idon't know that he's done anythingparticularly disgraceful, if you don't countgaming and fighting and not wanting tosettle down and be what Cecil calls acredit to the family. He is very expensive,of course. You wouldn't believe howmuch he has cost Cecil, first and last." Afaint shade of bitterness crossed the darkface on the pillows.

“On, I think I would," said the youngman. "You see, I've heard what a

handsome sum he was prepared to settleupon my mother if she would take herselfand Charles Liddiard's brat quietly out ofthe way and be content to forget she wasCharles Liddiard's wife. The Liddiardsare extremely generous to their by-blows,I've been given to understand. They don'ttake quite so kindly to a misalliance.”

Eugenia considered this. "No, Idaresay they don't," she said after amoment. "Do you mean that CharlesLiddiard really did marry your mother,only Cecil prefers to think that he didn't?But can't you prove—?"

“No," said the young man baldly."My mother lived only a few months afterI was born. Charles Liddiard died severalmonths before that. He'd taken her to theContinent, and in the confusion after her

death her papers were lost. An Englishclergyman named Castle took me in chargeand brought me up; he'd never seen eitherCharles Liddiard or my mother before inhis life, and all he knew about me was thecompletely unconfirmed bit of informationhe was able to get from my mother beforeshe died.”

Eugenia thoughtfully digested thisstatement, and if the young man upon thebed had been observing her—which hewas not, for he had closed his eyes as hehad finished speaking, apparently feeling areturn of the disagreeable faintness thathad caused his collapse in the coffeeroomdownstairs—he would have seen thatthere was a gleam in her eyes and a lookof determination upon her face that, takentogether, would have caused Miss Bascom

the utmost uneasiness. Young MissLiddiard, Miss Bascom had learned to hersorrow, was a strong believer in theactive support of any cause, no matter howodd, that had enlisted her interest, and noamount of lecturing or persuasion had everbeen able to convince her that youngladies should leave such matters to theirelders—or, better still, to the Authorities,if it was a question of homeless cats orabused horses, as it had been upon twomemorable occasions in Queen Square.

Chapter 2 The simultaneous arrival of

Trimmer with the harts-horn and of afatherly looking, grey-haired surgeon put ahalt, however, to any immediate plansEugenia had to delve further into the lifehistory of her new-found cousin. She wasbanished to her own bedchamber whileDr. McCarey examined his patient; but sheleft the door slightly ajar as she changedfrom her travelling-dress and brushed herhair, and when she heard the doctor comeout into the passage again she emerged tointercept him before he could reach thestairs.

“Did he pay you?" she enquired,coming to the point at once. The doctor'sbushy grey brows rose in some surprise.

"Did he pay you your fee?" Eugeniarepeated patiently. "I don't suppose he hasmuch money, and after all I was the onewho had you called, so I think it is onlyfair if I pay for it.”

She began to open her reticule, butthe doctor, with an air of slightamusement, assured her that his patienthad already taken care of the matter.

“A relation of yours, Miss—?” “Liddiard," supplied Eugenia

readily. "Yes, he is my cousin. Is he veryill?”

Dr. McCarey said bluntly that as faras he had been able to ascertain his patienthad the constitution of an ox, but that evenan ox, if it had been sitting on the roof of acoach in pouring rain for half a dozenhours when it was just recovering from a

fever, might experience some difficulty innavigating when it got down.

“A few weeks of rest and quietliving and he'll be right as a trivet," hesaid. "Any more of this skip-brained sortof behaviour, though, and I won't rule outinflammation of the lungs. Do his peoplel ive near here? You'd best get word tothem to look after him. You're nottravelling with him yourself, Iunderstand?"

“No," said Eugenia. "But I'll see thathe's looked after. Thank you very much."

“A bowl of hot chicken broth andsome arrowroot jelly," the doctorrecommended. "And see that he doesn'tstir out of the house again until thisdownpour ends," and he turned againtowards the stairs.

Eugenia said good-bye to him, stoodthoughtfully for a few moments in thepassage, and then walked to the door ofRichard Liddiard's bedchamber andscratched purposefully upon it.

“Come in," said the pleasant, lazyvoice, so like her cousin Gerald's, butwith a deeper note in it than Gerald's hadever had. But perhaps, she thought,Gerald's voice would be different now,too, less boyish than when she had lastheard it. He would, after all, be as oldnow as this young man looked to be,somewhere in his middle twenties.

She opened the door and walkedinto the room.

Richard Liddiard was lying uponthe bed as she had left him, but he sat upupon her entrance.

“No, don't get up," she said, comingover and standing beside the bed. "I onlycame to tell you that I've talked to thatdoctor, and he says you are to havechicken broth and arrowroot jelly for yoursupper, and then you must rest and bequiet for a few weeks. Can you do that?"She eyed rather doubtfully the shabbyolive-green coat, which lay on a chairbeside the bed. "You don't look veryprosperous," she said.

He looked at her, an amused smilelighting his face for the first time since shehad met him.

“You don't believe in beating aboutthe bush, do you?" he asked.

“No. It never does much good, doesit? I mean, it seems a bit idiotish trying tobe tactful if there is something you really

want to know."“And what do you want to know

about me, Miss Liddiard?"“You may call me Eugenia, if you

like. After all, w e are cousins—not veryclose ones, but I always called GerryGerry, and he is related to me in the sameway that you are. His father was Papa'scousin, too, you know." She put the coaton the bed and sat down on the chairwhere it had lain. "What I want to know,"she said, "is whether you have anyonewho will look after you until you're inplump currant again. You're not married,are you?"

“No."“I thought not. You haven't a

married look. And you can't have anybrothers or sisters if both your parents

died when you were born. But there mightbe someone else—Have you friends inEngland?"

“No. I haven't been in England forten years. The only friend I have left hereis a Yorkshireman named Ned Trice whobecame a jockey, went to the bad, andnow keeps a very disreputable tavern inTothill Fields. Look here, Miss EugeniaLiddiard, this is not in any possible wayyour affair—"

“Well, it wouldn't be, if I could findanyone else that it w a s their affair,"Eugenia said reasonably, if not verygrammatically. "But I can't just walk offand let you die of inflammation of thelungs or something ghastly like that."

“I have no intention of havinginflammation of the lungs. Or of dying of

anything whatever, if that's of any comfortto you."

“Yes, but I daresay you hadn't anyintention of swooning away in thecoffeeroom downstairs just now, either,but you did," Eugenia pointed out. "I hatebeing ill, too, but I had scarlet fever whenI was twelve and I was disgustingly weakfor almost a month afterwards." Shelooked at him critically. "I don't think youare fit for any sort of work just now," shesaid. "You a r e obliged to work atsomething, I expect?"

“Yes. I'm on my way to NewtonChase, Sir Harry Pyatt's place inOxfordshire. He's in need of someone tomanage his stables, I understand.”

Eugenia regarded him withincreased interest.

“Oh, are you good with horses?" sheasked. "Papa had a small stud at Coverts—that was our place in Kent—but whenmy cousin Cedric inherited it he sold allthe horses off. He is in orders, you see,a n d lives in Canterbury." A suddenthought struck her. "Do you know," shesaid, "if you really are Cousin Charles'sson—I mean his real son, legally and allthat—Coverts should rightfully belong toyou. Because Cousin Charles was CousinCedric's elder brother, you see, and so hewould have been the heir if he had lived,and of course his son, if he was deadhimself—"

“It sounds rather complicated," theyoung man said uninterestedly. "And atany rate there's not much point in thinkingof that now, is there?"

“There would be," said Eugenia,who did not give up easily, "if you couldprove—"

“Well, I can't," Richard Liddiardsaid dampingly. "That marriage took placea quarter of a century ago, and theclergyman who raised me made everypossible enquiry, not twelve monthsafterwards, without the least success.”

Eugenia said that in her opinionclergymen were not very enterprising, but,seeing that her companion, who had notobeyed her injunction to lie down again,was looking very tired, she forbore topress the matter and returned instead to theproblem of his immediate future.

“If I were you," she said to him, "Ishouldn't go to Newton Chase. I've met SirHarry, and he is a horrid man. Papa said

he tried to bribe Frank Buckle to lose arace at Newmarket, though of course itw a s never proved. And he has newgrooms and trainers in every week,because he flies into a pelter anddismisses the old ones, and he has putdown his stables twice. I shouldn'twonder if he were to do it again." Shesaw that one black brow was cocked ather disbelievingly. "No, truly!" sheprotested.

“Not pitching me a Banbury tale tokeep me playing the invalid here?"

“Oh, no. I hardly ever tell lies,"Eugenia said seriously. "I'm not a verygood liar, you see. Besides, it would be arather shabby thing to do, wouldn't it?—because I daresay you do need the work."

“I do," Richard assured her. "And,

what is more, having no other presentprospects than Sir Harry, I shall have tomake do with trying my luck with him.”

Eugenia wrinkled her brows. "Itwas a rather chancy thing to do, wasn'tit?" she asked. "Coming all the way fromIreland just on the strength of a tip. Didyou get it from your friend Ned Trice?"

“The answer is yes, and I daresay itwas," said the young man equably. "Butthen, you see, I'm used to taking chances.That's how I went to Ireland in the firstplace."

“Did you run away?"“Oh, no. Not really. I had nothing to

run away from."“The clergyman died?" she

hazarded.“Yes. His sister had some idea of

apprenticing me to an apothecary as thebest way to get me off her hands, but Irather thought not. So I went to Irelandinstead.”

Eugenia sighed enviously. "It soundslovely," she said. "If I had been a boy, I'dhave gone off on my own, too, when Papadied. Then I shouldn't have been obligedto go to that odious school, or live atMere." She got up. "But that's neither heren o r there," she said decisively. "Youlooked fagged to death, and I oughtn't to bekeeping you talking to me. I'll order yoursupper and then after you've had it you cango to sleep." At the doorway she paused."I daresay you haven't enough money tostop here for a few weeks?" she asked,with her schoolboy's matter-of-factness.

“You must think me a very

improvident sort of fellow," said RichardLiddiard, who was indeed, as she hadobserved, looking very tired, but still hada faint, amused smile for her bluntness. "Afortnight in a Bristol inn, with a surgeon'sfee to boot, was a bit more than I hadbargained for, you see—"

“And I haven't so much as sixpenceleft from my quarter's allowance to lendyou; I bought presents for all those stupidgirls when I left Miss Bascom's," Eugeniasaid regretfully. "Oh, well! I daresay Ishall think of something.”

And she went off to find thelandlord and order Richard Liddiard'ssupper, after which she sat down, in thepink parlour adjoining her ownbedchamber, to a very good meal ofHessian soup, a boiled duck with onion

sauce, and a dish of salsify fried in butter,topped off by some fresh-baked Queencakes.

It was while she was nibbling theQueen cakes that the idea came to her. Itwas an idea of such brilliant simplicitythat she wondered she had not thought of itbefore, and she was on her feet andhalfway to the door under the impetus ofher desire to communicate it immediatelyto Richard Liddiard when she broughtherself up short, recollecting the doctor'sinjunction for rest and quiet for his patient.Perhaps, she thought reluctantly, it wouldbe best to wait until morning. He wouldbe bound to have to think the idea over, toconsider it in the tiresome way in whichmost people seemed to deal with theopportunities with which life presented

them, and he really ought to go off to sleepat once instead.

So she sat for half an hour at theparlour window, which overlooked thecourtyard and offered a very satisfactoryview through its streaming panes,seriatim, of the arrival of a smart mail-coach, splashing up to the door to thediscomfiture of a thin gentleman in gaitersjust alighting from a post-chaise; theexertions of a pair of ostlers in plushwaistcoats and corduroy breeches as theyfigged out a fresh team and put them to themail-coach with a celerity born of theirdesire to get in out of the wet as soon aspossible; and a spirited altercationbetween a farmer and a carrier over abrace of ducks that were apparently to besent to the next village. The coach-lanterns

cast their wavering, dancing lights overthis animated scene, catching the drivingsilver rods of the rain as they hissed downupon the dark cobblestones, and Eugenia,when Trimmer reminded her that they mustbe early on the road tomorrow, with astrong hint that she, at least, was longingfor her bed, turned back reluctantly intothe snug, candle-lit parlour.

As she lay in her bed a little later,with the rain still drumming relentlesslyagainst the windowpanes, she perfectedher plans for the morrow. Not that theyneeded a great deal of consideration, themain difficulty, it appeared to her, lying inthe necessity of convincing RichardLiddiard that her solution to his presentdilemma was one that he could properlyaccept. If he really were Gerry, she

thought, instead of being only his double,there would be no difficulty at all; Gerrywould have seen the whole thing as agreat lark, and would have entered into itwith all imaginable gusto.

But she could not help feeling thatRichard Liddiard was a far different sortof person. Older, of course, then the Gerryshe had known, but different in other waysas well—more aloof, more self-contained,with a vein of hard, cool determinationquite unlike Gerry's quicksilver volatility.

In the midst of her reflections shedrifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, Trimmer wasrunning back the curtains of her bed andopening the blinds to reveal the pale lightof a rather watery-looking but definitelyfair morning. She had, she said, already

been downstairs to enquire of the landlordas to the state of the roads, and had beentold that there had been a washoutbetween Thatchem and Reading; but itwas expected that by midmorning theymight expect to find travel safe enough fortheir chaise.

“Good!" said Eugenia, and, jumpingout of bed, she made a hasty toilette,ordered a substantial breakfast, and wentoff to see Richard Liddiard.

She found him in his room in shirtand breeches, shaving, and lookingremarkably unwelcoming as she made itclear to him that she expected to beinvited inside.

“Where," he demanded, "is thatabigail of yours? Doesn't she take theslightest care to see to it that you don't go

haring off to strange men's bedchambersbefore breakfast?"

“Trimmer? She's really not a badsort, when you get to know her," Eugeniasaid tolerantly. "I say, I've had the mostbrilliant idea, but I can't tell you about itstanding out here in the passage."

“Then you can wait and tell meabout it in the coffeeroom."

“No, I can't tell you there, either.Someone would be sure to overhear. I'lltell you what, if you really are going to bestuffy about it, you can come to my privateparlour as soon as you finish shaving. Youcan't have any objection to that. But youdon't look fit to be up yet," she added as aparting shot, as she backed off down thecorridor towards her own rooms again.

A minute later she was wondering if

she had done the right thing to leave himso readily. He might, she thought, simplywalk downstairs and go off on one of thecoaches or carriers that were alreadyrattling into the courtyard, their wheelsand bodies thickly splashed with mudafter their hard triumph over the miryroads. He looked the independent sort.

But the knock that fell on the door afew minutes later brought not only awaiter bearing a well-laden tray butRichard Liddiard as well, shaven andpale, and still looking very impervious topersuasion.

“Come in and have some breakfast,"Eugenia said hospitably. "At least, Idaresay you ought still to be havingarrowroot jelly or something horrid of thatsort, but I expect toast and coffee won't

hurt you."“Thank you," said Richard, "but I'll

have breakfast in the coffeeroom."“Oh, very well," she said, quite

unruffled by this rebuff. "But you cancome in for a minute, at any rate. There issomething I must say to you," she added,as the waiter departed.

Richard Liddiard, apparentlyreassured by the presence of Trimmer inthe background, came in; but he hadreckoned without Eugenia'sresourcefulness. There was, she said,lifting the covers of the dishes upon thetray, no ham, and she particularlyremembered instructing Trimmer to orderham. A nice crozzly piece, fried to a turn,and would Trimmer please go downstairsand see to it? Trimmer, with a

disapproving primming of her lips, wento f f after a moment's hesitation, andEugenia at once turned to her guest.

“We haven't much time so I'll haveto tell you quickly," she said, with aserious air. "I have been thinking, and itseems to me that the best thing you can dowill be to pretend you are my cousinGerry and come back to Mere with me fora few weeks, until you are in better frame.No one will know the difference; in fact,there soon won't even by any of the familyat Mere, because Gussie—LadyChandross—is taking me up to London forthe Season almost at once, and Cecil isthere—I mean in London—already. And Ican find out from Haggart-he was our studgroom at Coverts, and Cecil took him onat Mere when Papa died—whether there

is any sort of place open that will suit youwhen you are up to doing a job. Haggarthas worked in racing stables for fortyyears, and he knows everyone on the turf—”

She broke off, looking doubtfully atRichard Liddiard, who had taken a deepbreath and appeared about to embark uponjust the sort of reply she had been afraidof.

“I do think you ought to consider itbefore you say no," she said hastily."After all, I didn't know you weren'tGerry, and if I didn't, it isn't likely anyoneat Mere will, either. You see, I knew himbetter than any of them—he was alwaysaway from Mere at school or at Oxford,and he spent all his holidays with Papaand me at Coverts. And no one at Mere

has seen him at all for three years. As forcoaching you about 'all the things youought to know—of course Trimmer willbe in the chaise with us, but she is notvery quick, and if I talk to you all the wayto Mere about the people there you shouldbe able to gather enough information tosee you through, without her being any thewiser about what we are up to. And if youd o get into a sticky spot," she went oneven more hastily, seeing theunencouraging expression upon RichardLiddiard's face, "you can always do whatGerry would do himself—turn sulky andsay nothing at all, or simply pretend youwere joking, the way I thought you weredoing when you didn't recognise me lastevening.”

She paused once more. The

distinctly skeptical expression had not leftRichard's face.

“I see," he said politely. "You'vethought it all out. And if Mr. GeraldLiddiard himself turns up while I amcarrying on this masquerade—?"

“Well, I don't think it is at all likelythat he will," said Eugenia. "After all, hehasn't done it for three years; it's muchsimpler, you see, just to write."

“If even a letter arrived while I wasin the house, I should very definitely belurched, you know."

“Yes, I've thought of that, but afterall one has to take some risks. And it's notvery likely that he will write just now; it'stoo soon after the Cheltenham affair. Hetried to run off to Gretna with the daughterof a rich ironmonger, you see, and it cost

Cecil a really appalling amount of moneyto get him out of that scrape."

“I see." There was a wry twist toRichard Liddiard's mouth. "Not an entirelyscrupulous sort of fellow, your cousinGerald."

“I've told you he isn't." Eugenialooked at him, raising her chin. "But itreally is quite a good idea," she said, "andwill solve all your problems splendidly,though you don't seem to think so."

“How do you know that I don't thinkso?"

“By the way you look. Peoplealways look at you like that when theythink you have windmills in your head.Mostly it's because they've noimagination. You had better sit down,hadn't you?" she added, after a moment.

"You're still horridly weak, I expect. Areyou sure you won't have breakfast, afterall? They've sent up lashings.”

Richard said no, he would not havebreakfast, and propped his shouldersagainst the doorframe in lieu of sittingdown.

“So you won't do it?" Eugenia said,much disappointed.

“I haven't said so." She glanced upat him, surprised, and saw an odd,considering, cynical expression in hisheavy-lidded dark eyes. "As a matter offact," he said deliberately, "you areoffering me the opportunity to dosomething I have wished to do for a longtime—make the acquaintance of my noblerelations—"

“Well, there isn't anyone at Mere

just now who is actually your relationexcept Gussie, and she is only bymarriage," Eugenia pointed out. "Oh, andthe children, of course, but they are still inthe nursery. I've told you Cecil is inLondon, and I don't know why he shouldreturn before you will be fit to leave. If hedid, he would give you a frightful bear-jaw, because he would think you wereGerry, naturally, and he and Gerry neverdid get on."

“Then why should you think that he—or Lady Chandross—will welcome meto Mere Court?"

“Oh, they won't exactly welcomeyou," Eugenia acknowledged. "But they'llhave you. After all, Gerry i s family. Andin a place as big as Mere—there areninety rooms, you see, and dozens and

dozens of servants, besides Cecil'ssecretary and his chaplain and hissteward, and heaven knows how manyother people that Gussie always hascluttering around—one person more orless doesn't make a great deal ofdifference. But they wil l look after youthere until you're well, which is theimportant thing, it seems to me. And as faras your losing the chance of having SirHarry Pyatt take you on if you go toMere," she added, "I should think youmight very well have lost it already bybeing ill for a fortnight in Bristol, to saynothing of his not being the sort of personyou would care to be employed by in thefirst place." Richard said nothing, and shelooked at him enquiringly. "I'm right—aren't I?" she demanded.

“Yes," he said. "You are." The odd,detached, considering look was still thereon his face, and after a moment he saiddecisively, to her great surprise, "Verywell. I daresay I shall be able to brace itthrough. I'm on."

“You mean you really will do it? Ididn't think you would. I thought you'd betoo—"

“Honest? My dear Miss Liddiard, Ihave been living by my wits since I wasfifteen, and poverty doesn't breedscruples. And, at any rate, this is anopportunity not many people are given—to step into the life they might have ledexcept for the accident of a single missingscrap of paper. I should never forgivemyself if I didn't grasp it.”

She was still looking at him in slight

puzzlement when the door opened andTrimmer came in again.

“They will bring the ham up in just amoment, dear Miss Liddiard," Trimmersaid, and looked rather nervously atRichard.

Eugenia gathered her wits together."Trimmer," she said, in her most matter-of-face voice, "my cousin Gerald isreturning to Mere with me. Will you seethat his portmanteau is put into thechaise?" She turned to Richard. "Andnow, Gerry," she said, "shall we sit downto breakfast?"

“By all means," said RichardLiddiard.

Chapter 3 The chaise was able to set out

before ten, and made such good progress,in spite of the initially very miry roads,that by early afternoon they were inLondon and by five had arrived at MereCourt. Eugenia, who had improved thehours by chattering away indefatigablyabout past and present family historyexcept when she saw Richard looking sogrey with fatigue that she stopped talkingand allowed him to doze off against theclaret-velvet cushions of the elegantlycomfortable chaise, had known Meresince her childhood; she was thereforequite unimpressed when they turned in atthe Gate House, with the Chandross coatof arms emblazoned over its broad stone

archway, and entered the long avenueleading to the house, which was built inthe form of a great central block crownedfrom behind by a high dome and flankedby one-storey wings that broke forward tocontain a terraced forecourt.

But she saw the sudden alertnessthat overcame her companion's wearinesswhen his eyes fell upon it, and he took into the full its grandiose magnificence. Thehouse had been an extravagance ofthesecond Earl of Chandross, who hadflourished a hundred years before andwhose architect, bent upon out-Vanbrughing Vanbrugh, had produced aBaroque showplace that had been cursedby all his descendants since, saddled asthey were with the task of maintaining itsmonumental splendour. In style it was a

daring mixture of periods—Roman,mediaeval, and Tudor—and in size itrivalled Blenheim.

Eugenia, fearing that Richard's maskof familiarity, maintained with admirablepoise during the journey, mightmomentarily be forgotten in his interest inwhat he saw, said to him meaningly as thechaise bowled on up the long, straightdrive, "It's nice to be home again—isn'tit?"

“Home?" He turned to look at her,his eyes blank for a single instant. Thenthe mask returned. "Oh—yes. It is.”

Probably, it occurred to her, he hadnot expected quite so much magnificence;and she recalled her own childhoodamazement at the sheer bulk of that grandfaçade when she had first been taken to

visit here, and her conviction, when shehad followed the footmen bearing theirportmanteaux along the dramatic tunnel ofthe corridor that ran right through thecentre of the house and both wings thatthey had walked for miles before theyreached the bedchambers that had beenassigned to them.

But Richard Liddiard, reared in thatmost austere and correct of environments,a country parsonage inhabited by ascholarly incumbent, and exposed in lateryears to the ruder but more affluentelegancies of life among the Irishsquirearchy, was not, she saw, going to letMere Court throw him off his balance.When he walked in at the front doorbeside her and surrendered his hat toGleaves, the butler, his eyes flickered

over the giant proportions of the two-storeyed stone hall, its monumentalchimney piece of Sicilian pink and whitemarble, and its attendant gallery of marblestatues, as if he had known them all hislife.

The butler, who was new—theservants at Mere always were new, asLord Chandross had a peevish temper andLady Chandross a very volatile one—looked enquiringly at him as he greetedMiss Liddiard and consigned her chip hatand duffle-cloak into the hands of awaiting footman.

“Oh—Gleaves," said Eugeniacarelessly, "this is my cousin, Mr. GeraldLiddiard. I've brought him home with mefor a short visit. I expect Lady Chandrosswill wish to have a bedchamber made

ready for him. Where i s Lady Chandross:Is she engaged?”

Gleaves said he believed herladyship was in her dressing room at themoment.

“Thank you; we'll go up," saidEugenia at once, and, turning to Richard,she added sedately, "Come along, Gerry."As they walked off together she continued,sotto voce, "Call her Gussie, and if shelooks as if she would like to be kissed,do. She is fond of galanterie andfrightfully fashionable, and she ratherlikes Gerry; he's her sort. I'll tell heryou've been ill and about your collapsingat the King's Head, so you needn't come todinner or see her again today. If she asks—you went to Ireland after thatCheltenham affair I spoke to you about on

the journey, and you can tell her anythingyou like about what has happened afterthat.”

She was pleased to see that Richardwas regarding her with no evidence ofapprehension on his dark face as theymounted one of the twin branches of thegreat curving staircase that led to theupper floor. He was managing, in fact, tolook quite indifferent to the grandeur ofhis surroundings, which, she thought withrespect, was a considerable achievement,particularly in his present state of health.

He, for his own part, appeared to beproperly appreciative of the aplomb withwhich she had carried off the situationbelow.

“I thought," he remarked, as she ledhim down the long, first-floor corridor

towards Lady Chan-dross's apartments,"you told me you were a very poor liar."

“Oh, this isn't lying—it's acting,"she assured him. "And, after all, it's in avery good cause."

“And if I'm found out—? What willthey do to you in that case?"

“Do to me?" She stared at him inastonishment. "Oh," she said, after amoment, "I see what you mean—will theydo something horrid? You needn't troubleyourself over that. Gussie will probablysay it is too, too dreary of me to havetaken up with such an unsuitable youngman, and she knows I'll find Lord This orSir That much more amusing when we goup to London. And no one will tell Cecilabout it at all because he has dyspepsiawhen he's upset and, besides, he has much

more important things to think of.”Richard looked down at her. "In

other words, no one will care a rush aboutyou.”

She lifted a thin shoulder."Actually," she said, with an air that hefelt must be a very young imitation of thecool ennui she had indicated would beLady Chandross's reaction to herdiscovery of the truth of the situation, "itsaves a great deal of trouble. Didn't youfind it so when you were left alone in theworld?"—and Richard Liddiard, who hadfor ten years pushed into the back of hismind the memory of the fifteen-year-oldboy who had set his face for Ireland in thesure knowledge that his disappearance notonly from England but even from the faceof the earth would cause no emotion but

relief in the breasts of those whose chargehe had become, took the time, even at thischancy moment, to make a mental resolvethat your Miss Eugenia Liddiard wouldnever suffer from the consequences of theconcern she had shown for him, if he wasable to prevent it.

She had led him to one of the tall,pedimented doors that punctuated the longcorridor, and now, with a conspiratorialglance at him, scratched upon it and wasbidden to enter by a bored, rather huskyfeminine voice. Eugenia opened the doora nd Richard walked in behind her. Hewas, he saw, in an elegant boudoir hungwith rosepink brocade, with a glimpsethrough an open doorway into an adjoiningbedchamber, the chief item of itsfurnishings—a tent-bed with its blue and

silver draperies upheld by Cupids—overspread with a number of bandboxes,from which silver paper and severalextremely fashionable bonnets werespilled out upon the blue silk coverlet.

The slender, handsome, thirtyishlady who sat regarding herself in thedressing-table mirror also wore afashionable bonnet upon her fair hair—adaring celestial-blue creation with ajockey-front, trimmed with a forest ofcurling plumes.

“Oh, here you are at last, my dear!"she said, catching sight of Eugenia in themirror in which she was criticallyregarding her own reflection. "Whateverhas made you so late? Do you like thisbonnet? I had Fanchon send down half adozen from London, but I'm not quite sure

—Gerry!" she broke off suddenly, as shebecame aware of the presence of a secondvisitor. She turned about in her chair tof a c e Richard Liddiard, an increduloussmile curving her lips. "Gerry, you rogue!I t i s you! 'Where in heaven's name haveyou sprung from?"

“I ran across him quite by accidentat the King's Head in Thatcham," Eugeniasaid, flinging herself hastily into thebreach. "We were obliged to lie thereinstead of at Speenhamland because of thestate of the roads. And he has beenhorridly ill, and hasn't a feather to flywith, so I thought you wouldn't mind if Ibrought him back with me to Mere—"

“Mind? I'm delighted! We aredesperately dull here just now. Cecil hasgone to London; Robin and Vinnie

Carstairs have been called to Scotlandbecause his aunt is dying—yes, again, mydears—and I am left with absolutely noone in the house but the Beaminsters, andy o u k n o w how frightfully uninterestingt hey are." Lady Chandross presented athin, rouged cheek to Richard, who kissedit, Eugenia saw admiringly, withcomposure and, taking the bejewelledhand she offered to him, held itaudaciously for a few moments longerthan mere civility required.

“No, you wicked boy, you haven'tchanged! Give me back my hand," LadyChandross said, looking quite well-pleased in a bored sort of way. "But, mydear, that dreary coat!" she went on, hereyebrows going up as she surveyed theoffending garment. "You must certainly be

all to pieces to put anything so shabby onyour back! Where have you been? Youhaven't found another heiress to run offwith—that goes without saying!"

“No," he said, in his deep, lazyvoice. "I've been in Ireland. It's horses,not women, one looks for there, youknow."

“If I know you, you have beenlooking for both—and have found no luckin either direction," Lady Chandross said."You must tell me all about it—"

“Not now," Eugenia said firmly."He has been ill, Gussie—I had to call asurgeon to him at the King's Head,because he fainted dead away in thecoffeeroom, and he said he was to havecomplete rest and quiet for a few weeks.That's why I brought him here. And he has

been jolted about over those horrid roadsall day—”

Lady Chandross surveyed RichardLiddiard's face, which was certainlyextremely pale under its bronze.

Yes, you d o look burnt to thesocket," she said.

“My dear, how dreary for you! Andfor me—just when I was thinking you hadbeen sent from heaven to make dinner notq u i t e insupportable this evening.Broaddisr she called, and the smartabigail who had been returning thebonnets upon the bed to the bandboxescame into the room. "Tell Mrs. Hopkinsthe Blue Bedchamber for Mr. Gerald, andhe will be dining there this evening. Idaresay broth and syllabub and thosedreary invalidish sort of things; tell her he

has been ill. Cecil would fly into adreadful pelter if he saw you in thishouse," she went on without pause toRichard, as Broaddis left the room. "Hesaid he would see you in the Fleet beforehe towed you out of the River Tick again,after you had cost him that monstrous sumover that affair of the brewer's daughter—"

“Ironmonger's daughter," Richardcorrected her scrupulously, with a glanceat Eugenia.

“Well, I'm sure it doesn't signifywhether the creature's father was anironmonger or a brewer; I only know hebled poor Cecil dreadfully," LadyChan-dross said, going back once more toa contemplation of her reflection in themirror. "Do you like this bonnet, Gerry

darling? I shall rely on your word; youalways have had charming taste.”

Richard said promptly that he foundit the acme of a la modality, and was thenat once borne off by Eugenia, who saidwith a feeling of relieved exhilaration asthe door closed behind them, "Well! Imust say you carried that off splendidly!How did you know Gerry would haveheld her hand like that?"

“You've given me a fair idea of thesort of character I'm supposed to have,"said Richard. He was showing his ownreaction to his successful imposture onlyby a slight air of added alertness, whichfailed, however, to destroy the generalappearance of cool composure thatEugenia had noted in his manner from thestart of their acquaintance. "It's not an

uncommon type, you know."“But not your type?" She gave him

an enquiring glance as they walked alongthe corridor together. "No."

“I'm glad." She smiled at himsuddenly. "Gerry was frightfully sillyabout women," she confided. "But theyseemed to like it. I shouldn't. Complimentsand such flummery." She indicated a doort o their right. "That's my room. And theBlue Bedchamber is just down the hall.That will be convenient if you should needto consult me. And, by the way—Mrs.Hopkins is the housekeeper; she has beenhere less than a year, so she'll never haveseen Gerry. The only one of the servantsyou really need worry about is Haggart,and if h e discovers you are not Gerry Ican take care of that. He is very shrewd,

but he's also my best friend here at Mere.”She saw him safely bestowed in the

Blue Bedchamber, where a footman wasjust bringing in his unimpressiveportmanteau while a housemaid, alreadydespatched by Mrs. Hopkins, camehurrying in with towels and hot water, andwent back to her own room to findTrimmer unpacking her belongings andlaying out a demure white muslin eveningfrock for her. Now that she was about tomake her come-out, she had been given tounderstand that she was to take her mealsin the great dining room with theChandrosses and their guests, instead ofbeing relegated to the nursery with theirtwo small sons and the governess, whereshe had previously dined when she was atMere. The thought was not agreeable, for

she disliked the ceremony that invested therite of dinner at Mere Court, where evenwhen the covers were not enlarged forguests the family ate in oppressivesplendour, attended by a small army ofservants in claret-and-silver livery andseated upon chairs upholstered in greenGenoese velvet set about a long tablecentred beneath a large Baroqueillusionist ceiling-painting counterfeitingthe interior of a dome and surrounded byputti and allegorical female figures in highrelief.

But she told herself with someseverity that if Richard Liddiard couldcarry off his role as Gerald in a house andwith a set of people he had never seenbefore, she herself should be able to takea very inconspicuous part in the ceremony

of dinner at Mere Court without making apiece of work over it. She knew quitewell, at any rate, that no one would payher the least attention, except perhaps forL o r d Chandross's chaplain, Mr.Mortimore, who was a youngish man anda bachelor and had begun to embarrass herrecently by gazing upon her rather morepersistently than she felt mere civilitydemanded and discoursing to her attedious length concerning the commentaryhe was engaged in writing on one of theminor prophets.

But Mr. Mortimore, she saw withsome relief when she entered the LongGallery where the family and their guestscustomarily foregathered before dinner,had been seized upon by the Beaminsters,mother and daughter, who were ardent

readers of sermons and other theologicalworks and, being ladies of great energyand inflexible self-confidence, were bentupon teaching him his business. Eugenia,on the other hand, was surprised to findher se l f taken up for once by LadyChandross, who wanted to hear all abouther meeting with the supposed GeraldLiddiard. This was soon told, as Eugeniawas not anxious to add any details to thestory she had already given.

“And he didn't tell you what he wasdoing in this part of the country?" LadyChandross asked, when she had finished.

“No. Oh—only something aboutfinding work—"

“Work? Gerry?" Lady Chandrosslifted her thin shoulders incredulously."My dear child, how too naive of you to

believe that! Ten to one it is a woman—ora horse—or a wager. I do hope, though,that he isn't planning an extended stayhere; Cecil will fly up into the boughs atthe mere mention of such a thing. In fact,Gerry is showing far more courage than Ishould have given him credit for to turn uphere at all, after what has gone on over thepast several years. But he has changed agood deal—don't you think? Older, ofcourse, but—more serious, too? Where inheaven's name," she continued without achange of tone, as her eyes went overEugenia's muslin gown, "did you get thatdreadful frock?"

“Miss Bascom bought it for me. Shesaid you wrote her I was to havesomething suitable."

“Suitable! Heavens!" Lady

Chandross shuddered. "I see I shall haveto send you to Fanchon the moment wearrive in town. No man of fashion willpay you the slightest degree of attention ifyou appear at Almack's in a frock socompletely out of the fashion."

“I don't expect," Eugenia saidfrankly, "that they will look at me anyway.I'm not the proper type.”

But Lady Chandross, who had notthe least notion of being burdened with thetask of chaperoning a young girl about formore than the absolute minimum of timerequired to get her off into some sort ofeligible marriage, would have none ofthis.

“Nonsense!" she said. "You aredark—which is fortunate, for blondes arenot at all in fashion this year—and you

have a lovely figure: one must give youthat. With the right clothes, you may 'take'very well. There is a young man who isthe son of a friend of Cecil's, Sir WilliamWalford—a younger son and SirWilliam's fortune is merely a comfortableone, so there is very little to be expectedfrom t ha t direction; but young Walfordhimself has a promising career before himin the political field, Cecil thinks: hemight do very well for you. And there isLord Cazden's youngest; he is in thediplomatic service and Sir Charles Stuartmay do something for him there—there isa vague family connexion. Of course wecan't hope for anything in the way offortune or title, since you have none ofyour own to offer, but if you will take thetrouble to make yourself agreeable you

will certainly be able to form a veryeligible connexion, after all.”

It was on the tip of Eugenia's tongueto say that she was going to marry TomRowntree—whose existence, incidentally,she had all but forgotten in the rush ofevents since her departure from MissBascom's Select Academy; but prudencewon the day. It would he better, shethought, to wait until she had had theopportunity to talk to Tom, or at least tohear from Muffet that he was agreeable tothe plan they had concocted for his future,before she acquainted Gussie with thefutility of her making lists of unknownyoung men who might be persuaded, inview of her cousin Cecil's powerfulinterest in the Government, to offer for herhand.

The arrival of Gleaves to announcethat dinner was served interrupted theconversation at this point, and they allmoved into the dining room, where shewas able to enjoy almost undisturbed anexcellent meal that began with a tureen oftur tl e and progressed through crimpedsalmon, turkey a la perigeux, cutlets ofmutton braised with soubise sauce, androast woodcock, to a charlotte of apples, agâteau mellifleur, and several creams andjellies.

Of these dishes she partook with anexcellent appetite, but her mind was notupon them. She was thinking instead ofRichard Liddiard, considering how onemight go about proving the existence of amarriage that might, or might not, havebeen celebrated more than a quarter of a

century before at a location that mightrange anywhere from Kent to theContinent.

Why she should feel it incumbentupon her to prove that marriage she couldnot precisely have said, but it hadsomething to do, she thought, with a senseof belonging. She herself had been broughtu p "belonging"—Cecil might not caretuppence about her, but she knew that itwould never have crossed his mind toreject her claim upon him as a Liddiard—and so she had a perhaps exaggeratedview of the awfulness of being RichardLiddiard and belonging nowhere, of beingobliged to assume another man's name andidentity even to be allowed inside thefront door of a house where he ought tohave been welcomed without question, as

she and Gerald were.And then there was the thought of

how much worse, how infinitely muchworse, it would be if he ever sawCoverts. For to Eugenia, Coverts was notmerely a good Kentish property, with aTudor manor-house, so much altered andadded to that it had lost any pretension toauthentic style and now represented only adwellingplace that people had lived inand loved over the centuries, standing asi t s centre. Coverts was, to her, theLiddiard belonging-place, the place whereLiddiards had had their roots long beforethe Baroque magnificence of Mere Courthad been thought of. And if RichardLiddiard was its rightful owner, nothingcould be worse than seeing it and knowingthat he would never be anything but a

stranger to it.Or at least it would be so if she

were in Richard Liddiard's place. It might,she thought, not matter so much to him, justas it had never seemed to mat ter in thatparticular way to Cedric Liddiard, who,immersed in his own scholarly pursuits,considered Coverts and all its works as aburden, and one that, for family reasons,could not be cast upon the Lord. Nor hadit mattered in that way to her cousinGerald. But then Gerald had never cared agreat deal about anything but having anamusing time.

And as she ate her gâteaumellifleur, she wondered for the first timewhere Gerald—the real Gerald—wasnow, and what would happen if, by someunlikely and malicious twist of fate, he

were to turn up at Mere while RichardLiddiard was filling his shoes there.

Chapter 4“Haggart," said Eugenia the next

morning to Lord Chandross's head groom,"do you think it is ever right to deceive?”

Haggart gave her a suspiciousglance from under his craggy grey brows.He had just completed making the roundsof the stables with her, during the courseof which she had renewed heracquaintance with all her favourites andhad joined in his criticism of a washy bay—"a collection of bad points, and foreverthrowing out a splint," was Haggart'sdisparaging summation—recentlypurchased by Lord Chandross.

“What have you been up to?" hedemanded after a moment, cannily

reserving judgement.“I can't tell you," said Eugenia,

"unless you promise to keep it strictlyconfidential. You see, if Lord Chandrosswere to find out about it, he wouldn't likeit above half.”

Haggart spat, which might or mightnot have been an expression of hisfeelings concerning his employer. He hadaccepted Lord Chandross's offer of aposition at Mere Court when Eugenia'sfather had 51 died three years before, buthis heart was still at Coverts, and only hissettled opinion that Miss Eugenia neededsomeone to keep a rein upon her in thatden of fools and iniquity she had falleninto had prevented him from consigningLord Chandross and his distressinglymediocre stable of showy carriage-horses,

hunters, and hacks to the devil long agoand finding more satisfactory employmentwith a gentleman who not only raced butknew a sound horse when he saw one.

“It's not likely I'd cry rope on you toh i m , " he said presently, after acompanionable but, upon Eugenia's side,somewhat anxious silence during which heappeared to have been contemplating thematter. "What have you been deceivinghim about?"

“It's not him exactly. At least notyet. And you haven't promised. You see,it's not my secret," she said hastily, asHaggart looked offended. "I'd trust you ifit was only for myself. But there'ssomeone else—"

“A man?" Haggart looked not onlysuspicious now but also incredulous. It

was hard for him to believe that MissEugenia, whom he had set upon her firstpony, was of an age when such asupposition was not only possible butnatural; but a glance at the supple figure inits all but outgrown blue riding-dressconfirmed the fact unmistakably. Haggart,putting two and two together and comingout with five, arrived at the conclusionthat if there was deceiving going on, itwas on the part of some black-hearted,lily-livered dandy, with Eugenia itsunsuspecting intended victim, and saiddearly, "You want to stayaway from men,Miss Eugenia. Especially if it's deceivingthey have in mind."

“But it wasn't his idea; it was mine,"Eugenia explained. And, as Haggart stilllooked unforgiving, "Oh, very well," she

said resignedly. "I expect I had best tellyou about it from the beginning. You'veheard, I daresay, that I brought my cousinGerald back to Mere with me?”

Haggart had heard that Mr. Geraldwas at Mere. That went without saying—at Mere, as in every other great house, theservants knew everything worth knowingabout the family they served.

“Is it Mr. Gerald you're runningsome kind of rig for, then?" he saiddisapprovingly. "That shows little sense.He can get himself into the briars fastenough without any help from you."

“Yes, but it isn't Gerald I'm doing itfor. You see, he isn't Gerald." Haggartstared. "I mean the man I brought back toMere with me isn't Gerald," Eugenia wenton to explain. "He i s Charles Liddiard's

son. You knew Charles Liddiard, didn'tyou, Haggart?".

They had reached the open stabledoor and Haggart's face, in the brightmorning sunlight, showed no signs ofastonishment, his code being that a man ofhis years and experience was immune toastonishment. But he sat down rathersuddenly on the bench that stood outsidethe stable door.

“Mr. Charles's son?" he said.“Yes." Eugenia recounted briefly

the circumstances of her meeting withRichard Liddiard at the King's Head inThatcham. "So you see I couldn't 54simply leave him there," she concluded,"ill and without a penny to bless himselfwith. And now he will need work, as soonas he is well enough for it, and I thought

you might be able to help him with that—”She broke off, seeing that Haggart

was about to deliver himself of somepronouncement.

“Daft!" he said. "Clean daft, the pairof you."

“No, he's not in the least daft,"Eugenia said seriously. "Wait until youmeet him and you'll see. He looksamazingly like Gerry, but he's really notlike him in the least. And he didn't want tocome here, only I don't expect he quiteknew what else to do."

“And if his lordship finds out?There'll be a rare dust kicked up then!"said Haggart. "He's the pattern of the oldlord—you k that well yourself—stiff-romped, and a knaggy olden gager when itcomes to family! If this young chap is

going about calling himself a Liddiard—"“But he is a Liddiard—a real one, I

mean," Eugenia insisted. "He says CharlesLiddiard married his mother."

“Happen he did, happen he didn't,"said Haggart, casting a malevolent eyeupon a stable-boy who had beenexercising one of Lord Chandross's hacksand was leading it into the stable to rub itdown.

“D o y o u remember when ithappened, Haggart? But you must. Do tellme all about it—please!”

Haggart said, grumbling, that he hadbetter things to do than rake up old bits ofscandal that had been forgotten for timeout of mind—a preamble that in no wisediscouraged Eugenia, for she knew that heliked nothing better than to tell tales of

p a s t Liddiard sins and glories. Shecomposed herself on the bench beside himin the morning sunshine to listen, and bitby bit it all came out.

It was the usual story, it seemed, ofa wild young man of good family and thepretty daughter of a neighbouring farmer.The Justises, the girl's family, wererespectable people, Haggart said, and theyhad tried to keep Susan out of young Mr.Charles's way when they had seen how thewind was blowing. They had even senther for a time to stay with an aunt inYarmouth, but Mr. Charles had followedhe r there and made such a nuisance ofhimself that the aunt had packed her offhome again in a huff. And the next thinganyone knew, the two of them had run offtogether.

No, not to Gretna; Lord Chandross—not the present one, but his old lordship,who had stood in the place of a father toMr. Charles, Mr. Charles's own fatherbeing dead—had had them traced, and itwas found they had gone to foreign parts.And no, Haggart had never heard any talkof a wedding, though he well rememberedthe storm that had blown up when, a yearlater, Susan Justis had written his lordshipto say that Mr. Charles was dead and shehad had a child by him, a boy.

“Signed it Susan Liddiard, she did,"Haggart said, "and his lordship damningher up and down the house, the way Iheard tell, to the scandal of all, and sayingnever a brass farthing would she get out ofhim for herself or her bastard unless sheleft off call 00 ing herself by a name she

had no right to. And that was the last thatwas ever heard of her."

“Because she died then, too, yousee," Eugenia said. "And so you think shereally never was married—?"

“I didn't say that," Haggart saidcautiously. Haggart was not one to commithimself unless he knew he was standingupon solid ground. "I don't know anythingabout it, one way or t'other. All I do knowis, Mr. Charles had a rare coaxing tonguewith the lasses; but then Susan Justiswasn't a light woman. Serious, she was,and the kind to keep herself to herself. Imisdoubt she'd have gone off with anyman without a wedding ring on her finger—though you can never tell aboutwenches," he added disillusionedly."Kittle-cattle they are, saying one thing

and then doing another.”Eugenia was frowning over this

piece of information.“So if they were married, then, you

think it might have been in Kent?" shesaid. "I mean, she wouldn't have gone offto the Continent with him merely on apromise? She wasn't that kind?"

“No, she wasn't that kind. A rare,quiet, prudent lass. But you can never tell—"

“Yes," said Eugenia, who waspursuing her own train of thought, "but ifthey were married, why shouldn't CharlesLiddiard have written to tell his familyabout it? After all, he lived for almost ayear after he and Susan Justis went offtogether."

“And have his lordship cut off his

allowance for marrying beneath him anddisgracing his name!”

Haggart said. "Och, you didn't knowMr. Charles: that's plain! He was Mr.Gerald all over again—ready enough toget himself into a bumblebath, but not overkeen to take the consequences. He knewthe old lord wouldn't raise any dust overhis having half a dozen light-o'-loves inkeeping; but wedding a lass like SusanJustis all legal and proper—that 'lid beanother matter! No, I don't think Mr.Charles would ha' been anxious to let hislordship know about that."

“And the Justises? Wouldn't theyhave known?" Eugenia persisted."Perhaps Susan wrote to them—"

“Happen she did. But they were aclose-mouthed set, all the Justises, and as

much against Susan having aught to dowith Mr. Charles as old Lord Chan-drosswas himself. After she went off with himthey never mentioned her name again, asfar as ever I heard tell of it. Then thefather died, and the mother and the twoboys went off to America—"

“Oh, dear!" said Eugenia, muchdisappointed. "Are there none of them leftnow in Kent?”

Haggart said that to the best of hisknowledge there were not, and, roused bythe appearance in the stable-yard of thecoachman, with whom he had a mortalfeud, and whom he darkly accused toEugenia of intentions of interfering withthe bran poultice he had placed upon theforeleg of one of Lord Chandross's teamof chestnuts, which had been badly grazed,

owing solely, he averred, to thecowhandedness of the aforesaidcoachman, got up and went off to joinbattle with him.

Eugenia herself went slowly andthoughtfully 58 back to the house, andmade her way to the Blue Bedchamber,where she found Richard Liddiard,unexpectedly resplendent in a brocadedressing gown, just completing a lightbreakfast.

“Good morning," she said. "Hownatty you are! You look ever so muchbetter this morning.”

Richard agreed that he felt verymuch better, and, indicating the gorgeousdressing gown with a gri- mace, said thatLady Chandross had looked in to see himfor a moment, and, having taken exception

to his own wardrobe, had despatched aservant to replenish it from LordChandross's.

“Thus completing my sensation ofbeing in the predicament of the old ladywith her petticoats cut off all around," hesaid—" lack-a-mercy, this is none of maLook here, Miss Liddiard, I must get outof this, and at once. I must have been madeven to think of coming here."

“You weren't mad at all—only illand I daresay at your wit's end," Eugeniasaid, sitting down and curling herself upcomfortably opposite him in a bergèrearmchair.

“Don't do that!" Richard saidsharply.

“Do what?"“Sit down. You oughtn't to be here

—"“You really have very old-

fashioned ideas, you " know. After all,you are my cousin."

“I am Charles Liddiard's bastard,"he said grimly, looking at her from underhis heavy lids with an ar- rogance, shethought, that quite belied his words.

“A n d my cousin," she said,undaunted. "Besides, I don't believe youare—his bastard, that is. I have beentelling Haggart about you—"

“What!"“Well, I had to, if I want him to help

you, so I decided to take him into myconfidence. And it was a very good thingthat I did," she added hastily, seeing fromRichard's face that he was in no waypleased by her making so free of his true

identity, "because he knows all about yourmother's people—the Justises—and aboutyour mother, too. And he says she wasn'tthe kind of girl who would have gone offwith Charles Liddiard without a weddingring. That means they must have beenmarried in Kent, which will make mattersmuch easier for us."

“For us?"“Yes. You d i d come back to

England—really, deep down, didn't you?—because you wanted to prove thatmarriage. I have been thinking about it,and it doesn't make sense any other way. Imean, you must know people in Irelandwho would have been much more likely togive you a place than anyone here."

“You are," Richard assured her, butwith a slight relaxation in the grimness of

his manner, "a rather uncannily perceptiveyoung woman, Miss Eugenia Liddiard.Very well—I do want to prove thatmarriage. But why you should make it apersonal concern of yours—”

He broke off, seeing with surprisethe sudden crimson that had risen inEugenia's cheeks. She had been so totallyunself-conscious up to this time of anyoddity in her having placed herself uponte r ms of intimacy with a completelystrange young man that this evidence ofsudden embarrassment was, to say theleast, astonishing.

And, in fact, it astonished Eugeniaas well. Having been brought up almostexclusively in masculine company, inwhat had been, ever since her mother'sdeath, a bachelor establishment at Coverts,

she had managed to survive even MissBascom's obliquely warning homilies andthe hothouse atmosphere of fashionableintrigue that pervaded Mere Court withouta rift in the comfortable surface of herbelief that men, young and old, werefriendly creatures with whom sociablerelations could readily be established. Butit had suddenly occurred to her now, forno good reason that she could think of, thatRichard Liddiard suspected that theinterest she had displayed in his affairshad its basis more in the fact that she hadconceived what Gussie and her set wouldhave called a tendre for him than inaltruistic motives; and it was this thoughtthat had sent the blood into her cheeks.

She rose as abruptly as if she hadbeen scalded.

“I shall have to go now," she said,with studied carelessness. "We areleaving for London in a very few days,and then you will have the house all toyourself, except for the servants, ofcourse, so if I were you I shouldn't think ofleaving just yet. It's quite safe; Haggart isas close as an oyster, and I'm sure he willknow someone who can find a properplace for you when you're well enough forit.”

Richard's air of surprise hadvanished; he was looking at her with oneblack brow quizzically raised."SomethingI've said?" he enquired.

“What?" She looked at him withslight hauteur.

“Your sudden distaste for mycompany. I won't say I won't be relieved

to have you leave this room, but if I'vesaid or done the wrong thing I'd like toknow. I'm really not such a clod, youknow, as not to be grateful for what you'vedone for me."

“Oh—that!" Eugenia dismissed it,feeling happier. Perhaps he had not beenthinking what she had feared, after all."It's just that I didn't want you to think itwas anything personal," she confided,suddenly able to share her fear with him.

“Far be it from me," said Richardgravely, "to he such a coxcomb as toimagine anything of the sort."

“You see," said Eugenia, reassured,"I am probably going to marry TomRowntree very soon. The Rowntrees' landmarches with ours—I mean what used tobe ours," she corrected herself, "in Kent,

and I've known him forever."“My felicitations. But why

probably?"“Well, I haven't actually asked him

yet."“You haven't asked him?"“Yes." Eugenia accepted with

composure a question that would, Richardconsidered, have thrown any other youngwoman he had ever known into thegreatest confusion. "I do think it is stupidfor the man always to have to do theasking, don't you? I mean, it has probablynever occurred to Tom what a very goodidea it would be, simply because he hasn'thad occasion to think of it. But we willboth be obliged to marry someone someday—he is the Squire's only son, you see,and of course I don't wish to be hanging

on Cecil's sleeve all my life—and wehave always dealt famously with eachother. So it should work out very well,don't you think?”

Richard said that, put in that way, hedidn't see why it shouldn't, but added thatTom might not quite see it in that light.

“Oh? Why not?" Eugenia lookedsurprised. "Well—speaking only formyself, you understand—I think if I werein his shoes I'd prefer to do the askingmyself. A stupid prejudice on my part, Iexpect—but there you are."

“Oh yes, but Tom is different,"Eugenia said confidently. "We've knowneach other all our lives, you see, and hedoesn't care any more than I do for thatsort of romantic flummery."

“Very sensible of him, I daresay; but

if I were you, I'd still manage matters sothat he is the one who does the asking.”

She shrugged. "Well, I'll try," sheconceded. "But I'm really not very good atthat sort of thing. Gussie says I'mhopeless. I must say she is splendid at itherself. Cecil always does exactly whatshe wishes, only he thinks he's thought ofit himself." She moved to the door. "Shedidn't suspect you weren't Gerry thismorning, did she?" she asked.

“No. She stayed only for a moment.I gathered she had more important thingson her mind than Gerald Liddiard."

“Oh, yes," said Eugenia tolerantly."Lord Rushton. He is staying at theTowers and she expects him to ride overthis morning. He's her latest."

“Her latest? I see. I may be—as you

have said—remarkably old-fashioned, butit would appear to me that LadyChandross is scarcely a suitable guardianfor you."

“Oh, well. I don't see much of herwhen I'm at Mere," Eugenia said. "I spenda good deal more of my time withHaggart, and he is old-fashioned enough tosatisfy even you. Shall I tell him you'llcome to the stables and have a talk withhim in a few days, when you're feeling inbetter frame?”

Richard hesitated for a moment. Itwas obvious to her what he was thinking—that he found his situation at Mere Courtintolerable, an aberration into which hehad been tempted only by the fatigue andconfusion of his illness, and that he oughtto cut himself free from it as soon as

possible.What was not obvious to her was

the overwhelming pull towards remaining—even if only for a short time and underfalse pretences—as an accepted memberof a family that had rejected him since theday he had been born. Here at Mere, eventhough he walked in another man's shoes,he was for the first time in his life aLiddiard, not some anonymous, chance-gotbastard befriended by strangers and latercast upon the world by them.

Eugenia was watching the dark face,the unreadable dark eyes under thestrongly marked black brows.

“You won't go before you do that—will you?" she asked rather anxiously."Really, there's no reason why youshouldn't stay at least that long. You've

seen for yourself that Gussie doesn'tsuspect, and there's no one else—”

Richard looked at her; a faint smilesuddenly lit his eyes.

“Very well," he said. "You win. Ishall stay. But I hope neither of us willhave reason to regret it.”

Chapter 5 It did not appear, as the late spring

days passed and the oaks and beeches atMere filled into heavier leaf, as wild roseand blackthorn, lady-smocks and campion,came into riotous bloom in the hedgerows,that either of them would have reason toregret it. Lady Chandross, absorbed in herown affairs, paid little heed to the mannerin which Eugenia and the presumedGerald Liddiard were filling their days.Eugenia might roam the countryside on thechestnut mare that was her particularfavourite in Lord Chandross's stables;Richard might drowse in the BlueBedchamber or rouse himself to walkdown to the stables and discuss withHaggart the shortcomings of the elegantly

housed horses there, each with its ownname over its box and a neatly plaitededging to its straw: she made fewenquiries and seemed content to acceptRichard's excuses for continuing to havehis meals in the Blue Bedchamber insteado f making a formal appearance in thedining room.

She told him once, frankly, that if hewished to avoid a thundering scold fromLord Chandross he would disappearbefore her husband had occasion to 65come to Mere again; but since LordChandross had every intention of doing theSeason with her and she herself would begoing up to London very shortly, thereseemed no reason why his lordship shouldleave his rather pressing affairs in townfor some time to come.

Meanwhile, Eugenia was delightedto see that Richard had, after an initialdifficult half hour, been accepted byHaggart as a true Liddiard. On the firstday that he had walked out to the stableswith Eugenia, Haggart had regarded himwith all the suspicion and dour reservethat he kept for one of Lord Chandross'snew acquisitions; he was obviouslyprepared for the worst.

But as Eugenia, with Haggartgrudgingly accompanying them, had takenhim through the stables, as Haggart's ownstandoffishness had been met with thatquiet, pleasant, impenetrable reserve thatEugenia had already learned to recogniseas so characteristic of Richard Liddiard,Haggart's own reserve had perceptiblymelted. And Richard knew horses. When

he summed up in a glance a peacockychestnut that was short of bone and ran aknowing hand over one of Chandross'shunters that was, to put it mildly, a littlestraight-shouldered, Haggart visiblyrelaxed.

“You'll be wanting to try one ofthese misbegotten creatures yourself whenyou're in better cue, I don't doubt, sir," hesaid; Eugenia noted that he avoidedcalling him "Mr. Gerald." "This is the bestof them," and he led the way to where abright sorrel with a high white stocking onone leg looked inquisitively out at themfrom his loose-box. "But no manners and arogue's temper, he has," Haggartcontinued. "The boys don't know how tohandle him. Miss Eugenia's been at me toput a saddle on him for her; well, she has

as good hands as any in England, but he'snot a mount for a lady, as you can see foryourself.”

Richard had said then that if Haggartwould have a saddle put on the sorrel forhim, he would be glad of the chance totake him out himself for half an hour, andthough Haggart had looked doubtfully atthe pallor beneath the bronze of the darkface and Eugenia had protested, this hadbeen done. After that, Haggart's conquesthad been complete. Mr. Gerald, he hadconfided to Eugenia later, wasn't apriming to this new-found Liddiard. ALiddiard like her own father, who wouldfling his leg across any piece of horsefleshthat had ever been foaled and come homethe master of it. He, Haggart, knew ofmore than one nobleman with a

prestigious stud who would be happy tohave such a man in his employ; but it wasa pity, since this was indeed Mr. Charles'sson, that he couldn't have Coverts and astud of his own.

“Yes, but there is not the least use inour thinking of that unless we can provesomehow that Charles Liddiard really didmarry Susan justis," Eugenia said. "If wewere in Kent we might at least makeenquiries—there must be some recordsomewhere of that marriage if it really didtake place—but there is no hope of doingthat now, with everything in train for ourleaving for London the day aftertomorrow. I had thought of writing to TomRowntree and asking him to take thematter in hand, but I don't think he wouldbe likely to make much of a fist of it.”

With this Haggart thoroughlyagreed. Master Tom, he said, was assound a man after hounds as was hisfather, the Squire, which was saying agood deal, but if it was clever work thatwas wanted, they'd be coming to thewrong place.

“Well, I shall simply have to thinkof a scheme to get down to Kent myselfsoon," Eugenia said; which made Haggartregard her distrustfully, for MissEugenia's "schemes," as he was wellaware, were more likely than not to end inher landing herself in the basket, eventhough they might be highly beneficial tothe person she had been trying to help.

This conversation had taken placeon the next to last day before Eugenia wasto leave for London, and on the following

day she and Richard had their last ridetogether, arguing amicably as they did soabout Richard's determination to leaveMere on the following day as well and tryhis luck at obtaining a vacant post with SirJohn Alloway in Leicestershire, whichHaggart had heard of through anacquaintance of his. It was far enoughfrom Mere, said Richard, that hisresemblance to Gerald Liddiard wouldnot be likely to arouse comment, and if hewas well enough to roam Essex onhorseback with Eugenia, he was wellenough to do a job of work.

“An hour's easy hacking about incountry lanes!" Eugenia saiddisparagingly. "But—oh well, I don'tblame you for wanting to get away. I'mglad you've had this much time at Mere,

though. At any rate, I don't think you'll goabout collapsing in coffeerooms now.”

She left him talking to Haggart andwent up to the house, revolving in hermind the question of how, with herself inLondon and Richard in Leicestershire,enquiries about a marriage in Kent wereto be satisfactorily pursued; but as sheentered the hall on her way upstairs to herbedchamber she suddenly came upon ascene that surprised her to the extent thateverything but what was going forwardunder her eyes flew instantly out of herhead.

In the hall stood Lord Chandross,still in his drivingcoat and evidently in atowering rage; before him a pair ofanonymous-looking, half-cowed, butobviously determined men in blue coats

and wide-brimmed hats; and beside himLady Chandross, in a very fashionablemorning-dress, but looking for onceneither aloof nor bored.

“But, Cecil darling, of course it isall a stupid mistake!" she wasexpostulating, as Eugenia arrived upon thescene. "It can't possibly be Gerry they arelooking for! Gerry is a scamp and a rogue—yes! But an accusation like this—I"

“But you admit, madam—you admithe is staying in this house!" LordChandross gritted out, between clenchedteeth.

“Yes, of course he is!" LadyChandross looked slightly nervous, thoughshe was brazening the matter out in goodform, for when her husband, whosedispleasure with her usually expressed

itself only in the form of peevish remarksor disapproving silence, called her"madam" in that particular tone of voiceshe was well aware that trouble was inthe wind. "I could hardly turn him out ofdoors when he was scarcely able to standon his feet!" she defended herself volubly."I made sure you wouldn't have wishedme to do otherwise! And it is perfectlyabsurd to think that—whatever follies hemay have fallen into—he is guilty of athing like this! There m u s t be somemistake. These men"—she turned her gazevenomously upon the two strangers, wholooked more uncomfortable than ever, butstubbornly stood their ground—"these menhave certainly made some monstrouserror.”

It was at that moment that Lord

Chandross's eyes fell upon Eugenia,standing in the doorway with a stunnedlook upon her face, and encompassedCleaves and a startled footman discreetlyimitating in their demeanour a pair of themarble statues that ornamented the hall.

“Can't discuss the thing here!" hesaid testily to the two strangers, obviouslywrestling for control over his temper."Come along!”

He led the way into one of the smallsaloons that opened from the hall, andwhen they had entered slammed the doorshut behind them.

The next moment Eugenia had flownacross the hall to Lady Chandross and wasdragging her into the opposite saloon.

“Gussie! What is it?" she demanded."Who are those men? And what are they

saying about Gerry?”Lady Chandross sank down into an

armchair.“I vow I have no patience with

women who have the vapours," shedeclared, "but if I do not havethem nowmyself it will be nothing short of amiracle! My dear, the most dreadful thing!Here is Cecil taking it into his head to turnup just when he is not wanted—somethingabout seeing how things are going on hereand escorting us to London: you knowhow ridiculously punctilious he is!—andarriving just as those two creatures hadappeared on the doorstep—"

“Yes, but who are they? And whathave they to do with Gerry?" Eugeniainsisted.

Lady Chandross shuddered

dramatically. "Well, my dear, if you willcredit it, they are Bow Street Runners!"she said. "Yes, truly! They have someridiculous tale of Lord Barnstaple'stravelling coach having been held up by ahighwayman on the Bath Road and one ofhis servants having been killed during therobbery, and obviously they believe thatGerry was the man responsible! It is tooabsurd! As if Gerry would—”

Eugenia was staring at her, her facesuddenly very pale.

“But didn't you tell them that Gerryhas been here ever since Saturday?" sheasked.

“Of course I did! But it appears thewretched thing took place two days beforethat—Where are you going?”

But Eugenia waited for no more;

before the astonished question had leftLady Chandross's lips she was out of theroom and speeding on her way to thestableyard.

She found Richard and Haggart stillstanding before the stables in amicableconversation, and to the surprise of bothpushed them into the saddle-room, whichwas fortunately deserted, and closed thedoor.

“I d o n ' t wish to upset you,Richard," she said in a slightly quaveringvoice, "but something dreadful hashappened and I think you had best go awaya t once. You see, there are two BowStreet Runners in the house, looking formy cousin Gerald. They say he held up acoach on the Bath Road last week andsomeone was killed in the robbery.”

Richard's dark brows, which amoment before had been lifted in quizzicalsurprise at the alarmed haste with whichshe had hurried him inside, drew togetherabruptly in a frown.

“The devil you say!" he said. "Areyou sure of this?"

“Quite sure. I have seen the Runnersmyself. And Cecil is here—he is talking tothem now—and Gussie has told them thatyou are in the house. They are certain tobegin looking for you directly, and one ofthe servants may have seen you coming outhere—"

“Now wait a bit, Miss Eugenia!"urged Haggart, who looked quitestaggered by this sudden intrusion of deathand danger into his stables, where amoment before only the subdued rattle and

jingle of harness, a stable-boy's cheerfulWhistle, and now and then acompanionable whicker had disturbed thecool peace of this late spring morning."You say they're looking for Mr. Gerald.'Tain't Mr. Richard did what they say—"

“Yes," said Richard, "and a nicefigure I should cut, trying to convince themI am not Gerald Liddiard, when I've beenliving here under that name for almost aweek—and, what is more, have beenaccepted by his family as such! No, MissLiddiard i s right. Unless I am anxious tosee the inside of New-gate Gaol beforeanother four-and-twenty hours havepassed, I'm best out of this until the realGerald Liddiard can be found." He turnedto Eugenia. "If I might take one of thehorses—"

“Yes—do!" she said instantly. "Andwhen you've gone as far as it can carryyou, leave it at an inn somewhere under afalse name; that way no one will be ableto connect it with you." Her browpuckered suddenly. "Oh, Richard, I'msorry! I'm so sorry!" she said. "Truly, Inever thought I should land you in this sortof hobble!"

“Of course you didn't," saidRichard. He took her arm and shook itgently. "But you needn't worry. I've beenin tight spots before this. And if I can losethose Runners now, they're certain to pickup the real Gerald Liddiard's trail sooneror later, and when they do that, there willbe nothing to connect me with thisbusiness any longer." He glanced over atHaggart. "The sorrel, I think," he said.

"And quickly, if you please.”Haggart disappeared with a celerity

remarkable in a man of his age.“But where will you go?" Eugenia

demanded anxiously. "You haven't anymoney, have you? And it won't be safe foryou to turn up at Sir John Alloway's now.Your description—or Gerry's, whichcomes to the same thing—will be postedin every inn in England.”

Richard looked down at hertroubled face. "Never mind. I shall dovery well," he reassured her. "And Ishould much rather you had no idea whereI am going."

“I shouldn't tell anyone!" Eugeniasaid, a trifle indignantly.

“I'm quite sure you would not. Allthe same, it won't do, you know. You have

been to far too much trouble over mealready.”

Haggart appeared in the doorway.He was leading the sorrel.

“Quick work!" said Richardapprovingly, and moved forward to swinghimself up into the saddle. "To the best cfyour knowledge," he said to Ha ggart asthe sorrel danced in the stable doorway,impatient to be off, "I took the horse out toexercise him and you expect me backwithin the hour. Good-bye, Miss Liddiard.And thank you both.”

He was gone before either of themcould speak a word, clattering swiftly outof the stable-yard in the direction of thelong drive leading to the gatehouse and theroad beyond.

“There's a braw lad!" Haggart said,

shaking his head with a dismal air. "Andworth a dozen of Mr. Gerald. Och, it wasan ill turn you did him when you broughthim here, Miss Eugenia! He's as like toMr. Gerald as fourpence to a groat, andit's him they'll hang if they catch him—"

“Then they mustn't catch him!"Eugenia said with determination."Haggart, will you stand with me now andtell those Runners you knew all along thathe wasn't Gerry? Of course LordChandross will be furious about it and itmay cost you your place here, but Ipromise you I'll do my very best to findyou another, and you may have all my nextquarter's allowance—”

Haggart said, looking offended, thatit wasn't money he needed to make himspeak the truth, and he knew half a dozen

places that would be glad of his servicesany time he chose to leave LordChan-dross's employ.

“But those Runners won't believeme—or you, Miss Eugenia," he warnedher, "if we tell them 'twasn't Mr. Geraldthat was here. They'll only think we'retrying to protect him.”

Which was precisely, Eugenia wassoon to discover, what the Runners didthink when, having elicited the informationfrom the servants that Mr. Gerald had lastbeen seen going in the direction of thestables, they appeared there in search ofhim and heard her story of her meetingwith Richard Liddiard at the King's Headat Thatcham. They were accompanied byLord Chandross, who looked, if possible,even angrier than he had done before, and

who obviously shared the Runners'opinion that Eugenia and Haggart hadmade up the unlikely tale out of the wholecloth in order to shield the offendingGerald.

“I don't know what you can havebeen thinking of, trying to gull thosefellows with a Banbury tale like that!" hesaid to her furiously when he had seen thetwo Runners go off in hot pursuit ofRi c ha r d , having garnered as muchinformation as they could about hisdeparture from a taciturn Haggart and apair of goggle-eyed stableboys. "It is areprehensib l e — a m o s t reprehensible—thing to do, to attempt to mislead theAuthorities in this way! If Gerald isindeed guilty of the commission of thisdreadful crime, he will deserve the

retribution that falls upon him! I myselfshall do nothing to stand in the way of it!He has brought disgrace upon his family inevery possible way, and this final blowdoes not take me by surprise!"

“Yes, but the man they are lookingfor now i s n ' t Gerry; truly he isn't!"Eugenia said earnestly. "He r ea l l y isCharles Liddiard's son, just as I've toldyou, even though he looks enough likeGerry to be his twin."

“My dear good child," said LadyChandross, who was glad enough to seeher husband's wrath turn in the direction ofsomeone other than herself, "you forgetthat I myself saw the man, and spoke withhim a dozen times. Of course it wasGerry; I could certainly not be mistaken insuch a matter! And there are several of the

servants, I am sure, who were acquaintedwith Gerry in the past; not one of them hashad the slightest doubt that it was he.”

In vain did Eugenia point out thatHaggart, the only one of the servants whohad known Gerald Liddiard well, wasquite willing to confirm her story that theman who had been staying at Mere wasnot he; neither Lord nor Lady Chandrossshowed the least inclination to believeher. She left them at last and wentupstairs, in disgrace, to her bedchamber,where she dismissed Trimmer, who waswaiting to help her out of her riding-dressand incidentally tohear the news that wasalready spreading like wildfire throughthe servants' quarters, and sat down toconsider the situation.

A worse one she could not imagine.

If the Runners should find the real GeraldLiddiard, he would certainly stand indanger of the gallows, whether he hadactually committed the crime in questionor not (and, knowing Gerry, she could nothelp believing that sheer recklessnessmight have led him to play thehighwayman and sheer bad luck have ledto someone's being killed in the process ).And if they found Richard Liddiardinstead, and he was unable to prove to theLaw's satisfaction that he was himself andnot Gerald, an innocent man might behanged. Worst of all, that would be herdoing, because if she had not persuadedhim to come to Mere no one would everhave thought of holding him responsiblefor something that Gerald Liddiard haddone.

She stood up and began to unfastenthe row of buttons that did up her riding-dress. At least, she thought withdetermination, they would not findRichard if anything she could do wouldhelp to hide him from them. And shebelieved she knew where he had gone.

“The only friend I have left here,"he had told her that evening at the King'sHead, "is a Yorkshireman named NedTrice who became a jockey, went to thebad, and now keeps a very disreputabletavern in Tothill Fields.”

It was the one piece of luck, shethought, in the whole affair—that Richardwould almost certainly go to London, toNed Trice and that disreputable tavern inTothill Fields, and that she herself wouldbe in London on the morrow.

Chapter 6 Unfortunately for Eugenia's

resolution to begin to search for a tavernin Tothill Fields kept by a former jockeynamed Ned Trice the moment she arrivedin London, she found herself plunged intosuch a whirl of activity from the instantshe set foot inside Lord Chandross'simposing mansion in Grosvenor Squarethat she had no opportunity to do anythingof the kind, and was obliged to give thatimportant matter over entirely intoHaggart's hands.

The most pressing business as far asshe was concerned, it seemed, at least inLady Chandross's mind, was to see herprovided with a wardrobe suitable for herintroduction into the t o n , and every

waking moment of her first few days inLondon was spent, under the supervisionof either Broaddis or Lady Chandrossherself, in the showrooms of fashionablemodistes and milliners, where she wasfitted out with such a bewildering varietyof demi-toilettes, promenade dresses,ball-gowns, and bonnets that she scarcelyrecognised herself any longer when shelooked in her glass.

Never before had it reflected anelegant young lady with her silky darkhair cut and curled in the latestfashionable crop and her slender figuredisplayed to the greatest advantage in aravishing succession of high-waistedgowns made of fine French cambrics,Indian mull muslins of diaphanoustransparency, sarsnets, and drifts of

gauzes, all showing the hallmark of hermentor's unerring taste. Frivolous,expensive, and utterly selfish LadyChan-dross might be, but she had anencyclopaedic knowledge of fashion. Andas it were her fixed aim to see Eugenia offher hands before the Season was out, shewas perfectly willing to put thatknowledge to use in her behalf, and tomake lavish raids upon her husband'spurse in that cause as well.

Eugenia herself, who thought shehad become inured, during her three yearsunder Lord Chandross's guardianship, tothe prodigal expenditure that went on atMere, was almost appalled by the numbero f gowns, costing anywhere from fiftyguineas for a simple morning frock tothree hundred for the Court dress she was

to wear for her presentation at the JuneDrawing-Room, that now hung in theFrench garderobe in her bedchamber inGrosvenor Square. And when she addedto them the price that had been paid for theexpensive accessories that were toaccompany them—Norwich shawls attwenty guineas, silk stockings, Denmarksatin sandals, long French kid gloves inlemon yellow and blossom pink and white—she began to feel that if her relationsdid not stop spending such vast sums uponher, when what she wanted instead was amodest amount that she might give toRichard as soon as she had foundhim, shewould burst with frustration. It was stillseveral weeks until Quarter Day, whenher allowance would be paid her, and ofcourse in the present state of affairs there

was no valid reason for her to ask for anadvance upon it.

But she consoled herself with thethought that, since Haggart had as yet beenunable to discover the tavern in which shewas convinced Richard must now behidden, the need for ready cash had notarisen.

One agreeable event that occurredto leaven her anxiety for Richard duringthose first days in London was her reunionwith Miss Amelia Rowntree. She had, infact, come upon Muffet within eight-andforty hours after her arrival there,when she had been taken to the PantheonBazaar by Broaddis to purchase a netstocking-purse and a spray of artificialwhite roses, and had found Muffet and heraunt, Mrs. Lighton, at one of the counters

upon a similar errand.Mrs. Lighton, who was a tall, spare

woman dressed in the height of fashion butwith very little taste, was the wife of aman whose father had made a largefortune in the City, and as she spent a greatdeal of time and effort in trying toconsolidate her somewhat precariousposition in the Polite World, she had beenquite willing to undertake Muffet's debutinto Society. For one thing, her approvingeyes said as they rested upon her niece ineager conversation with Miss EugeniaLiddiard, who was related to the sort ofpeople one most wished to know, onemade such very useful acquaintances inchaperoning a girl about to t o n parties.Mrs. Lighton was sure that this meetingwith Miss Liddiard would be responsible

for Muffet's being asked to at least a pairof balls to which she could not possiblyhave hoped otherwise to receive cards;she even toyed for a moment with thedazzling possibility of vouchers forAlmack's.

But that, she regretfully conceded,was in the highest degree unlikely. LadyChandross would certainly request thosecoveted vouchers for her own protègeefrom one of the Lady Patronesses of thatmost exclusive of London clubs, andwould as certainly receive them, for shecounted Sally Jersey and Dorothea Lievenamong her intimate friends; but thatEugenia would be able to persuade her todo . the same for Muffet was anothermatter altogether.

Mrs. Lighton would have been quite

willing to suspend her shopping so thatMuffet might have an opportunity to talkfor as long as she pleased with MissLiddiard, but Broaddis, with a fitting at aBruton Street modiste's on her mind, soonswept Eugenia away, and it was not untilthe following evening at the Dalingridges'ball that the two girls had an opportunityfor a more extended conversa tion.

Even then opportunity had to beseized, for Lady Chandross, who wasnothing if not thorough in her efforts to seeto it that some eligible young man wasenticed, dazzled, or dragooned intooffering marriage to her young relation,used all her social arts to make sure that aconstant stream of gentlemen of every sizeand complexion came up to Eugenia,madetheir bows, and requested her to

stand up with them for the next dance. Agirl with no fortune, Lady Chandrossknew, would be shunned like the BlackDeath by the sheeplike herd of eligiblemen, particularly if she was not a beautyin the accepted sense, but an unusual girl,outspoken, quite unflirtatious, and withthose alarmingly honest eyes that seemedsomehow, even more alarmingly, todemand an equal honesty from one inreturn; or she would be shunned, that is,unless it could be demonstrated to themfrom the start that she was to be a belle.

And, thank heavens, LadyChandross thought, the girl was in looksthis evening, with that odd radiant glow inher ordinarily rather cool and matter-of-fac t face that made one forget that herfeatures were not in the least classical.

And the gown she had chosen for her hadcertainly been an inspiration—a dress ofpale lemon-coloured crape worn over aslip of white sarsnet, which made thepinks and blues of the other young girlsappear somehow insipid beside it.

Among the gentlemen so carefullygarnered by Lady Chandross for herprotegèe there was one of whom she hadparticular hopes. He fulfilled all thenecessary criteria—good family, but notso good as to expect to marry a fortune onthe strength of his bloodlines; sufficientenergy and ambition to do well in thepolitical world with the proper backing;and the kind of agreeable nature that canalways be coerced by ruthless people intodoing exactly what they wish it to do. Thename of this young paragon was Perry

Walford, and he was the son, as LadyChandross had disclosed to Eugenia atMere, of an old friend of LordChandross's who lived in Surrey.

Mr. Walford, presented by her toEugenia, dutifully asked the latter to standup with him for the set of country-dancesthat was forming and, having led her on tothe floor, performed with a good deal ofconcentration his part in theTerpsichorean exercise that followed.Being a rather stocky young man, he beganto perspire uncomfortably under thecombined influences of an overheatedroom, very high shirt-points, and his ownexertions, and Eugenia, used to handlingnervous horses who made a great piece ofwork over performing some simple action,rather wished she might have him at the

end of a lunge-rope, where she felt itwould be a good deal easier to show himwhat he was to do.

Mr. Walford, evidently sensing herslight disapproval of his performance,said to her rather miserably after a whilethat he dared say she could see he wasn'tmuch of a dab at dancing.

“Oh, I don't know," Eugenia saidkindly. "You'd do much better, I expect, ifyou didn't try quite so hard. Do you hunt?”

Mr. Walford, looking somewhatstartled by this change of subject, said thathe hunted a little, when he had the chance,but his father didn't keep much of a stable.

“Well, it's like rushing your fences,"Eugenia explained. "You're in too much ofa hurry to do everything. There's plenty oftime. What part of Surrey do you come

from?”Mr. Walford said near Guildford,

and, encouraged by Eugenia's friendlymanner, told her all about his large familyof brothers and sisters, of which he wasthe youngest, and about his presentposition as secretary to Lord Dalingridge,which would have been prized by manyyoung men because there was almostnothing to do, but left Mr. Walford, tocontinue the equine metaphor, champing atthe bit.

“If only," he confided to her, "hewould speak now and then in the Lords,and ask me to write reports for himbeforehand and look up things, it would bea lot jollier. As it is, I'm left kicking myheels most of the day. Your cousin'ssecretary," he went on enviously, looking

at Lord Chandross, who was doing a duty-dance with Lady Dalingridge and lookedas if he wished he were somewhere else,"must be awfully busy all day long."

“Yes, I expect he is. Cecil is alwaysmaking speeches," Eugenia agreed. "Whydon't you go and talk to him when the setis over and more or less hint that you'dlike a position where there's a lot to do?He knows simply hundreds of people inpolitics.”

But from this proposal Mr. Walford,somewhat to her surprise, shied in evidentdismay. The reason for this was simple:he himself had received several hints fromhis mama, upon the occasion of his lastvisit to Surrey, to the effect that it wouldbe very nice if he were to see somethingin London of Lord Chandross's young

cousin, Miss Liddiard, who was beingbrought out that Season—a remark thath a d been followed by some vaguelypointed reflections upon how rapidlyyoung Bolton, who had married a secondcousin once removed of Lord Chandross'supon the maternal side, had risen in thepolitical ranks once he had become aconnexion of that eminent peer.

All of this had alarmed Mr. Walfordso much that he would probably not haveasked Eugenia to stand up with him at allif he had not been outmanoeuvred by LadyChandross, who had got hold of him andkept him ruthlessly in conversation untilthe set that had been in progress at themoment had ended and Eugenia had beenreturned to her by her partner. The nextthing he had known, he was walking onto

the floor with Eugenia; but he still had nointention of being led sheeplike to theslaughter, despite the fact that he hadalready revised his original, sight-unseenopinion of Lord Chandross's young cousinand now considered her a capital sort ofgirl, quite as pretty as any he had everseen, and he meant to resist strenuouslyany attempt by her now to lure him intoLord Chandross's clutches.

Eugenia, however, who was muchbetter at dragooning than at luring, madeno attempt to use subtlety upon him, butonly remarked tolerantly that she didn'tmuch blame him, because Cecil wouldprose on forever if he once began onpolitics. She then fell, literally speaking,into Muffet's arms as the set ended, andbore her off into an anteroom on the

pretext that she had torn the flounce of herskirt, but really to have an extended talkwith her, much to the annoyance of LadyChandross, who had gothold of a youngcornet in the Hussars for her for the nextset and didn't know where she had gone.

The anteroom was inhabited, whenEugenia and Muffet entered it, by aLifeguardsman with very dashing blackmoustaches and a not so young lady incelestial blue, who had just gotthemselves nicely settled upon a tête-à-tête upholstered in yellow satin; but suchwas the power of Eugenia's determinationnot to yield ground, since going outsideagain would have meant being seized uponby Lady Chandross, that the army realisedthe futility of resistance almost at once andignominiously retreated.-

“That's better," Eugenia said, as thecelestial-blue draperies and the dashinguniform disappeared from view. Shepulled Muffet down beside her upon thevacated tête-à-tête. "I've a great deal totell you and there isn't much time. Onlyfirst you must promise not to breathe aword of it to anyone else.”

Muffet, whose loyalty had beentested over the years at Miss Bascom's tothe extent that Eugenia would have beenwilling to rely upon it even if that mild-mannered preceptress had announced shew as about to make use of the rack andthumbscrew to extract information fromher, halted the words of admiration shehad been uttering for her friend'sfashionable appearance and sworesecrecy, wide-eyed.

“Well," said Eugenia, "that's allright then. I expect you've heard about mycousin Gerry, haven't you? That he'ssupposed to have taken to the highroadand killed someone in a robbery?”

Muffet had indeed heard aboutGerald Liddiard. Everyone in London, inthe ton and out of it, had done so by thistime—much to the fury of Lord Chandross,who was considering bringing suits forlibel against several London journals thathad seized upon his relationship to hisreckless young kinsman to publish unkindpolitical cartoons about him.

“Yes, of course I've heard about it,"Muffet said. "But I expect he is reallyinnocent, isn't he? Gerry wouldn't—"

“Well, I don't know about that,"Eugenia said judicially. "I remember his

saying that he would like to try everythingat least once, so he might have done.Taken to the highroad, that is. Not that hemeant to kill anyone, I'm quite sure. Butthe thing is that, whether he is innocent ornot, the Runners are after the wrong mannow.”

And she proceeded to give Muffet asuccinct account of the rather sensationalevents in which she had had a role sinceshe had parted from her so recently inBath.

Muffet listened with rapt interest,entirely oblivious by this time to the factthat she was attending her first Londonball, that she had not had enough partnersto qualify her as even a mild success, andthat her aunt was acidly disappointed withher.

“Oh, Eugenia!" she breathed whenher friend had concluded. "It's just like abook! Are you going to rescue him?"

“Well, I shall certainly try," Eugeniasaid. "After all, I was the one who got himinto this. And I think I know where he isnow, only I can't get away from Gussielong enough to go and find out. That," saidEugenia, fixing Muffet with a general'scommanding gaze, "is where you come in.You will have to tell Gussie that you haveasked me to go for a walk in the park withyou tomorrow, and then I can try to findRichard instead.”

Muffet, who would as soon havethought of demurring to this somewhatrisky project as Flora Macdonald wouldhave considered refusing her aid toBonnie Prince Charlie, promptly said that

she would say anything Eugenia wishedher to, only what if Lady Chandross foundout it wasn't true?

“Oh—that. If she does, I'll tell her Ihad an assignation with a man," saidEugenia in a matter-of-fact voice.

Muffet gasped. "But wouldn't she befurious—?"

“Oh, yes—but only because I'd bedamaged goods if it got about. She'salways warning me not to do anything rashuntil she's succeeded in getting meproperly married off. After that, and I'veproduced an heir, I can do as I like—justas she does. You must say one thing forGussie; she's not a hypocrite.”

Muffet was so awed by this speech,foreshadowing as it did a Eugenia whomshe might see transformed in the space of

a short year from the familiar schoolgirlshe had known to a woman of the worldcarrying on dashing affaires with a seriesof vaguely envisioned gentlemen, all ofBrummell-like elegance, with quizzing-glasses at the ready for glimpses of awell-turned ankle, that she almost forgotto ask what hour she was to say.

“Ten, I think," said Eugenia."Gussie won't be up until noon, and I canbe back by then. She'll send me to youraunt's house in Green Street in thecarriage, and I can go inside, and then,when we've set off together for our walk,I'll take a hackney cab and go to findRichard. Is your maid trustworthy? I can'tpossibly take Trimmer.”

Muffet said she hadn't got a maid,but her aunt would no doubt send hers to

accompany them, and that she—that is, themaid—loathed Mrs. Lighton to the extentthat she would be happy to hold her tongueabout any odd goings-on, if only to spiteher.

“And one thing more," said Eugenia."Have you any money?”

Muffet, who was of a frugal nature,always had money, and she professedherself quite willing to make a loan ofthree pounds—which was the extent of herpresent funds—until Quarter Day.

“It's for Richard," Eugeniaexplained. "He hasn't any money, you see,or hardly any. Of course he won't liketaking it, but he'll have to have somethingto live on until this affair is cleared up.You can give it to me tomorrow. And nowtell me about Tom."

“About Tom?" Muffet, whose mindwas on murders and gallows andhairbreadth escapes, blinked at thisprosaic intrusion of her brother's nameinto the conversation.

“Yes," said Eugenia impatiently."We haven't much time, you know. Gussieor your aunt will be certain to comelooking for us before long. Did you talk tohim about marrying me?”

Muffet, looking suddenlyconscience-stricken, said after a momentthat she had tried.

“What do you mean—tried?"Eugenia demanded. "He was there at theManor, wasn't he?”

Muffet said rather miserably thatyes, he had been there all the while. "But Idon't think he particularly wants to talk

about geing married," she defendedherself. "I mean, I couldn't—”

Eugenia looked at her half-tolerantly, half-scornfully. "Oh, very well,I shall talk to him myself," she said, "assoon as I can get down to Kent. But it'srather a nuisance not having it settled now.It's ten to one that Gussie will grow tiredof chaperoning me about to parties soon,and then she and Cecil will be dinning itinto my ears night and day that I ought tomany one of the young men she has beenparading out for me all evening. It wouldbe much more comfortable if I could tellthem it was settled between me and Tom.”

Muffet said unhappily that she wassorry, which caused Eugenia to tell her notto be a ninnyhammer and to ask her if shewas enjoying the ball.

“Oh, excessively!" said Muffet, witha not very convincing show of enthusiasm."I have never seen so many elegantlydressed people in my life! London is notat all like Kent—is it?"

“I expect," said Eugenia, looking ather percipiently, "you have not had enoughpartners. Come along; I'll introduce you tosome of mine. They're a pretty poor lot, onthe whole, but there are one or two whoaren't bad.”

And she bore the protesting Muffetoff to the ballroom again, where she atonce seized upon Mr. Walford—who, hadshe but known it, was wondering whetherhe was falling in love with her andconsidering the daring step of asking herto stand up with him for a second dance—and had the satisfaction of seeing him lead

her friend onto the floor before LadyChandross descended upon her with acaptive viscount.

Chapter 7 On the, following morning, well

before ten, Eugenia had had her breakfastand gone out to the mews behindChandross House to look for Haggart.

“Well, I've found that tavern, MissEugenia, but our man's not there," was hisgreeting to her as she entered the stables,where he was brooding over one of thecarriage-horses he suspected of comingdown with bog spavin. "And mind yourfine clothes now," he added, lookingdisapprovingly at the fashionablewalking-dress of French blue lustring thatshe had donned for her expedition toGreen Street.

Haggart disapproved of finery on

principle. Eugenia, however, paid no heedto the admonition. "How do you know he'snot there?" she asked, her heart sinking atthis news of failure.

“How do I know? Because I've seenyour Ned Trice. He keeps the FightingCock in Duck Lane, and nary hide nor hairhas he seen of Mr. Richard Liddiard."

“Did he tell you that?"“He did."“But, Haggart-!" Inspiration dawned

suddenly“Of course he wouldn't! He

probably took you for a Runner."“Me? A Redbreast?" Haggart gave

her a disgusted look.“Well, why not?" argued Eugenia.

"Yo u might have been. I daresay realRunners don't say who they are when they

are trying to track down a criminal.”Haggart grunted, and ran his hand

over the big chestnut's hock.“A shifty little man he is," he said.

"A man I'd not trust as far as from here tothat door."

“Well, if he has got Richard at theFighting Cock and won't say he is there, Idaresay he is trustworthy enough. I think Ihad best go to see him and ask. He can'tthink that I'm a Runner.”

Haggart looked horrified. "Mercy-be-here, Miss Eugenia, you'll never!" hesaid. "Go to a place like that! A younglady like you!" He looked into herdetermined face and said, with an obviouswrench of principles, for it was quiteagainst his code to have dealings with theenemy, "You tell me this minute you won't

do any such thing, or I shall have to go toLady Chandross!"

“Is it a very bad sort of place?"asked Eugenia, temporising.

“Yes!"“Oh, very well. I'll think about it

then," she remarked noncommittally, andwent off before he could press her forfurther assurances.

But she had not the least intention ofgiving up her project, and half an hourlater, having been conveyed in LadyChandross's barouche to Mrs. Lighton'shouse in Green Street, she was tellingMuffet all about it while they walkedtogether towards Hyde Park, accompaniedat a discreet distance by Mrs. Lighton'smaid.

“I shall be back in Green Street by

twelve," she said. "If I'm not, you must justmake up some sort of story to fob them off;say I met a girl I knew from MissBascom's and went to have an ice with herat Gunther's—oh, you know the sort ofthing." At Miss Bascom's it had alwaysbeen Muffet who had had to - provide theexplanations for their joint infractions ofthe rules. "Look—there's a hackney cab!”

And before Muffet could give voiceto her misgivings, which were beginningto be quite as lively as Haggart's, Eugeniahad signalled the jarvey, had given him,much to his astonishment, instructions totake her to Duck Lane, and was beingdriven off to that unprepossessingneighbourhood.

Eugenia knew very little aboutLondon, and she was perfectly unfamiliar

with the sort of squalor she saw about heras the hackney progressed through thenoisy, swarming streets that led to herdestination. The jarvey, who seemed to bein a very dubious state of mind about her,and was indeed divided between warningher of the hazards of her expedition andtelling her flatly that the only place hewould take her was back to her home,wherever that might be, decided at last onthe former course as he drew up before alow, tumbledown building sporting thesign of a fighting cock painted on a verydirty board over its door.

“Now, missy," he said to herearnestly, "this is the Fighting Cock, but ifyou was to ask me—which you ain't—I'dsay it was no fit place for you. Best let metake you back where you came from."

“Well, you may do that in a verylittle while," Eugenia said, "but first Imust go inside and make some enquiries."She looked about with interest at the grimblack houses, nearly all of them with theirdoors open to reveal their squalidinteriors, which appeared to be inhabitedchiefly by quarrelling women andscreaming babies. A knot of olderchildren, attracted by the unusual sight of ahackney cab with a young lady inside it,had already gathered before the FightingCock's door, and a baked potato vendornow left his trade and a cobbler his stallto swell their ranks.

The jarvey, jumping down from hisbox, gave up his attempts to preventEugenia from descending from his vehicleand cleared a way for her to the door,

promising meanwhile to await her return.Eugenia thanked him, cast a friendlyglance upon her assembled audience, andentered the Fighting Cock's low blackdoor.

She was at once accosted, almostbefore she had crossed the threshold, by asmall, spare man in corduroy breechesand grey stockings, with dirty shirtsleevesemerging from his unbuttoned waistcoat,who demanded in a very suspicious voicewhat she wanted.

“Are you Ned Trice?" Eugeniacountered.

“Wot if I am?"“Well, if you are, I should like very

much to have a talk with you. In private,"she added, looking round at the cobbler,the baked potato vendor, and the ragged

children, who were all peering in now atthe open doorway.

“Wot about?" Mr. Trice demandedtruculently.

Eugenia shook her head. "I said, inprivate," s h e said firmly. She pointedtowards a door that led from the passagein which they stood to the empty taproom."Can't we go in there?”

Mr. Trice, capitulating, grudginglyled the way inside and closed the door.

“That's better," Eugenia saidapprovingly. "You see, what I have to sayto you is really very confidential." Shepaused a moment, facing his mistrustfuleyes, which were, she saw, almost asyellow as a cat's. "I am RichardLiddiard's cousin," she said then."Eugenia Liddiard. Is Richard here?”

The yellow eyes narrowed a little—more like a cat's than ever, Eugeniathought.

“Here! Wot are you up to?" the mansaid roughly. "Yer cousin, is it? Is it likelythere's any flash culls in this ken?"

“If you mean any gentlemen, no, it'snot very likely," Eugenia admitted, "but itis possible. Richard told me you were theonly friend he had left in England, and sowhen he got into trouble I thought oflooking for him here. You see, I was theone who got him into that trouble, which isthe reason why I must try to help him now.Is he here?”

She looked hopefully at Ned Trice,whose suspicion was evidently givingway now to astonishment.

“Wot kind of help was it you had in

mind?" he enquired cautiously, after amoment.

“Money, for one thing," saidEugenia promptly. "I haven't very muchnow, but I shall have more soon. And if itisn't safe for him to be staying here, I thinkI know of a better place. My old nurselives in a cottage on the river near Putney,all alone, and she'd do anything for aLiddiard. No one would think of lookingfor him there.”

She paused, giving Mr. Trice timeto digest this information. He consideredit for some minutes, during which aslatternly young woman with a baby at herbreast pushed open the door and came in,demanding a penn'orth of gin. Her eyeswidened as they fell upon Eugenia; sheexamined her from her fetching Villager

hat to her neat French kid sandals andthen, moving forward, held out her handand in a beggar's whine asked for money.

“I'm sorry, but I haven't any to sparejust now," Eugenia said, and added, "Iexpect it's no good telling you that yououghtn't to be spending the little you haveon gin," with a philosophy born of herexperience with country shiftlessness,which was not, she considered, sodifferent after all from city shiftlessness.

The woman muttered an uglyepithet, and was at once peremptorilyordered out of the taproom by Ned Trice,who appeared to have made up his mindabout Eugenia during this interchange, butnot to the extent of accepting her bonafides completely.

“Let's say—jest for the sake of

argyment," he remarked, eyeing hercautiously, "that I might be able to find outwhere this cousin of yours is. Would therebe anything you might be wanting me togive him?"

“No. I should like to see him myself,please," Eugenia said definitely. "And itreally would be better if you were to takeme to him at once, because if I am notback in Green Street by noon it's likely afuss will be made. Is he here in thishouse?”

Ned Trice gave up. With a few pithycomments on swell-morts mucking intomatters they'd do better to leave in thehands of them as knew what they weredoing, he led the way out of the taproomand up a flight of narrow, littered stairs,then up an even darker, narrower flight to

an attic under the slates, where he playeda complicated tattoo with his knuckles ona battered door.

There was the sound of a bolt beingdrawn back and the door opened.

“Oh, Richard," said Eugenia to theshirt-sleeved young man who appeared inthe doorway, "it's me. May I come in?”

She was, in fact, already beingurged inside by Ned Trice, who quicklyfollowed her, closed the door, and shotthe bolt to again.

“Keep yer voice down," he growledat her, and looked at Richard Liddiard."This flash-mort says she's yer cousin," hesaid.

He had need to go no further; theexpression upon Richard's face told himall he wished to know. There was no

surprise in it, only a kind of grim andadmiring resignation.

“Eugenia," he said. "I might haveknown. I've cursed myself a thousandtimes for ever mentioning Ned's name andthis place to you."

“Well, it is a very good thing youdid, because I never would have beenable to find you if you hadn't," Eugeniasaid practically. Her eyes took in the tiny,low room, with its few sticks of dealfurniture and its single window lookingout on the slates, and then went to his face,which seemed almost as pale as it hadbeen when she had first met him at theKing's Head in Thatcham. "I shouldn'tthink you would be very comfortablehere," she said.

“Not comfortable," Ned Trice said

emphatically, "and not safe, neither. Butit's better than Rumbo."

“Rumbo?"“Newgate," Richard interpreted.“Ay, and t ha t ' s better than the

Nubbing Cheat," said Mr. Trice, by whichEugenia understood him to mean thegallows. He looked at her. "If you've thepitch and pay to get him out of the country,little lady," he said, "give it to him, for thelove of God. I'm off downstairs. I mustn'tbe missed.”

And he unbolted the door again andunceremoniously departed.

Eugenia looked at Richard. "I'mafraid I have only three pounds with metoday," she said, opening her reticule."But I shall have more on Quarter Day, ifyou can wait that long.”

She held out Muffet's notes, butRichard made no move to take them.

“Thank you," he said. "But I'm notgoing anywhere. And I don't need yourmoney. Now you'd best get out of this.How did you come here?"

“I took a hackney cab," saidEugenia. She gazed at him uncertainly,deciding that he could look veryintimidating when he chose. "Are yousavage with me because I got you intothis?" she ventured.

“Good God, no! It was entirely myown decision to go to Mere. But I amangry with you for coming here. You areto have nothing further to do with thisbusiness. Is that understood?”

Eugenia's eyes met his equably."Yes, I under stand," she said. "But it's

really not fair. Whatever you may say, it ismy fault that you have got into this hobble,and I'd like to help you out of it. I havebeen thinking, and it seems to me that ifyou can get back to Ireland—"

“I have no intention of going back toIreland." "Oh?" Eugenia looked at himdoubtfully. "Why not? You could beRichard Liddiard quite easily there,couldn't you? Among people who knewyou? No one would think you were Gerrythere."

“And run the risk for the rest of mylife of being taken up for murder if I everset foot in England again?" Richard said.

He walked over to the window andstood looking out at the forest of grimychimney pots outside, and, as if she couldsee inside his head, she suddenly thought,

"He is thinking about Coverts. He isthinking that if he can't come back here hecan never have Coverts."

“But you—you can't stay hereforever," she began rather uncertainly,after a moment.

“No." He had turned back to heragain now, a quite unreadable expressionupon his face. "That won't be necessary.Not after I've found Gerald Liddiard andseen him turned over to the Authorities."He saw her flinch a little and said roughly,"I'm quite aware you don't like that. Butit's the only way I can ever be clear of thisbusiness myself."

“But he didn't mean to kill anyone.I'm perfectly sure of that," Eugenia saidearnestly. "That wouldn't be at all likeGerry."

“I can't help that. It's his neck ormine, and I don't much fancy going to thegallows for a crime I had nothing to dowith.”

She looked at him, acknowledgingwith her mind ( she was nothing if notlogical) that he was right; but somethingeven more powerful ( she was alsonothing if not loyal) informed her that, nomatter how right he was, she could nothelp him to the extent of aiding him to findGerald Liddiard. She had not particularlycared for Gerry in the years when she hadknown him well—he had been charmingand selfish and impertinent, always ableto put himself in the right even when youhelplessly knew him to be quite wrong—but he was a Liddiard and, whatever hehad done, she could not be a party to

bringing him to the gallows.She made a small, negative motion

of her head, and Richard, who had beenwatching her intently, said, as if to cap thematter, "He's in London now. I've beenable to learn that much. That's why I muststay here. And now," he went to the doorand opened it, "you are going. And youwon't come back—do you understand?"

“I shall come if you need me,"Eugenia said, in the tone in which shemight have said, "My name is EugeniaLiddiard," stating the obvious. "But I can'thelp you to find Gerry. Are you sure youwon't take the money?"

“Quite sure." His hand rose for amoment and flicked the brim of herfashionable hat. "Don't let them spoilyou," he said, smiling at her a little for the

first time since she had come into theroom.

“Oh, no. It's only the clothes." Shelooked down disparagingly at the Frenchblue lustring frock. "You wouldn't believehow much they cost." "Does Tomapprove?"

“Tom?"“Your future husband."“Oh!" said Eugenia. "I haven't seen

him yet. But I expect he wouldn't notice.”The conversation appeared to be

over; he was closing the door. She wentdownstairs and found Ned Trice loiteringin the ground-floor passage, obviously onthe watch for her.

“Well?" he said.“He wouldn't take the money," she

said, "but perhaps he will from you, if he

needs it." She opened her reticule, tookout Muffet's three pounds again, andhanded the notes to the astonished Ned."And if you should ever wish to get intouch with me," she went on, "you mightsend a message to Haggart, our headgroom, at Chandross House. That's inGrosvenor Square. He'll see that I get it.”

Ned was looking at the notes,bemused. "Eh," he said, "if that don't beatall hollow! How d'ye know I won't go offand spend every last meg of it on myself?"

“Oh, no," said Eugenia seriously. "Iam sure you won't do that. You wouldn'tbe hiding him here if you didn't care quiteas much as I do about getting him out ofthis trouble."

“Well, it's a rare scuddle he's gothimself into," Ned admitted, "and you're

right about Ned Trice—he won't buckle.I'd do a deal for Mr. Richard—"

“You've known him for a long time,I expect?" Eugenia asked.

“Since he was no bigger nor aporriwiggle. I was groom to the ReverendMr. Castle who brought him up, andanything he knows about horses," he saidproudly, "he had from me. I've rid atNewmarket and Goodwood in my time, Ihave."

“Have you? That's very interesting,"said Eugenia with sincerity, but added,coming back to the main point at once,"Why isn't it safe for him to stay here?”

Ned's thin shoulders roseexpressively. "Eh, missy, you've only tolook about you," he said. "Nary a man,woman, or child here in Duck Lane but

would whiddle the scrap on him to theLaw if they knew there was a ha'porth ofgin in it for them. And he will go out atnight, seeking the man that put him here."London fell from his speech; he said inpure Yorkshire, "I'm that nattered with itall, I'm fretting from morn till night like afly in a tarbox!”

His harassed yellow eyes metEugenia's. A very trustworthy cat, shedecided, and told him more about her oldnurse's cottage on the river."I shall go tovisit her tomorrow and tell her howmatters stand," she said. "Then if thingsshould become really desperate, you cansend Richard there. It's a very quiet place;he'd be quite safe, I am sure.”

She took her leave of him, passingout through the Fighting Cock's low black

door to where the jarvey stood defendinghis horse against the attentions of the halfdozen urchins who were still waitingoutside for her reappearance. Each, shethought, looking with misgiving at thesharp, shrewd little faces, a potentialthreat to Richard if it became known thathe was hidden upstairs in that tiny roomunder the slaves. Meanwhile, she herselfhad accomplished nothing by her visit tothe Fighting Cock except to bring, sometotally unwanted notoriety upon it.

Eugenia sighed and got into thehackney cab. And what, she asked herself,was she to do next?

Chapter 8 As far as Lady Chandross was

concerned, what she was to do next was togo to another ball, this one a masquerade,held that evening at a great house inChiswick. It was, perhaps, not preciselythe sort of entertainment to which a younggirl just making her come-out wouldordinarily be taken by her _ chaperon, asthe host and hostess moved in what propermatrons characterised, with a slightprimming of the lips, as the Regent's set,adding that it was unfortunately not to behoped that quite a l l h e gentlemen thePrince distinguished by his notice wouldkeep the line upon such an occasion.There would certainly be a good deal ofraking and romping going on under cover

of all those masks and dominoes, theyinformed one another behind their fans atthe more innocuous gatherings to whichthey were happy to escort thei r youngcharges—but Lady Chandross, who wasnot a proper matron, had found an excusefor allowing her own charge to attend themasquerade in the fact that, no matter whatsort of warm flirtations went on there thatevening, one could depend upon it thatmost of the eligible young men in townwould be present.

“Not," she confided dissatisfiedly toher husband as she saw Eugenia, attired inan apple-green domino that whollyconcealed her gown of orange-blossomsarsnet, led onto the floor for her firstdance by a rather plump young Harlequin,"not that she is taking the least interest in

what she is doing, or in any of these youngmen. Only fancy—young Beards-morecalled this afternoon to ask her to drivew i t h him to the Botanical Gardenstomorrow, and she fobbed him offbecause, she said, she was obliged to visither old nurse! I daresay she will expectme to let her have the carriage for thatlittle excursion! Well, I shan't!"

“May as well," said LordChandross, casting a jaundiced eye uponhis ward, who was dutifully exchangingchitchat with her partner as they waited togo down the dance together. "She'll onlytake a hackney cab if you don't. Deucedodd sort of girl—never know what shemay take it into her head to do next.Comes of bringing her up without theproper female influence. Always told

Walter he ought to marry again."“Walter Liddiard," said Lady

Chandross with asperity, "never cared foranything but Coverts and his horses. AndEugenia, of course, whom he brought up tobe exactly like himself! Look at her now.Naturally she isn't interested in thatpompous young bore she is dancing with,but need she look as if she is on a dutyvisit to a doddering aunt when she talks tohim?”

Lord Chandross shook his headgloomily. "Pity," he said. "Fetching chit,too. But you'll never get her off at thisrate.”

And he walked off, leaving LadyChandross to seize upon young Mr.Walford, whose sturdy form she hadidentified beneath his unimaginative black

domino with an experience born ofattendance at countless masquerades, andmanoeuvre him into a position where hewas obliged to ask Eugenia to stand upwith him for the quadrille.

This was not difficult toaccomplish, as Mr. Walford, who was fastprogressing to a state of ferventadmiration of Eugenia as a girl with nononsense about her whom one could reallytalk to, was all too willing to be led intothe trap, and thanked Lady Chandrosseffusively for giving him a clew as towhich of the amazing variety of costumesn o w thronging the ballroom floorconcealed the young lady with whom hewished to dance.

Meanwhile, Eugenia, who underordinary circumstances would have

enjoyed the masquerade in the same waythat she had enjoyed dressing up forcharades at the Manor with Muffet andTom, was finding it now merely a saddistraction to her preoccupation with thestate •f affairs at the Fighting Cock inDuck Lane. It had been obvious to herever since she had arrived back in GreenStreet from her visit there that Richardmust not remain in such a dangeroussituation a moment longer than wasnecessary, and she had come to theconclusion that, as soon as she couldarrange with Old Nan (for so she hadalways called the diminutiveIrishwoman,more properly known as Mrs.Minchinton, who had served both as herfather's nurse and her own) to receive himat her cottage on the river, she must

despatch Haggart with a message for NedTrice to send Richard there. She trodthrough the steps of a country-dance, thequadrille, and the boulanger, but herthoughts were not in the brilliant ballroomin which she stood, but in a low attic roomup two pair of stairs in a noisome lane inTothill Fields.

Her own total disinclinationtowards anything in the nature of aflirtation, rather than Lady Chan-dross'scare for her—for her chaperon haddiscovered Lord Rushton and was playingQueen Mab, with a great deal of spirit andno regard for incongruity, to his Louis XIV—had preserved her up to this time fromparticipation in the much-censured "rakingand romping" that had been going on. Butas the boulanger ended she suddenly found

an arm about her waist, and a gentleman ina scarlet domino, whom she rememberedto have noticed a short time beforestanding just inside one of the doorways,regarding her fixedly, began to bear heraway towards that very doorway.

“Oh! Do give over!" she saidindignantly, struggling to free herself.

A low chuckle from behind the maskthat hid the scarlet domino's faceanswered her, and a well-rememberedvoice said, "Eugenia!" in satisfied tones."I was sure of it," the voice went on. "Youraised your mask for a moment as youjoined the set—quite improper behaviourat a masquerade, m'dear, but then thosethings can grow deucedly uncomfortablein a hot room—”

The voice paused as Eugenia, who

had ceased to attempt to free herself fromthe masculine arm still encircling herwaist, stiffened in amazement and then, asif in a trance, docilely allowed herself tob e led through the doorway into a smallanteroom.

When they were inside, she turnedto stare disbelievingly at the tall figure inthe scarlet domino.

“Gerry!" she said. "It i s Gerry—isn't it? N-not Richard—?"

“Who is Richard?" enquired thescarlet domino, closing the door behindthem. "Don't tell me you've set up a flirtalready, my good child. The last time Isaw you, you were scarcely out of thecradle!"

“ I t i s you!" Eugenia sat downabruptly upon a gilt-and-white Sheraton

sofa and 'pulled off her mask. "It is! I can'tbelieve it! Don't you know the Runners areafter you?”

The well-cut mouth under the blackmask curved in a rueful smile.

“Of course I know it! That's why I'mhere at this confounded masqueradetonight!" said Gerald Liddiard, seatinghimself comfortably beside her. "Couldn'tvery well walk bang up to the front doorof Chandross House and ask Gleaves ifCecil was at home. Wouldn't do at all.Can't trust servants these days. Might goand lay information. I understand there's areward."

“Yes, there is, but—oh, Gerry, tellme at once!" Eugenia said anxiously. "Didyou do it?"

“What—put a bullet through some

fat flawn of acoachman because I couldn'tmanage a horse and a cocked pistol at thesame time? What do you take me for?"Gerald said indignantly. "Matter of fact, Iwasn't even there. It was that rum-topMacGoff—"

“But, Gerry, everyone is saying itwas you!"

“Saying it because they don't knowwhat they're talking about," Gerald saiddefinitely. "Fellow borrowed my mare.Borrowed my coat, too. Don't know thathe didn't do it on purpose—though I don'tthink he has enough brains in his cockloftto think of a thing like that. The point is,Barnstaple—he's the man he held up—recognised the mare. Recognised the coat,too—one of Stulz's make—"

“Do you mean," asked Eugenia, who

had been eagerly following this veryelliptical explanation, "that it was CaptainMacGoff—our Captain MacGoff fromKent—who held up the coach and shot theman? And he was wearing your coat andriding your mare? But why did you allowhim to—?"

“Wasn't in any case to stop him,"Gerald said, looking rather sheepish forthe first time. "Matter of fact, I didn't evenknow he'd gone. Had had a devilish largeevening, you see—a glass or two more ofBlue Ruin than was strictly called for—"

“You mean you were foxed,"Eugenia said severely. "So foxed that youhad no notion what was going on. Idaresay if you hadn't been, y o u wouldhave joined forces with that horridMacGoff in holding up Lord Barnstaple's

carriage? Gerry, how could you—?"“Well, it was only taking back what

belonged to us in the first place," Geralddefended himself. "We were gudgeonsenough to sit down to play deep bassetwith him one night, and the fellow fuzzedthe cards. Cut up stiff when we accusedhim of it, and, dash it all, we couldn'tprove it. Took a cool five hundred from uson the head of it. So when we got wind hewas going to Bath, we thought we'd juststop his carriage on the road and liftenough off him to cover our losses.Fellow's a curst dandy, you know. Therewas bound to be enough on him in the wayof rings and seals and fobs to make up theamount."

“Only you drank too much andcouldn't go, and Captain MacGoof took

your horse and coat and shot the coachmanby accident, and now everyone thinks it isyou who did it!" Eugenia finished the talefor him. "Oh, Gerry, you are a gudgeon!You know what sort of man MacGoff is!Papa was used to say he was so horridlylow he would have been more at home ina prize-ring than he ever was in a drawingroom, and you know Papa wasn't at allparticular!”

Gerald looked a little sulky. Evenbehind the mask, which he had hadprudence enough not to remove, as it wasquite possible they might be interrupted atany moment, Eugenia could see howdifferent the face was from RichardLiddiard's, in spite of the amazingsimilarity in feature and colour. Therewas a kind of good-natured recklessness

in the face she was watching now that shehad never seen in Richard's, and none ofthe latter's cool decision of manner wasevident in the volatility that characterisedeverything the young man now seatedbeside her said or did.

“Lord, infant," was what he saidnow, in a tone obviously meant to put herin her place, "one knows all sorts offellows! And MacGoff is prime company—sings a good song, tells a story well, isready for every rig and row in town—"

“Yes, that is all very well, but hehas landed you in a fine bumblebath now!"Eugenia said. "To say nothing of Richard—"

“Richard again! Who is Richard?"Gerald demanded. "And what has h e tosay to anything?”

Eugenia in a few words sketched forhim the story of Richard Liddiard'sinvolvement in his present misfortunes.

“Well, I'm damned!" Gerald saidwrathfully, when she had concluded. "I'msorry, Eugenia, but this is enough to makeanyone go off on the ear! And you have thebrass to rip up at m e for getting myselfinto a bumblebath! Where is this bastardof Cousin Charles's now?"

“Well, I shan't tell you that,"Eugenia said, "because if you were to gothere he would certainly take you in toBow Street—"

“I should like to see him do it!"“But I rather think he could, you

know," Eugenia said candidly. "He is verystrong, even though he has been ill, andqui te determined to deliver you up to

justice so that he will not be obliged to goon hiding forever merely because heresembles you. It is a horridly awkwardsituation for him, you see!"

“Well, it is just as awkward forme!" Gerald said, with some asperity. "Infact, this makes it even worse, because ifh e is careless enough to let himself bepicked up by the Runners, I shall beobliged to turn myself in! Wouldn't do tolet an innocent man go to the gallows,even if he is an encroaching upstart whohas no more right to call himself aLiddiard than I have to call myself thePrince Regent! Not that I'm not just asinnocent as he is, if it comes to that!"

“Yes," put in Eugenia, who hadbeen thinking. "And that is why it appearsto me that it would be better if you did

turn yourself in to the Authorities now andtell them the truth. I believed you—"

“Oh yes, you believed me," saidGerald, with some bitterness. "Becauseyou're a female. Females like to think thebest of a fellow. But will some beak-nosed, beady-eyed old snudge of amagi s tr a te believe me? T h a t ' s thequestion. Come to think of it, will Cecilbelieve me? What do you think?”

Eugenia did think, and was obligedto say honestly, "I really don't know. He isquite furious with you, you see. He saysyou have disgraced the family name inevery possible way and he will do nothingmore to help you."

“You see?" said Gerald. "And that'swhat I'll hear, and more of the same, froma magistrate if I can't manage to come up

with MacGoff and choke the truth out ofhim somehow. Or that man of his—groom,valet, bully, whatever he calls himself. Heknows the truth, because he was there withMacGoff the night when it all happened—"

“Where is he now? Where are bothof them?" Eugenia demanded.

“Loped off to Kent, by all I canlearn. Wouldn't surprise me to hear he'sintending to leave the country, though ofcourse there's no need for that as long asit's me the Runners are after. I could findout what he's up to soon enough if I couldget down there, but it's a dashed riskybusiness for me to show my face out ofdoors just now. Wouldn't have come heretonight if I hadn't wanted a word withCecil. You see, Freddy Smythson—fellow

who's been putting me up—has got thewind up rather badly and wants me tosherry off. Had a card of invitation for thismasquerade tonight, so I told him if he'dgive it me and find me a mask and dominoI'd relieve him of my company and trywhat old Cecil would do for me. Paltrysort of fellow, Freddy. When I think of allthe scrapes I've pulled him out of—"

“Yes, but this is more than a scrape,Gerry," Eugenia said. She was kicking theheel of her satin sandal absently againstthe gilt leg of the sofa, doing someconcentrated thinking. "Do you mean," sheasked after a few moments, "that you can'tgo back to Mr. Smythson's house at all?"

“Shouldn't like to. He's been like acat on a hot bakestone all day. So I toldhim I'd lope off tonight."

“Without knowing where you wouldgo? Oh, Gerry!" Eugenia sighedexasperatedly. "If that isn't just like you!Well, I daresay you had best go directlyout to Old Nan's cottage when you leavehere, then. You will at least be safe therefor tonight, until I can talk to Gussie andfind out from her if it will do you the leastbit of good to ask Cecil for help—"

“Old Nan! Of course! Now whydidn't I think of that?" Gerald exclaimed.He regarded her with patent admiration."It's the very place!"

“Yes, but you can't stop there longert h a n tonight," Eugenia said, "becauseRichard isn't in a safe place, either, and Ihave told his friend that he may send himto Old Nan's cottage. Only that won't befor a day or two, so meanwhile, until you

can make other plans, you had as well staythere yourself. I am going to visit hertomorrow, and so I shall be able to tellyou then what the situation is as far asCecil is concerned.”

Gerald assured her that she was aregular right 'un, and, as they wereinterrupted at this point by a dashingCavalier and a demure Mary Stuart, wholooked disappointed upon seeing the sofaalready occupied, Eugenia hastilyresumed her mask and proceeded to speedGerald on his way.

“I hope you may arrive theresafely," she said anxiously; but Geraldsaid confidently that there was no doubt ofthat. It was a dark, moonless night and hewould go by the river; with his hat pulledwell over his eyes, it was hardly likely

that any sleepy water-man would so muchas see what he looked far less recognisehim as a wanted man.

Chapter 9 Approximately an hour before this

conversation took place a tall young manin an olive-green coat, with his hat pulledwell over his eyes, walked down from theembankment to Westminster Steps, wherehe engaged a waterman to row him up theriver to Putney. A light fog was alreadyrising from the dark water, half-obscuringthe flickering light of the flares at the footof the steps; there were only a few peopleabout, as the hour was past eleven, andneither they nor the yawning watermanpaid any particular heed to the tall youngman as he settled himself in the slendercraft.

The waterman dutifully rowed himpast the lights of the city, past Vauxhall

and Chelsea, until grassy banks shadowedby dark-looming shapes of beech and oak,small farmhouses, each with its pathleading down to the river, and a tangle ofovergrown vineyards took their places.The young man was taciturn; the watermancontinued to intersperse his labours withyawns. The creak and rattle of the oars inthe oarlocks sounded very clear in thestill, foggy air.

At length, just before the woodenbridge at Put ney was reached, the youngman indicated one of the rickety jetties,with a single small boat riding beside it,that ran down to the river's edge. Thewaterman pulled in to it; the young manpaid his fare and, as the waterman rowedhimself off again into the damp mist,disappeared up the fog-shrouded path.

The path led to a stile in a hawthornhedge, and thence by a flagged walk to asmall, neat cottage with a thatched roofand mullioned windows, the darknesssurrounding it fragrant with the scent ofthe white ramblers growing thickly aboutits porch. The young man knocked uponthe weathered oak door. There was noresponse from within, but as he knockedagain a large white cat materialisedsilently in the foggy darkness from aroundthe corner of the house and sat down a fewfeet away from him on the path, aloof butcompanionable.

The young man swore softly. Hewas about to attack the door for the thirdtime when there was a rattle of bolts frominside and it opened abruptly to reveal avery diminutive elderly female, whose

nightcapped head scarcely topped hiselbow. She was carrying a candle, andheld it up at once to examine his face.

“Waking a body up in the middle ofthe night!" she said severely, evidentlycontinuing a monologue that had begunlong before she had unbarred the door tohim. "I never heard of such a thing in allmy days! What do you want? Speak upnow, young man, and don't stand theregawking like a looby! Who are you andwhat do you—?" Her voice died awaysuddenly; her sharp black eyes openedwide. "Master Gerald!" she said, in thevoice that had sounded doom togenerations of Liddiard nurselings."Master Gerald! You come inside thisvery minute! And don' t forget to wipeyour feet!”

The tall young man, however, didnot step across the threshold.

“It's not Gerald; it's Richard," hesaid. "Didn't Miss Liddiard—Eugenia--tell you—?"

“I haven't set eyes on Miss Eugeniathese nine months and more," Old Nansnapped. "And I'll thank you to do asyou're told, Master Gerald, and not try anyof your May-games on me. I know yourtricks. You needn't think I don't!”

Thus adjured, Richard Liddiardobediently wiped his feet upon the matand stepped inside. He found himself in asmall, low-beamed parlour, whichshowed, even in the light of the singlecandle Old Nan held, a gleam of lovinglypolished wood and shining brasses, andan immaculately scoured brick floor. The

white cat, stalking in beside him, sprangup upon the settle in the anglenook, laydown comfortably, and awaited events.

“Having those Bow Street Runnersafter you—a fine thing for a gentleman!"Old Nan scolded meanwhile, as she setthe candle down upon a table andstruggled to rebar the door. Richard cameto her aid, and as he completed the taskand turned about found her standingstaring up at him with her mouth open incomical dismay. "Oh!" she said in ashaken voice. " Oh ! You're n o t MasterGerald! You can't be!"

“No, I'm not. I've been trying to tellyou so," Richard said mildly. "But whyare you so sure? Eugenia didn't believeme when I told her I wasn't Gerald, andLady Chandross never suspected."

“Miss Eugenia!" Old Nan sniffed,recovering herself quickly. " S h e didn'tknow him when he was in short coats. Idid. Master Gerald 'ud never think ofhelping me with that door like that." Shelooked at him suspiciously. "And who areyou, then?" she de manded.

“I've already told you, I'm RichardLi d d i a r d , " Richard said. "CharlesLiddiard's son."

“Mr. Charles's son! But—"“I know, I know. Charles Liddiard

never married, so he couldn't have had ason—”

Old Nan bridled. "None of yoursauce, young man!" she said tartly. "Idessay I know a Liddiard when I see one!You're as like to Master Gerald as twopeas in a pod, with that wicked-looking

face on you—"“Well, I can't help my face, can I?"

Richard asked reasonably. "And I'll tellyou this, Nannie—right now I'd change itif I could. If I didn't look like GeraldLiddiard I wouldn't have the Runners afterme and have to come to you to help me."

“Sauce!" said Old Nan again,picking the white cat up from the settleand dumping it upon the hearthrug as if torelieve her feelings. "You're all alike!"She stood before him, staring uppertinaciously into his face. "Downpin,ain't you?" she demanded. "Fever?"

“I'm all over that now."“Yes, I can see you are. But gaunt as

a church-mouse. Haven't had a good mealin a week, I'll be bound. You wait here.”

She stumped off, carrying the

candle, and leaving him in the darknesswith the white cat, who had decided to befriendly and was rubbing coquettishlyagainst his legs. In a few moments OldNan returned, carrying a plate with a largeportion of raised pigeon pie upon it,which she set down with a thump upon asmall table. Richard, who had found thefare at the Fighting Cock decidedlyunappealing, was perfectly willing to dojustice to it, particularly as he had beenobliged, by the news that a pair ofRunners had appeared at the front door, totake a hasty departure from one of thetavern windows just as he had been aboutto partake of the unappetising stew thathad been brought for his supper.

Over the meal he told Old Nansomething of his history, and was relieved

to find that her loyalty to the Liddiardfamily was not limited by niceconsiderations of legitimacy. She told himthat he was welcome to stay at her cottageas long as he liked, that he would be quitesafe there if he could be sure he had notbeen followed from the town by theRunners, and that she personally wouldtake care of anyone who came nosinground—which latter fact he did not doubtin the least. She then said severely that hewould be obliged to sleep on the settle,lugged in a blanket and a pillow for him,and mounted the stairs ( she was so smallthat she took them like a child, plantingone foot and then bringing up the other) toher own bedchamber above.

Richard, left alone in the parlour—the white cat having been put out again—

arranged his tall frame as comfortably ashe could upon the settle and, resolutelyputting out of his mind the problem ofwhat he was to do on the morrow, soonfell asleep.

He was awakened from his firstslumber a short time later by the sound ofa cautious rapping upon the front door. Hesat up, threw the blanket aside, andquickly drew on his boots. The rappingcontinued with increasing vigour, to theaccompaniment presently of a low, urgentmasculine call of, "Nan! Nan! Wake up!It's Gerry!"

“Of all the impossible luck!" thoughtRichard.

And he was at the door in a moment,unbolting and unbarring it swiftly; the nextinstant he had it open and, springing upon

the dark figure that stood outside, haddragged it into the parlour.

Gerald, too staggered by this suddenand perfectly unexpected attack to resistfor the first moment or two, suddenlycame to himself as he found himself beinghaled into the pitch-darkness of the littleparlour, and began struggling furiously tofree himself from his unknown assailant.The two men were of equal height andweight, and though Richard, owing to theoutdoor life he had led, was, as Eugeniahad candidly observed, the stronger, itwas not for nothing that Gerald hadsparred with Gentleman Jackson himselfin the former champion's famous BoxingSaloon in Bond Street. A titanic struggleensued: chairs went crashing into walls;the settle was overturned with a thump that

shook the little cottage to its foundations;there was the ominous tinkle of breakingglass. The combatants were so engrossedin their battle that neither of them noticedflickering candlelight progressing steadilydown the stairs, or heard anything but theirown fierce, panting breathing until Gerald,neatly thrown on Richard's hip, wentsprawling into the fireplace and lay there,stunned.

It was at that moment that Richardbecame aware of a broom beatingerratically upon his legs and of a shrillvoice coming from somewhere in thevicinity of his elbow.

“Turning—my—parlour—upsidedown!" said the shrill voice furiously,punctuating each word with a fresh attackof the broom upon the calves of Richard's

legs. "A pair of plaguey—addle-pated—rascals—”

Richard looked down at her. "I'llput it to rights again, Nannie," he saidmildly. "Look here, stop that now!" Hetook the broom from her and leaned itagainst the wall. "Would you happen tohave a piece of rope I could tie this fellowup with?" he asked.

Old Nan stood looking up at him,the very strings of her nightcap tremblingwith her indignation. "Tie up MasterGerald!" she said. "The idea! I dessayyou've killed him, you great brute! Andserve him right! Fighting and rioting in myparlour at this time of night!”

She trod over to the recumbentGerald, who was already stirring,however, and rubbing what was obviously

going to be a large lump on his head.Seeing that he was not seriously injured,she dismissed him contemptuously andbegan trotting about the room, busilyrighting fallen chairs, replacing cushions,and clicking her tongue over the remainsof a hideous green-and-yellow vase thathad been broken in the conflict.

When she attacked the settle, pittingher tiny strength against its immovablebulk as she attempted to right it, Richardperforce came to her aid. Gerald sat up.

“I—say!" he remarked ratherthickly, staring up at Richard's face,illumined now by the candle's glow."You're Eugenia's Richard."

“I'm Richard Liddiard—yes,"Richard said grimly, looking down at him."And you and I, Mr. Gerald Liddiard, are

now going to make a trip to Bow Street—"

“Don't be a sapskull, man!" Geraldsaid, holding his head and lookingirritable. "I didn't put a bullet through thatblasted coachman—it was Will MacGoff,just as I was telling Eugenia this evening."He staggered to his feet. "Nan, haven't youa drop of brandy somewhere about? Myhead's splitting," he complained.

“Serves you right," said Old Nanvengefully. "And I wish his was, too! Thevery idea! Fighting in my parlour!”

She trotted off to the kitchen, andGerald, collapsing upon the settle, said toRichard in grudging admiration, "Threwme a cross-buttock, didn't you? I'm out ofcondition or I'd have given you a betterrun for your money. Too much Blue Ruin,

I expect. I say, though," he added, "you'reafter the wrong man, you know, if youthink I was the one who put a hole throughBarnstaple's coachman. Fellow namedMacGoff borrowed my mare and coat andheld up the coach; he was masked, ofcourse, and that's how Barnstaple came toidentify me as the man. Nasty mistake, butthere you are.”

Richard was looking at himskeptically. "Who is this MacGoff?" heasked.

“Will MacGoff!" Old Nan, comingback into the room with a tumbler in herhand, spoke before Gerald could reply."Captain Will MacGoff!" she repeatedscornfully. "A Captain Hackum is morelike it! He's a nasty piece of work, he is!A great, braggartly make-bait. Mr. Walter

never could abide him! If that's the sort ofcompany you've been keeping, MasterGerald, it's no wonder to me that you'vegot yourself into the briars!”

Gerald accepted the brandy withthanks and drank it down.

“Well, it's no good thinking aboutthat now," he said. "The thing is, we shallhave to contrive to come up with thatfellow by hedge or by stile and get thetruth out of him." He looked up accusinglya t Richard, who was still standing overhim rather menacingly. "By the bye, Idropped in at the Lassiters' masqueradetonight and managed to have a few wordswith Eugenia. She told me all about yourlittle game," he said. "I must say you hadan infernal amount of brass, going to Mereand giving out that you were me! You can't

blame me that you're in this now, too."“No, I daresay I can't," admitted

Richard. "But if you shot that coachman—”

“I keep telling you, I didn't shoothim," Gerald said impatiently. "If youwant to know where I was that night, Iwas asleep in a room in a hedge-tavernnear Hounslow. I was a little above par,you see, so MacGoff took my mare andcoat and went off after Barnstaple alone,except for that man of his. A little matterof fuzzed cards, it was—that money wasdue us. And the first I knew of what adashed mull they'd made of the businesswas when I came down to the coffeeroomin the morning and found everyone'stongue on the tattle about the holdup, andhow Barnstaple had identified the man

who'd shot his blasted coachman asGerald Liddiard. Luckily it wasn't the sortof inn where names are given, so none ofthem knew I was the fellow they weretalking about. I hedged off out of there in aflea's leap, I can tell you! Well, it stood toreason I couldn't prove I hadn't been out ofthat room all night—"

“Shatterbrained—that's what youare, Master Gerald, and always were!"Old Nan said reprovingly. "You'd bestcome in the kitchen with me and let metend to that head. He's bloodied you.You'll need a bit of court-plaster.”

She tugged him out into the kitchenwith her, while Richard, left alone, satdown to think what he was to do now. Thegoal he had had ever since he had leftMere Court with the Bow Street Runners

hot on his heels—to find Gerald Liddiard—had been accomplished; but if Geraldwas speaking the truth when he claimedthat he had not been present at the holdup,he, Richard, could buy his own safety onlyat the price of turning an innocent manover to the Authorities.

It was a frustrating situation,especially since on the whole he wasinclined to believe Gerald's story. BowStreet, with their man unimpeachablyidentified by a reliable eyewitness to thecrime, might not believe it; but then BowStreet had not had the advantage of seeingOld Nan's reception of her formernurseling's tale. If Gerald had been lying,Old Nan would have been the first tocome down on him; but Old Nan hadaccepted his story without an instant's

hesitation or suspicion.Richard sighed exasperatedly. So it

was to be dodging the Runners for himagain, he supposed, this time looking for aman of whose very existence he had beenhappily unaware half an hour before. Hewondered what Bow Street would do if heand Gerald both simply gave up the gameand surrendered themselves jointly, eachclaiming to be Richard Liddiard andinviting the Authorities to decide amongthemselves which of the two was reallyGerald. Bow Street could not very wellhold two men for a crime that only one ofthem could have committed, and, barringOld Nan's special powers of perception, itcould not possibly know which was theman it wanted.

A tempting solution, he thought, but

not one that really offered a permanentanswer to the problem. No, he would haveto contrive somehow, it seemed, to findCaptain Will MacGoff, of whosewhereabouts he could only hope thatGerald Liddiard now had some firm idea.

Chapter 10 The problem of finding Captain

MacGoff was being discussed by Geraldand Richard over ham and toast andbuttered eggs in the kitchen of Old Nan'scottage on the following morning whenEugenia arrived, having herself had anunfashionably early breakfast inGrosvenor Square. They were expectingher, as Gerald had informed the others ofher intention of paying a visit to her oldnurse that morning, so that her appearanceoccasioned no surprise; but her ownastonishment at finding Richard there,apparently sharing an amicable breakfastwith the man he had been seeking with thegrim intention of turning him over to BowStreet, was obvious.

“Richard! What a r e you doinghere?" she exclaimed, and, withoutwaiting for a reply, turned anxiously toGerald. "Is he going to turn you over to theRunners?" she demanded. "And what hashappened to your head?"

“One question at a time," Richardsaid calmly. "First, I am here because theRunners made a visit last night to theFighting Cock. Second, I have no presentintention of turning your cousin—”

“And yours!" Gerald interpolated,grinning.

“—over to the Runners. And third,the court-plaster is decorating his headbecause we had a slight disagreementupon his arrival."

“A slight disagreement!" Old Nanput in, sniffing. "I'd have another word for

it, Miss Eugenia! Turned my parlourupside down, they did, and broke thatgreen-and-yellow vase Minchintonbrought me back from Yarmouth, to saynothing of putting a great nasty gash inMaster Gerald's forehead." She surveyedwith an appearance of grudgingadmiration Eugenia's elegant frock ofalmond-green cambric muslin and her flat-crowned Villager hat. "I dessay you'll betoo fine a lady now to sit down in mykitchen," she said. "There's ham left, andplenty of hot buttered toast."

“Oh yes, please, Nan!" Eugenia saidhappily. "I've already had breakfast inGrosvenor Square, but it is the fashion tobe thin, you know, and people do look atyou so if you do more than nibble at thingsin a ladylike way!"

“If you was to get any thinner, you'dblow away altogether," Old Nan saidscornfully. "I've no patience with peoplewho grudge a growing girl a decent meal"

“Well, I expect I won't grow anymore now, but I would like some of thatham," Eugenia said, sitting down betweenGerald and Richard as Old Nan piled aplate lavishly high. She turned to Gerald."I'm sorry about your head, but I did tellyou that Richard was very strong," shesaid to him seriously. "And I'm sorry, too,that I haven't good news for you aboutCecil. I tried mentioning your name to himvery cautiously last night as we weredriving back to Grosvenor Square fromthe masquerade. I only said I'd beentalking to someone who thought you mighthave been seen in London. And Cecil said

that the sooner Bow Street caught up withyou the better, because then people mightstop bibblebabbling about you and forgetthe whole disgraceful business. And whenI said if we could find you he might beable to help you to leave the country, hesaid he would do nothing of the sort,because if he did you would only comeback and do something worse—thoughwhat could be worse than murder I reallycan't think. But he was in a very twittytemper, so I thought I had best drop thesubject, at least for the time."

“Good God, yes!" Gerald saidfeelingly. "If he's in one of those moods,he's as like as not to come the ugly andturn me over to Bow Street himself. Weshall have to contrive without him—that'splain. You don't by any chance know of a

way of getting Richard and me down toKent without anyone's catching sight of uson the way, do you?"

“No," said Eugenia, helping herselfto buttered toast. "You're both too large toput into a bandbox, or even a trunk. But ifyou do think of a way, I'd like very muchto go down to Kent and help you to lookfor Captain MacGoff myself, becauseGussie is beginning to be very wearingabout my encouraging Perry Walford tomarry me—Oh!" She broke off, her eyessuddenly lighting up. "There is—that is,there may be—a way, after all! I mean, away we could all three go. Of course, Ishould have to have Muffet's help. But noone ever looks at footmen—do they? Imean, all anyone would think was that youboth looked alike, and if you are hunting

for one criminal, you would never expectto find two.”

Richard and Gerald exchangeglances.

“Do you," enquired Richard, "havethe least idea what she is talking about?"

“Not the faintest," said Geraldcheerfully. "It sounds to me as if she wereplanning another masquerade, with thetwo of us cast to go as footmen. And whyMuffet?" He turned to Eugenia. "I gatheryou are alluding to young MissRowntree?"

“Yes. I am going to marry TomRowntree, you see," said Eugenia. "Thatis, I am going to if I can ever manage toget down to Kent to tell him about it."

“T e l l him about it?" Geraldrepeated incredulously.

“Yes," said Richard gravely. "Yousee, Miss Liddiard considers it unfair thatw e should always be required to do theasking."

“Don't be superior," Eugenia saidequably. "And please call me Eugenia."She looked from one to the other of thetwo handsome, dark-browed faces, soremarkably alike in feature, so remarkablydissimilar in expression. "It is a splendididea," she said. "Or at least it will bewhen I have worked it all out. You see, ifI tell Gussie and Cecil that Tom wishes tomake me an offer, only he can't leaveKent, I think it is quite likely that they willbe happy enough to have me off theirhands to send me down to Kent for a visit.Then Haggart can borrow the properlivery for you, and you can both come

along as footmen.”Richard and Gerald again

exchanged glances.“I can think," Richard said

judicially after a moment, "of at least sixserious flaws in that plan. Would you likeme to name them? In the first place, youhave not been invited to visit theRowntrees—"

“Oh, that doesn't matter. I canalways say Mrs. Rowntree wrote, only Ihave mislaid the letter. And Mrs.Rowntree won't at all mind having me.She is really very fond of me."

“You don't think," Richard enquired,"that is may be a bit awkward trying toexplain to her why you are suddenlyturning up on her doorstep in the middle ofthe Season you are presumably enjoying in

London?"“Well, I hadn't thought of that,"

Eugenia admitted. "But I expect somethingwill occur to me—or to Muffet—beforewe arrive. She is very good at making upexcuses, though you wouldn't think it tolook at her."

“Oh," said Richard politely. "MissRowntree is to accompany you, then?"

“Well, of course! I couldn't manageit without Muffet. You see," said Eugenia,improvising rapidly between bits ofbuttered toast, "if I were to try to go alone,I should be sure to have Trimmer foistedupon me, and that wouldn't do at all. But ifMuffet comes too, she can tell her auntthat Gussie is sending Trimmer with me,and I can tell Gussie that Mrs. Lighton issending her maid with Muffet. And then,

you see, we shall be able to go withouteither of them.”

She gazed triumphantly at Richardand Gerald, who, in the manner of men,were both looking extremely skepticalabout a plan they had not thought ofthemselves.

“The last time I participated in oneof your well-meant schemes, MissLiddiard—I beg your pardon, Eugenia,"Richard said, "it ended with my beingpursued by the Bow Street Runners on acharge of murder. That may explain mylack of enthusiasm about this one. If Imight point out to you some of the otherflaws I see in it—what for example, willLady Chandross's coachman think when heis joined by two footmen he has neverclapped eyes on before?"

“But he won't be the coachman. Hewill be Haggart," Eugenia said,ingeniously overcoming this objection asshe had the others. "I shall ask Gussieparticularly if he may not drive thecarriage instead of Suggs, or instead ofsending us in the chaise with postillions,because he is anxious to see his sister,who is very ill in Kent—"

“H a s Haggart a sister, ill or notill?" Richard asked inexorably.

“No," said Eugenia. "But Gussiedoesn't know that.”

She looked at him rather guiltily.Gerald broke into a shout of laughter.

“The things Gussie doesn't know,and isn't to know!" he said. "You havecertainly come on since I last saw you,infant! How many flirtations are you

carrying on now that Gussie doesn't knowabout, either?"

“None at all," Eugenia saidindignantly. "This isn't anything in theleast like that. It is a matter of life anddeath." She looked at him doubtfully. "Doyou mean you really don't want to do it?"she asked.

“My dear coz," said Gerald, "I'd doit like a shot if I thought we could carry itoff. But—"

“You would both make very goodfootmen," Eugenia encouraged him. "Youare quite of the proper height. Gussie, ofcourse, is so fashionable that she insistsupon having footmen who are at least sixfeet tall, so I am sure their livery would fityou. James, I believe, is obliged to padhis calves, but perhaps you—”

She looked speculatively at the twoyoung men.

“What do you take us for?" Geraldsaid with some hauteur. "a pair of spindle-shanks? I am sure I can fill out a pair ofwhite silk stockings as well as the nextfellow, while as for Richard, no man whois as good in a mill as he is can lack formuscle in his calves or anywhere else."

“Thank you!" said Richard, a triflesardonically. "And perhaps you, orEugenia, can tell me what is to be donewith this remarkable pair of twin footmenwhen we reach Kent, where I have nodoubt that their features are very well-known—"

“Well, I haven't got round to thatyet," Gerald confessed. "Couldn't passourselves off as footmen there—that's a

fact.”He looked at Eugenia, who had

finished her toast and ham and satregarding him in frowning thought, herchin dropped into her cupped hands. Thewhite cat appeared suddenly in the opencasement window, bounded to the floor ina graceful leap, and sat down beside her,looking up hopefully at the scraps uponher plate. Eugenia absently began to feedhim. All at once she stopped, her eyeswidening triumphantly.

“Lady Br she proclaimed.“What?" said Gerald and Richard

simultaneously.“Lady Brassborough!" Eugenia

explained impatiently. "Gerry, you mustsee that she would be the very one! Noone ever visits the Dower House—no one

who is in the least respectable, at any rate—and her servants don't speak English,you know, besides being as old asMethuselah and never venturing into thevillage—”

She looked hopefully at Gerald,who appeared to be considering herwords.

“Think she'd have us—eh?" heasked after a moment.

“I am quite sure she would. Shewould adore it! You know she has alwaysbeen fond of you—and of me." She lookedat Old Nan, an expression of suddenmischief on her face. "I don't know howmany scolds poor Papa had to undergofrom Nan because he would allow me tovisit the Dower House.”

Old Nan's nose went into the air. "It

wasn't for m e to tell Mr. Walter how toraise you," she said primly, but with awfulemphasis. "But to my way of thinking it'sthe outside of enough to let a Pure YoungGirl be taken in the clutches of a ScarletWoman—"

“Oh, Nan! Lady B. isn't a ScarletWoman! Or at least she hasn't been forages—not since she married LordBassborough, and he's been dead for adozen years.

“She was In the Theatre before shemarried him," Old Nan said darkly."Cavorting about showing her legs there,if what's said is to be believed.”

Gerald said, grinning, "And adashed fine pair they were, I'll wager,though she's taken on considerable tonnagesince then." He looked at Eugenia. "She

might do it, I daresay," he admitted. "Sortof thing she'd enjoy. And you're quite rightabout our being safe there. None of theservants likely to go tattling in thevillage.”

Eugenia turned to Richard. "I expectI ought to explain to you," she saidscrupulously, "that we are talking aboutthe Dowager Lady Brassborough, whowas on the stage when she was younger—perhaps you may have heard of her—MegMorvin?—and lives alone now quite nearthe Manor with only French servantsbecause she and Lord Bassboroughalways lived abroad while they weremarried, and then he died and she cameback to live at the Dower House, only tospite the present Lady Brassborough, shesays, who is a dreadful prig—”

She paused, rather out of breathfrom the long sentence, and looked at himhopefully.

“I think," he remarkedconversationally, "you have both run quitemad. When I consider I was always usedto wish to make the acquaintance of mynoble relations—I"

“Oh, Eugenia and I ain't noble,"Gerald said comfortably. "That's onlyCecil, and you want to makedashed sureyou don't make his acquaintance, for youwouldn't care for him above half. And Idon' t see what call you have to sayEugenia and I have rats in our garrets, fora more caper-witted rig than the one youran at Mere I never heard of. This oneain't half so bad. We'll be as safe as achurch at the Dower House once we get

down there, and then you and I can noseout that scoundrel MacGoff and see that hecomes by his desserts.”

He and Eugenia thereuponproceeded to lay their plans for putting herscheme into practice at the earliestpossible moment, while Richard, seated inthe homely little kitchen with its lattice-window open on a fragrant hedge of briarand honeysuckle, drowsy with bee-hum,began to succumb to a sense of living in achild's safe world of sunlight andadventure instead of within thenightmarish circle of danger that hadsurrounded him since he had left Mere.They were both children still, he thought,watching them, though Gerald wasprobably quite as old as he was himselfand Eugenia had her own direct and

practical wisdom, much beyond her years.But he himself had once seen a man

die upon the gallows, a man he had knownand worked with in Ireland; what might beat the end of this business for him or forGerald Liddiard was no mere child'sbogey to him, which would dissolve intosafety and laughter once the fright waspast.

He saw Eugenia look up at himsuddenly, drawn out of the absorption oftheir planning, it seemed, by his verysilence.

“Richard," she said to himearnestly, "you wi l l do it—won't you?Really, it will be quite safe. You can'tthink I'd ask you to do it if it weren't.”

Quite safe, he thought. Anoutrageous masquerade, depending for its

success upon its very brazen audacity, andcarried out in complicity with a pair ofschoolgirls and a reckless young wastrel.

But it was the only path that offered.He could not remain in hiding indefinitelyin Old Nan's cottage, nor, if it came tothat, did he wish to leave in GeraldLiddiard's hands the task of bringing intothe open the truth of what had happenedthat night on the Bath Road. It was, by thevery fact of his resemblance to Gerald andof his having walked in Gerald's shoes fora week at Mere, certainly his own task aswell.

“Very well," he said calmly, as hehad said the words once before in aprivate parlour in the King's Head atThatcham over a proposal almost as riskyas this. "I'm on"—and saw her eyes light

up with relief and pleasure.“Oh, Richard, I am so glad!" she

said. "And I'm quite sure it will all workout perfectly splendidly.”

Gerald said, "Famous!" and OldNan, disapproving and practical as ever,asked if anyone wanted more ham or toast.

Chapter 11 As it developed, Eugenia had been

somewhat overly optimistic about the easewith which her plan could be carried intoaction. Directing the coachman, when sheleft Old Nan's cottage, to drive her toGreen Street instead of back to GrosvenorSquare, she had a brief colloquy therewith Muffet that had the unexpected resultof causing even that heroine-worshippingyoung lady to fall into a quake, and todeclare with fervour that she couldn't, shewouldn't, she was quite sure she couldnever bring it off, and what in the worldcould she say to her mama when the twoof them turned up so unexpectedly inKent?

“I c a n ' t tell her you've come

because Tom wants to marry you," shesaid agitatedly, "because perhaps hedoesn't, and he would be so very angrywith me if I said he did! Only think what aposition it would put him in! He would beobliged to offer for you then, you know!"

“Nonsense!" said Eugeniaimpatiently. "Of course you needn't sayanything at all to your mama about Tom'swishing to marry me. That is only what Ishall have to tell Gussie so that she willallow me to go into Kent. You mustmerely write to her that we are both quitefagged to death by all our engagementshere in London, and that Gussie and youraunt think it would do us a great deal ofgood to spend a week or two quietly in thecountry."

“But Aunt Lizzie doesn't—I What

am I to tell her?"“Tell her Gussie thinks I am worn

down and you have invited me to visit atthe Manor. And be sure to tell her aswell," Eugenia added with worldly-wiseknowledge, "that Lord Chandross will besending us in his carriage. She is awfullyfond of a crest, isn't she?”

Muffet admitted unhappily that Mrs.Lighton was indeed very apt to agree toany scheme that brought her or her nieceinto intimacy with the higher nobility, butshe was still so doubtful of being able tocarry off the monstrous amount ofdeception involved in the plan thatEugenia was obliged to promise that sheherself would break the news both to Mrs.Lighton and to Gussie about the invitationto the Manor and the mislaid letter.

For a young lady who had professedherself a poor liar, Eugenia reflected, shewas getting into some very deep watersindeed, but, consoling herself with thethought that it was all in a good cause andthat she must simply consider it as acting,as she had when she had brought Richardto Mere, she went back to GrosvenorSquare to beard Gussie in her den.

The den turned out to be herbedchamber, for Lady Chandross was anotoriously late riser and was justfinishing her breakfast chocolate amidstthelace-edged pillows and pink silkdraperies of that elegant apartment whenEugenia arrived in Grosvenor Square.Lady Chandross was not in the sunniest ofmoods, having just received a card ofinvitation to a particularly intriguing party

to be given by a particularly indiscreetpeeress, which she wished very much toattend but to which she could not possiblybring Eugenia. Visions of being burdenednot only during this Season, but also thenext, with a marriageable young relationwho refused, against all reason, to allowherself to be married off, were tracing asulky line between Gussie's brows whenEugenia entered the room. The latter couldnot, in fact, have chosen a better momentin which to bring forward Tom's as yetfictitious pretensions to her hand.

“Young Rowntree!" she couldalmost see the thoughts chasing oneanother through Gussie's head when shehad concluded her speech. "Not a brilliantmatch, but certainly an eligible one. Avery respectable property, I have heard it

said, and he is the only son. Of course heis probably a horrid bumpkin, but onewouldn't be obliged to have them often atMere. I don't think Cecil can object—notwhen he has seen how the girl has mademice feet of every opportunity we havethrown in her way.”

Aloud she merely said, "Well, mylove, what a sly thing you are, to be sure!So this is why you have turned a coldshoulder to every other eligible part i Ihave presented to you! Is he veryhandsome, your Tom?”

Eugenia, who had never consideredthe matter, of grumbling and a great manygloomy prognostications, to carry out thepart that had been allotted to him in theplan.

Which left Mrs. Lighton to be coped

with, and this turned out, unexpectedly, tobe the most difficult part of the business,for, in spite of what Eugenia had referredto as her liking for crests, she wasreluctant to allow Muffet to disappearfrom the London scene just when, as sheconfided to Eugenia, she was in a fair wayto getting her off.

“For you may have noticed, mydear," she said, "that Mr. Blenkinsopp hasbeen growing m o s t particular in hisattentions, and it never serves to allow agentleman to cool off in these little affairs.An absence even of a week or two maywell be fatal, so much sought after as heis, you know!”

Eugenia, who knew that Muffet hadno opinion at all of Mr. Blenkinsopp, acallow youth who had expectations of

coming into a very pretty property inDerbyshire but had otherwise absolutelynothing to recommend him to a youngfemale, being much more at home in acock-pit than in a drawing room, wasseized with inspiration and repeated apiece of gossip she had heard fromGussie, to the effect that youngBlenkinsopp, having run himself to astandstill in London's more notoriousgaming-hells, was about to be sent hometo Derbyshire by his outraged papa upon arepairing-lease.

Mrs. Lighton, the first to admit thatLady Chan-dross's information upon thelatest ton gossip was more reliable thanher own, was visibly chagrined by, thisnews, but, rallying swiftly, said they mustTom merely being Tom, whom one had

known since one had been staggeringabout in leading-strings, said after amoment's reflection that she dared say hewas.

Gussie laughed. "Well, I must say,you don't sound frightfully ardent," shesaid. "Not in the least like a girl who istop-over-tail in love!”

Eugenia hastened to assure her thatshe was very fond of Tom, but at the samemoment she was conscious of a peculiarfeeling of uncertainty somewhere insideher—an extraordinarily disagreeablefeeling, for she was not used to doubtingher own decisions. In a few days, if allwent according to plan, she would be inKent and could tell Tom, as she had longbeen wishing to, all about the advantagesof their being married. He would no doubt

agree, and a notice would then be sent tothe Morning Post, setting in motion aninexorable train of events that would endin her becoming Mrs. Thomas Rowntree.That was exactly what she had wished andwhat she had planned.

Why, then, that disagreeable feelingof uncertainty? She pushed it to the backof her mind and went on to complete hernegotiations with Gussie, which endedentirely satisfactorily, after which Haggarthad to be bearded in his den—the stables—and informed of the role he was to playin the escape to Kent. As she hadexpected, he was scandalised by thewhole affair, read her a severe lecture onthe total unseemliness of her becominginvolved in such a matter, and ended bypromising, with a great deal concentrate

on Mr. Fincher then, who was a widowerand a bit old, perhaps, for dear Amelia,but might very possibly be brought up toscratch.

Fortunately, Mr. Fincher had beenobliged to leave London at the momentupon business, and was not expected toreturn for almost a fortnight; so permissionwas obtained for Muffet to depart from themetropolis as well for a brief visit to herhome in Kent. Eugenia and Muffet, incelebration of their success, danced animpromptu waltz together in the upper hallof the slim house in Green Street and thenflew to their respective writing-desks,Muffet to indite a brief letter to her mamainforming her of their impending arrival,and Eugenia to despatch a somewhatlonger but even more mysterious epistle to

Lady Brassborough, in which herassistance was requested in a matter oflife and death, and the shelter of her roofinvoked for "two innocent victims ofcircumstance.”

Meanwhile, the innocent victims ofcircumstance themselves were put onnotice, via a message conveyed byHaggart, to hold themselves in readinessto leave for Kent early on the Mondaymorning. If they had been having secondthoughts as to the wisdom of the plan towhich they had agreed, it was not visiblein their faces as they emerged from OldNan's cottage, two striking figures in theclaret-and-silver Chandross liverypreviously procured for them by Haggart,at the cost of a small bribe and a certainamount of prevarication about a joke to be

played by Miss Eugenia upon one of herfriends. Gerald was grinning and Richardwore his usual composed andimpenetrable air; and after a word withEugenia they took their places up behindand were whirled off through the bright,early-morning sunlight to begin theirjourney into Kent.

For the first hour of that journeyEugenia had the feeling that the carriagewas at least twice as large andconspicuous as it actually was, thateveryone they met was looking at themintently, and that it could not have beenmore obvious to the general public thatGerald and Richard were wanted by BowStreet if they had been wearing largeplacards proclaiming that fact across theirchests. But her heart eventually ceased its

erratic jumping each time they approacheda turnpike gate, and when they wereobliged to halt at an inn to bait the horsesshe was even able -to alight from thecarriage with an appearance of entirecomposure and bear Muffet off to aprivate parlour to partake of a nuncheonthere, while Haggart and the two"footmen" entered the coffeeroom toregale themselves with cold beef andfoaming tankards of home-brewed.

The meal was not enlivened byMuffet's nervous conviction that theywould walk downstairs at its conclusionto be met by the sight of Gerald andRichard being haled off to gaol by the pairof Bow Street Runners she was quite suremust have followed them from London,and Eugenia was obliged to nip her arm

severely in order to prevent her fromcrying out in alarm when the waiterunexpectedly returned to the room with afresh pot of coffee.

But to say the truth, as they learnedwhen they did go downstairs to find theirtwin footmen loung ing outside the inndoor, exchanging badinage with a pair ofgrinning ostlers, the greatest danger theyhad encountered had come from a verydirty and very disreputable old man in adisgraceful old coat, who had been sharpenough and malignant enough to call theattention of the company in the coffeeroomto the marked resemblance they bore to thedescription of one Gerald Liddiard,wanted for murder and robbery on theKing's highway, that had been posted forsome time now in the inn.

“Now if 'twas two of 'em that waswanted, we'd have 'em both," he had said."A matched pair, that's what they are," andhe had gone off into a long and rheumychuckle at his own witticism that hadended in his demanding another pint of alefrom the landlord.

Gerald had remarked, with a verywell counterfeited air of cynicism, that ifhe had the chance he would change placeswith Gerald Liddiard any time he said theword, for he was a gentleman, the postersaid, and it stood to reason he wouldnever see the Nubbing Cheat, but wouldbe got off by his relations and live out hisdays in happy idleness as a "once a-month" man on their largesse.

“Ah," he said with conviction, "hecan have my place any day, and I'll take

his. What about you, Dick?"—grinningover at his "twin.”

Richard had replied philosophicallythat he didn't consider the place a bad one,being as in their last there had been half adozen children and the nursery on the topfloor, which meant you had no soonerfinished lugging one can of hot water upthree pair of stairs before another waswanted; and the discussion had thenwandered off into safer channels. Haggart,a scandalised on-looker at this bit ofbyplay, relieved his feelings as the twoyoung men mounted to their places byinforming them severely that one of themwas as bad as t'other, and if they didn'tstop tempting Providence they would soonenough find themselves in the basket.

“Three pair of stairs indeed!" he

said to Richard; but Richard only smiledthat rare smile of his, and Geraldremarked that if he had known before thishow handy it was to have a twin he wouldhave scoured the countryside to find one,as it appeared to him that one could neverbe taken to account for anything one did aslong as one had a double who might justas well have done it himself.

Eugenia was sufficiently cheered bythe successful outcome of the journey tothis point that she felt her spirits rising,and they improved even more when shebegan to see, through the carriagewindow, what was, to her, home country.Huge, honest manor-houses built ofmassive timbers and rich-colouredWealden brick; hedges showing a summertangle of meadowsweet and wild

Canterbury bell; low, square-toweredchurches; a dreamy disorder of hills, thickwoods, and winding lanes—this was thew or ld of her childhood, the world towhich she would be able to return whenshe married Tom.

But at the thought of Tom and herapproaching meeting with him, that hollowfeeling of uncertainty returned, and it wasonly by resolutely fixing her mind insteadupon their forthcoming arrival at theDower House, and on the anxious questiono f whether Lady Brassborough would bewilling to receive the two "innocentvictims of circumstance," that she wasable to be rid of it.

The Dower House—a Jacobeanmansion that had served as the principalseat of the Barons Brassborough until the

Sixth Baron, prospering in the secondGeorge's reign, had erected a larger andmore imposing edifice upon a hill a mileor two away—lay well-concealed behinda pair of wrought-iron gates and amagnificent avenue of Spanish chestnuts atthe end of the village, some miles to thewest of the Manor. As the carriagebowled up the avenue and came to a haltbefore the south front, with itsenergetically projecting bays and steep,finialled gables, Eugenia saw the frontdoor open and a magnificent, bulky figureappear dramatically in the aperture. Nodiscreet, soberly garbed butler this, butLady Brass-borough herself, brocaded andbejewelled, all rich greens and purples,like a peacock. She advanced down thesteps to the carriage, and as Gerald

jumped down to open the carriage doorand let down the steps to allow Eugeniaand Muffet to emerge, she raised a face-a-main to her eyes and regarded first him,and then Richard, fixedly through it.

“Ha!" she ejaculated, in the voicethat had thrilled Drury Lane Theatre frompit to gallery when, during the latter yearsof her reign upon the London stage, justbefore her marriage to LordBrassborough, she had begun to playheroines in melodramas instead of saucybreeches parts in rollicking comedies."What have we here? Not one Gerry, but apair. If you will tell me how to go aboutdividing oneself into two, dear boy, I shallbe eternally grateful. I am sure I havequite enough avoirdupois today for two.And why footmen? Am I to employ you

both? I shall be delighted! Eugenia, dearchild—" She enveloped Eugenia in anample embrace, from which she releasedher at once to point to Muffet. "And whois this?" she demanded.

Muffet, finding herself the cynosureof a pair of magnificent but remarkablyworldly-wise and pessimistic dark eyes,which seemed to convey an extremeskepticism as to her being anyone worthknowing, said, trembling, that she wasAmelia Rowntree.

“You know the Rowntrees, LadyB.," Eugenia said. "Their land marcheswith ours—I mean with Coverts."

“Ah, yes!" Lady Brassboroughcontinued to fix Muffet with thatdisparaging gaze. "Your dear mama doesnot recognise me, I believe," she said, in

her deep voice. "Do y o u recognise me,Miss Rowntree?”

Muffet gave a sort of terrifiedaffirmative squeak, being unable tomanage any more coherent reply, andEugenia said sensibly, "Of course sherecognises you, Lady B., or she wouldn'tbe here. Could we go inside now, please?And perhaps Gerry and Richard could goupstairs and change into their real clothesat once, so your servants will not think itso queer that you are having them asguests. You d o realise you are to havethem as guests, and that absolutely no oneis to know they are here—don't you?" sheasked anxiously.

“Do I?" said Lady Brassborough,raising her brows. "Your letter wasremarkably unclear, dear child. But if you

are giving me two handsome young menall for my very own, I shall forgive you.T he r e are remarkably few handsomeyoung men in this part of Kent. Comealong, Gerry."

“That's Richard," Eugenia calledafter them, as Lady Brassborough tookRichard's arm and sailed off into the housewith him. She hastened to follow, withMuffet and Gerald. "He is CharlesLiddiard's son," she explained. "Did youever know Cousin Charles, Lady B.?"

“For one brief, glorious moment,when I was married to poor B.," LadyBrassborough said, without turning round."I came down to Kent with him—B., thatis—and, if memory does not fail me,Charles and I dallied at a hunt breakfast.A charming boy, but fickle—fickle. At

least I believe his name was Liddiard.”They had entered the hall, all black-

and-white lozenge marble floor and pale,faded tapestries, and were met at thispoint by an extremely ancient butler, whotottered up to receive hats and wrapswithout demonstrating the least surprise atfinding his mistress arm-in-arm with afootman in full livery.

“Ma t thi e u, mon cher," LadyBrassborough addressed him in whatcould only be described as highlyAnglicised French, "these are my friends,les Messieurs Liddiard, who have cometo make me a small visit. No one outsidethis house is to know theyare here-comprenez-vous? Now take them upstairs,s'il vous plait, and tell Dunoyer they areto have the Blue Bedchamber and the

Green one. Allez-vousen!" she finished,with a dramatic wave of one arm.

The old butler nodded and totteredoff up the broad oak staircase, followedby les Messieurs Liddiard. Brassboroughthen led Eugenia and Muffet into a largesaloon, which was crowded with such anassortment of excellent French furniture,curios in and out of cabinets, portraits,miniatures, theatrical mementoes,tambour-frames, novels, and elegantbonbons that Muffet, who had never seeni t before, was confused to the point ofattempting to seat herself in a Louis XIVfauteui l already occupied by a fat,belligerent pug.

“No, no, not there, my dear!" saidLady Brassborough reprovingly. "That isWellington's chair. He never allows

anyone to sit there but himself." Shegathered the pug into her arms, where theresemblance between his pugnacious faceand her own appeared to a dazed Muffetalmost too close to be true, and, seatingherself upon a delicate gilt sofa with atheatrical grace that belied both her bulka nd ' her years, said encouragingly toEugenia, "And now, dear child, you musttell me all about your little mystery, andwhy Gerry has suddenly acquired a twinand become a footman."

“Very well," agreed Eugenia, "onlywe can't stay long because we areexpected at the Manor. But you alreadyknow, of course, about the trouble Gerryis in?”

She looked enquiringly at LadyBrassborough, who offered her and Muffet

bonbons, told Wellington severely that hewas too fat to have one, and selected onefor herself.

“Not," she said comfortably, "that Iam not too fat, too, but fortunatelyWellington cannot tell me that, though Idaresay he would dearly like to. Is it theaffair of Barnstaple's coachman you aretalking of?"

“Yes," said Eugenia, "but he reallydidn't do it, you see. It was CaptainMacGoff; only he was riding Gerry's mareand wearing Gerry's coat, and so LordBarnstaple told the Authorities that it wasGerry, and naturally they believed him.”

She launched into a hurried accountof the matter, including the manner inwhich Richard Liddiard had been drawninto it. When she had finished, she found

that Lady Brassborough was regarding herwith no alteration in the expression ofexperienced skepticism with which sheordinarily faced the world.

“Mad!" she pronounced. "Quitemad, the lot of you. Of course I shall bedelighted to help you, dear child, but onedoes rather see—doesn't one?—that yourtwo young men may be obliged to pay mea somewhat protracted visit if that horridcreature MacGoff isn't turned up. He didme the honour, you know," she saidsententiously, "of making me an offersome half dozen years ago—was taken allover queer, I expect, when he set eyes onthese"—she held out her magnificentlyringed hands—"and felt that the only curefor what ailed him was to make me Mrs.MacGoff at once. I believe I must have

been wearing the Pontowski emeralds aswell that evening, which of course wasquite enough to overset him completely."

“How horrid for you!" said Eugeniaindignantly. "I wonder he dared—"

“Dear child, an offer of marriage isnever to be despised when one has morethan nine-and-thirty years in one's dish,"Lady Brassborough said, "even though itcomes from the dustman and is inspired byone's diamonds rather than by thebrightness of one's eyes. It is all far moreamusing than playing Patience, you see,and reminds one of happier days, whenone was rejecting dukes and marquises adinfinitum, if that is the term I mean to use—or is it ad nauseam? Only I never was,because I always enjoyed it, even whenthey were quite plain, like poor

Aldersworth, or a bit wanting, like oldLord Parradine, who brought me a stuffedllama from Peru, rather like a cat laying amouse on your doorstep to show howclever she has been, only of course far toolarge to keep—”

Eugenia, foreseeing that the spate ofLady Brass-borough's reminiscencesmight keep them far too long at the DowerHouse, necessitating embarrassingexplanations at the Manor where therewere going to be enough of them duealready, at this point said they must taketheir leave, and shepherded Muffet out tothe waiting carriage.

Chapter 12 Twenty minutes later the carriage

was drawing up before the Manor, acomfortable mansion built in thecharacteristic Tudor style of half-timbering and the multicoloured, winy-blue Wealden brick. Mrs. Rowntree wason the watch for them, as LadyBrass-borough had been, and camehurrying out to the hall to greet them themoment the door was opened to them. Shewas a stout, placid woman, though she didnot look very placid at present, havingtaken the idea firmly in her head, uponreceiving Muffet's letter announcing herimminent arrival with Eugenia, that one orboth of them had either disgraced herselfirretrievably in London or was at death's

door.Of course, upon finding the two of

them quite undamaged in either reputationor health, she gave vent to her feelings byloosing a scold upon them, which wasinterrupted by the entrance of the Squire,who had been out on the Home Farm withhis bailiff and was very pleased to see hislittle Muffet at home again.

“So you've had enough of Londonalready," he said, pinching her cheek."Well, well, it was your mother's notion tosend you there, you know, but I neverliked the idea myself above half. 'It'sLombard Street to a China orange,' I saidto her, 'that she'll pick up some whipstrawof a park-saunterer there and bring himhome to us as our future son-in-law."

“Oh no, Papa!" Muffet said

indignantly. "I shall never marry anyone,and certainly not a—a park-saunterer,whatever that is. I shall always live herewith you and Mama and Tom.”

The Squire, who was a large, jovialman, laughed at that and said that might beall very well as long as he and her motherwere above ground; but Tom's wife, whenhe married, might not be quite so pleasedto have her in the house, which madeMuffet cast a conspiratorial glance atEugenia and smile. Eugenia, to her ownsurprised annoyance, felt herself colouringup, and when Tom walked into the room afew minutes later, having been out withh i s gun after rabbits, she had an oddpanicky sort of feeling that she wanted torun away, which Tom had certainly neverinspired in her before.

Tom was a tall, fair young man,with a ruddy face and blue eyes thatechoed his father's, and it was certain thatas the years passed he would grow to bejust as stout and jovial as the Squire, andkeep his land in good heart, and becomethe sort of man the whole county could,and only too frequently did, rely on, justas it now relied upon his father. Eugenia,of course, was too young to know all thisnow, but she did know that Tom was thebest friend she had ever had, except forMuffet, and that if she was suddenlyfeeling with horrid clarity that she did notwish to marry him and never would, itwas because there was something wrongwith her and not with him.

As a result, she felt a kind of pall ofguilt at her own disloyalty hanging over

her all during the excellent dinner,featuring a couple of ducklings and aplump leveret, with a soup made of freshpeas and the Savoy cake of which she wasparticularly fond, to which she presentlysat down. And when the Squire retiredafter dinner to the estate-room and Mrs.Rowntree, seating herself with herembroidery-frame in the large oak-beamed drawing room, suggested that theyoung people might like to take a turnoutside instead of sitting indoors, as itwas such a sultry evening, she was hardput to it not to give way to that panickyfeeling and say she was tired and goingupstairs to her bedchamber, rather thanface a conversation a trois with Muffetand Tom.

But the conversation, when they had

walked outside, began, at least, upon asubject that had nothing to do with thevexing question of her marrying Tom. Sheand Muffet had agreed beforehand that thebest means they had of discovering ifCaptain MacGoff was in that part of Kentwas to take Tom into their confidence andenlist his assistance. He would be able tomake enquiries in the neighbourhoodwithout arousing suspicion, and might, atany rate, already have heard of theCaptain's presence there.

They were hardly out of the house,therefore, and into the long summer duskoutside, with lightning flickering uneasilyover the horizon and a thin moonshowingand disappearing behind ominous clouds,before Muffet had embarked eagerly uponthe reason for their journey into Kent. Tom

listened, spellbound. He had all a healthyyoung man's taste for adventure, andinstantly declared, when he had heardwhat was wanted of him, that he wouldnot only discover if MacGoff was in theneighbourhood, but would engage himselfpersonally to hand him over to theAuthorities.

“Well, I don't think it would be wisefor you to do t h a t , " Eugenia said,"because, of course, he will simply denythat he had anything to do with the matterunless Gerry and Richard can think of away to make him confess. Gerry says hewill choke the truth out of him andRichard says it will be better to try to getit from his groom, who was there when itall happened and may be persuaded to turnKing's evidence. But, at any rate, I think

you had best leave it to them.”Tom said rebelliously that he wasn't

going to be left out if he knew it, but as hepromised to take no action, if he was ableto discover MacGoff's whereabouts,without first notifying Gerald and Richard,Eugenia was not seriously concernedabout his doing anything rash.

By this time they had wanderedround to the kitchen garden behind thehouse and, having got in among the pea-sticks, were eating the young peas, aftertheir excellent dinner, with unimpairedappetites.

“But, Tom," Muffet, who had gotslightly in advance of the other two, calledback to them presently, "Eugenia hasn'ttold you her other reason for wishing tocome home with me. She has had the most

splendid idea—at least, I do hope youwill think it is splendid, too.”

She turned to look expectantly atEugenia. Eugenia, finding Tom's enquiringeyes upon her as well, was seized oncemore with panic, cast a violentlyreproachful glance at Muffet, and saidhastily that they might talk of it anothertime.

Muffet looked at her in surprise."But you said you would ask him just assoon as you saw him," she said.

“Ask me what?" demanded Tom.Eugenia, backed into a corner, said

desperately that, if he really must know, itwas about getting married.

“About getting married?" repeatedTom, puzzled. "About whose gettingmarried? Are you—?"

“Oh, no—no!" Eugenia disclaimedhastily. She saw Muffet's astonished eyesupon her and went on, with rather thesame feeling, it seemed to her, that shemight have had if she had been about tofling herself over a precipice, "That is, notunless you want to—"

“Unless I want to?" Tom stared ather. "Unless I want to do what?"Comprehension slowly dawned. "Unless Iwant to marry you?" he demanded, adumb-founded look upon his face.

Eugenia nodded miserably. How,she wondered, could she ever havethought that it would be easy to ask anyman, even Tom, to marry her? And theworst of it was, she felt, that, now she hadput the matter to him, he wouldundoubtedly consider he could not, in

chivalry, do anything but agree, and shewould have to go through the rest of herlife with a man (for Tom was a man now,she suddenly realised, and not merely aboy she had grown up with) who hadmarried her only out of a sense ofobligation.

But here she had reckoned withoutTom. For al though he had, as if by thetouch of a magic wand, suddenly turnedinto a man before her very eyes, no suchnecromancy had transformed her, for him,i n t o anything other than thecompanionable, plucky, sometimestroublesome little girl who had shared inmost of his boyhood adventures andescapades. He stared at her severely.

“I think you must have windmills inyour head!" he said. "Why the deuce

should I wish to marry you—or anyoneelse, if it comes to that? Oh, I dare-say Ishall be obliged to some day, to keep upthe name; but I shan't be ready even tothink of that for years and years and—well, dash it, years!”

Eugenia was conscious of a suddenfeeling of relief that seemed to flowdeliciously from her head down to hervery toes; but before she could speakMuffet had flung herself once more intothe conversation.

“Oh no, Tom! How can you be socruel?" she cried reproachfully. "Don'ty o u k no w Eugenia will be obliged toaccept someone like Mr. Walford or LordCazden's son if you won't marry her, andgo and live abroad in diplomatic circlesor at least in London, and we shall never

see her again? And we could all be sovery comfortable if you only will—”

Tom, who now had the driven,obstinate look of a bull with its hornslowered, quite determined not to bechivvied through a gate, said that was allvery well, but why did she have to acceptanyone?

“Because," said Muffet, in the voiceof a teacher explaining the obvious to aparticularly backward pupil, "she hasn'tany money! And you can't expect her to goon living at Mere forever!”

Tom was heard to muttermutinously, why not, but at that moment anominous flicker of lightning in thedarkening western sky, followed at onceby an emphatic clap of thunder and asudden determined patter of raindrops

upon the pea-sticks, put an abrupt end tothe conversation and sent them all peltingoff for the house.

By the time they had reached it, therain was pouring down in good earnestfrom the angry clouds above, and theyentered by the kitchen door, it being theclosest at hand. Here they found Cookwith two housemaids and the scullerymaidclustered about her, all of them obviouslyin a state of the highest agitation.

“Ow, Master Tom!" gasped Cook,as she shrank back from the invasion ofthree breathless and somewhat dampyoung people into her spotless kitchen."How you did frighten me, to be sure!Rushing in like that, and me with thepalpitations coming on already, what withthe storm and having Bow Street Runners

in this very house!"“Bow Street Runners!" The words

came from allthree of the young people, inaccents ranging from incredulous joy (Tom ) to sheer horror ( Muffet).

Cook, much gratified by thesensation she had caused, said modestlythat she couldn't say she had seen themherself, but that Gladys (indicating theelder of the housemaids) had, being as shehad been sent for to look for Miss Ameliaand Miss Eugenia, who weren't to befound nowhere, though Madam had saidthey were sure to be just outside, and itseemed they were the ones the Runnerswanted to see.

“Oh!" said Muffet in a hollowvoice. "We are? I mean, they do? Howvery-how v e r y strange! I wonder what

they can want of us!”She looked imploringly at Eugenia,

who had just succeeded in quelling ahorrid vision of Gerald and Richardhaving been run to earth at the DowerHouse and haled away to Newgate by thecomforting thought that the Runners couldhave no possible reason for interviewingher and Muffet if they had already laidhands on their quarry.

“Yes, it is very strange," she saidfirmly, casting a warning glance at the twoyoung Rowntrees. "I think we had best goand see why we are wanted, don't you?Perhaps it is because we have justtravelled down from London, though Ican't believe we met any desperatecriminals on the way."

“Gladys says as she thinks it's about

Mr. Gerald, Miss Eugenia," Cookvolunteered helpfully, in the hushed,triumphant voice of one breaking thedirest of news; but Eugenia was alreadyleading her two young friends out of thekitchen.

There were voices coming from thedrawing room, so she turned her stepsdirectly to that apartment. When shewalked in, she at once recognised the twoBow Street men she had seen at MereCourt on the day that Richard had escapedto London. They were standing just insidethe door, looking stubborn and rathergrim, while the Squire, who had obviouslyconcluded ringing a peal over them onlythe moment before, had his back to thecold hearth and looked flushed andfurious.

Mrs. Rowntree, her good-naturedface puckered into an expression ofpuzzled distress as she sat looking fromher husband to the Runners, was the firstto catch sight of the three young people asthey entered the room, and she said atonce, thankfully, "Oh, here you are at last,my dears! Where in the world can youhave got to, with this dreadful stormcoming on?"

“That will do, Millie!" said theSquire. He strode across the room andplaced himself beside Muffet. "Now,Baker, or whatever your name is," hea ngr i l y addressed the taller of theRunners, a capable-looking man of aboutforty, "here is my daughter, a n d MissLiddiard, and I'll thank you to repeat totheir faces this farrago of accusations you

have loosed on me behind their backs!”Baker, looking obstinately at the

Squire from under his thick, greyingbrows, said he wouldn't exactly sayaccusations.

“It's only," he said, addressingEugenia, as Muffet had shrunk so farbehind the bulwark of her father's stoutform that only the tip of her nose andaglimpse of frightened blue eyes were tobe seen, "it's only that we've hadinformation laid, miss, as to two youngladies coming down into Kent today,travelling with a servant who bore astrong resemblance, or so 'twas said, toone Gerald Liddiard, wanted for murderand robbery—"

“Which only goes to show," Mrs.Rowntree interrupted earnestly, also

addressing Eugenia, "how mistaken theyare, my dear, for I am sure Haggart doesnot in the least resemble poor Gerry,besides being old enough to be hisgrandfather, or as near it as makes nodifference. And, at any rate," she went on,regarding the Runners severely, "you bothsaid there were two of them a momentago, which proves that your informantmust have been drinking, as no one couldpossibly wish to travel with twocoachmen, even if they di d look exactlylike each other."

“ 'Tweren't coachmen, missus," thesecond Runner, whose name wasCartwright, suddenly said hoarsely. "'Twere footmen," and he relapsed againinto bashful silence.

“Well, that only makes it worse,"

Mrs. Rowntree declared, nothing daunted,"because it seems those two children wereallowed to travel down here quite alone,except for Haggart, with no maid orfootman of any sort in attendance, which Icannot help thinking was quite remiss ofmy sister Lighton and Lady Chandross,and so I shall tell them when next I seethem. I may be old-fashioned, but in myday—"

“Millie!" said the Squire again, inan awful voice.

Mrs. Rowntree, who was not in theleast afraid of her husband, looked vexed,but for the sake of peace in the familysubsided.

“You see," said the Squire, turningto Mr. Baker with an obvious air ofsuffering fools, if not gladly, at least with

all the patience at his command, "that mywife corroborates my statement that mydaughter and Miss Liddiard arrived at thishouse today accompanied only by anelderly coachman we have all known fordonkey's years as Haggart, and who couldnot by any stretch of the imagination beMr. Gerald Liddiard in disguise. Also, tomy certain knowledge, Gerald Liddiardhas not, nor ever had, a twin brother. Hewas an only child, as I should think evenBow Street could have discovered by thistime if they had put their minds to it."

“We know that, sir," said Mr.Baker, looking harassed. "That's what hasus so betwattled. But still Miss did tell us,when we went looking for him at MereCourt, that 'tweren't him that had beenthere, but another man who looked enough

like him to be his double—”He looked over at Eugenia, and in a

sort of cold panic she thought, "He isgoing to ask me directly now, and if I liehe will know it. I must do something—”

But to her astonishment—and,indeed, to the astonishment of the entirecompany—it was Muffet who stepped intothe breach. Muffet moving forward frombehind her father's sheltering shoulder andspeaking with the calm of desperationwith which she had so often faced MissBascom when matters had seemed at theirblackest for her and for Eugenia.

“If you please, Papa," she said,"Lady Chandross did send two footmenwith us. They didn't come to the Manorbecause their mother was ill at TunbridgeWells and they wanted very much to visit

her, so Eugenia said they might. AndHaggart is to take them up again on hisway back to London, so that LadyChandross need never know they did notcome all the way with us.”

She avoided, with the skill of longexperience, the astounded eyes of theSquire and the suspicious ones of theRunners, gazing limpidly instead at a dimportrait of a Rowntree ancestresssimpering down upon them demurely fromthe opposite wall.

Mr. Baker was the first to recoverhis voice. "And where," he demandedbluntly of the Squire, "is this man Haggartnow, sir, if you please?”

The Squire, a good deal thrown offhis stride by his daughter's disclosures,gazed at him in some perplexity. "Why,"

he said slowly after a moment, "he said hewas going to visit his sister. Yes, that wascertainly what he said." The perplexedfrown deepened upon his ruddy face. Helooked over at his wife. "My dear," hesaid, "did you ever hear that Haggart had asister?"

“Of course he hasn't a sister," Mrs.Rowntree said. "Or if he has,, she must bein Scotland. Perhaps that is it—though itdoes appear odd that he should go toScotland by way of Kent. It all seems verypeculiar—”

The Runners looked as if they foundit very pecu liar as well. Mr. Baker saidto Eugenia, regarding her grimly, "Andwhat were the names of these twofootmen, miss, if you please?"

“Charles," she said promptly.

"Charles and James." Everyone hadfootmen called Charles and James; thenames came automatically to her lips.

“Charles and James what?”She raised her brows in faint

hauteur. "Really, I have never troubled toenquire," said Miss Eugenia Liddiard,who knew the full names, familyconnexions, and domestic problems ofevery servant who had ever lived beneaththe same roof with her.

The Runners, put in their places,looked depressed; then the hoarse-voicedman suddenly began, pronouncing theformula as if hopeful that the familiarsound of it might lead him to some wayout of the mental maze in which he seemedto be wandering, "Interfering with ahofficer of the Law in the performance of

his dooty—"“Nonsense!" said the Squire

irritably. "No one is interfering with you,my man. My daughter has explained thematter to you very clearly. If you wish togo off to Tunbridge Wells and look forthese footmen of the Chandrosses', youmay certainly do so and nobody willinterfere with you in the least—thoughwhy you should take it into your heads tobelieve that Chandross would hire hisown cousin as a footman, and should alsohappen to have in his employ anotherfootman who could pass as his twin, isbeyond my understanding.”

He looked disgustedly at theRunners, who held a brief, mutteredcolloquy with each other, of whichEugenia could distinguish only the words

"Tunbridge Wells" and "diddled." Quiteplainly, they believed themselves to be thevictims of some conspiracy, but whom toaccuse among the five people confrontingthem, and of what, they obviously had notthe least idea.

There was nothing for it, itappeared, but for them to depart—a ratherhorrid fate just at that moment, for theheavens had now opened outside and asummer deluge was pouringenthusiastically down, blown by a gustywind and accompanied by occasionaldeafening thunderclaps. But neither theSquire nor his lady, although famous in theneighbourhood for their hospitality, tookpity upon the hapless minions of the Law,who vanished into the night with upturnedcoat collars and heads bent against the

wind.“Disgraceful!" said the Squire

wrathfully, as the door closed behindthem. "Makes a man wonder what thecountry is coming to, when they send suchfellows out to maintain the Law! As ifGerry Liddiard would be clothheadedenough to ride about the countrysideperched up upon a travelling chariot forany fool to gape at, when he knows everyLaw officer in the country is looking forhim!”

Muffet, who was feeling rather faintafter her heroics, looked at Eugenia, whosaid purposefully that she was tired andthought they should go upstairs at once tobed.

Chapter 13“So you see," Muffet said rather

helplessly as she and Eugenia, in dressinggowns and nightcaps, were at last alone inMuffet's comfortable bedchamber, seatedtogether upon the big fourposter drapedwith_ faded flowered worsted damask, "itwas the only thing I could think of to say;so I said it. And I did feel so dreadful,having to deceive Papa, but I couldn'tbetray Gerry—"

“No, of course you couldn't,Eugenia said warmly. "I think you didperfectly splendidly—far better than Icould have done, for my mind wentperfectly blank. Those two Runners mayvery well go off to Tunbridge Wells now,and that will at least give us time to turn

around and think what we are to do—”A knock fell upon the door.“That will be Tom, I expect,"

Muffet said, and slid down off the bed andran to let him in.

It was indeed Tom who entered theroom, looking flushed with excitement andquite undisturbed by the fact that bothMuffet and Eugenia were en deshabille.

“I say," he said immediately, "whatare we to do now? Had I best ride over tothe Dower House, do you think, and warnGerry that the Runners are on his trail?"

“Goodness, nor Eugenia said withdecision. "For all we know, those Runnersmay still be lurking somewhere about,waiting to see if we will do exactly that,and lead them straight to Gerry. We hadfar better go nowhere near the Dower

House just now.”Tom, who was obviously burning to

do something, looked dissatisfied, andsaid in that case what were they to do?

“Look for Captain MacGoff, ofcourse," said Eugenia promptly. "That isthe most important thing. Of course Muffetand I won't be of much use in that, becausewe can't go falling into conversation withpeople in the tap-room of the Swan orenquiring at that horrid little lodging-house in the High Street where he wasalways used to stay when he wasn't inLondon. So that will be all in your hands,Tom.”

She had by this time all but forgottenabout the embarrassing incident that hadtaken place earlier that evening among thepea-sticks, and was somewhat surprised

to see that Tom, instead of replying, wasgazing with what seemed a kind ofbemused attention at her sea-greendressing gown. This elegant garment wastrimmed with the same Brussels lace thatformed the ruffles of the delicatelyembroidered nightcap framing her face,from which her silky dark hair nowtumbled in loose ringlets down her back.Tom, of course, was quite accustomed toseeing her with her hair down her back—indeed, he had never seen her with it upuntil she had arrived at the Manor earlierthat day—but for some odd reason thesight of those masses of soft dark hair,taken in conjunction with a fetching andfa s hi onab l e negligee, now seemedsuddenly to impede his breathing, and hefound his thoughts whirling right away

from Will MacGoff and Bow StreetRunners and going back instead to thescene among the pea-sticks.

He could not remember exactlywhat had been said, because it hadseemed to him the height of absurdity atthe time that little Eugenia Liddiard hadbeen babbling about marriage; but now thescales, as it were, had fallen from his eyesand he saw that she was really not littleEugenia Liddiard at all, but a strangeyoung woman with an enchanting face anda lovely, supple figure, with her elegantlyrounded arms emerging from a foam oflace

“Tom!" Mullet's surprised voice cutthrough his dazzled reflections. "What inthe world is the matter with you? Didn'tyou hear what Eugenia said?”

Tom pulled himself together andsaid, more gruffly than was necessary, thatof course he had. A kind of exhilarationhad begun to replace the dazzle of thatmoment of revelation, but it wouldcertainly not do to let Muffet see it. Hismind began to plan in great satisfying,disconnected leaps how he would findMacGoff, frighten him into a confession,and bring him in triumph to the Runners,thus causing this new Eugenia to regardhim with admiration and gratitude. If hecould somehow manage in the process torescue her as well from persecution anddanger, life, he felt, would be whollyperfect.

Meanwhile, Eugenia and Mullet,disregarding him, had begun to plan theirown activities for the morrow, and had

decided to kill two birds with one stone—that is, to, lure the Runners away from theDower House in the event they were stilllingering in the neighbourhood and to helpRichard prove the legitimacy of his birth-by making a canvass of all the vicaragesand rectories in the vicinity in a search forthe record of a marriage between CharlesLiddiard and Susan Justis. To the Squireand Mrs. Rowntree they would merelyhave gone out for a long, rambling ridewith Tom, but actually the three of themwould part soon after they had left theManor, Tom to pursue his enquiries afterCapta in MacGoff in the village andEugenia and Mullet to make their owninvestigations among the ecclesiasticalrecords of the various churches in theneighbourhood.

“So that if the Runners decided tofollow us," Eugenia said, "instead ofgoing off to Tunbridge Wells to look forGerry there, they will be wasting theirtime, and Gerry and Richard will be quitesafe at the Dower House. I wish we mightwarn them that there are Runners downhere looking for them, but I expect it isn'tworth the risk, and I do think they will besensible enough not to show themselves inthe neighbourhood.”

So Tom, dismissed from Mullet'sbedchamber, went to his own to plansuitable heroics for the following day,which fortunately dawned clear and brightafter the evening's storm, so that noobjection was voiced by Mrs. Rowntreeto the expedition the young people hadplanned. Eugenia, in a fashionable blue

riding-dress and a hat with a jaunty littlefeather that quite completed Tom'sdazzlement, parted from the other two atthe foot of the lane that led to the highroad,and in a few minutes was galloping downa chalky lane bordered with speedwelland thrift in the direction of the villagesthat lay to the east of the Manor.

It had not occurred to her, when shehad formed her plan, that the making ofenquiries concerning a marriage that mightor might not have taken place betweenCharles Liddiard and Susan Justis morethan a quarter of a century before could benot only fruitless—she had been preparedfor that—but also fraught withconsiderable embarrassment. The name ofLiddiard was well-known in theneighbourhood, and even the most

reverend of gentlemen, she soondiscovered, was apt to be quite unable tocontain his curiosity as to the reason forher interest in his ecclesiastical records.Unfailingly polite and helpful thesegentlemen indubitably were—so polite, infact, that she was obliged to share thefamily luncheon of cold beef and ricepudding at one rectory and to endure whatamounted to a guided tour of the Church ofSt. Faith conducted by its vicar, whoinsisted upon her admiring the three largetable tombs with their knightly effigiesresting eternally under beautiful,crocketed, ogee-headed canopies:admirable examples, as he enthusiasticallyinformed her, of the workmanship of thelate Decorated period of the mid-fourteenth century.

But all these clerical gentlemenwere also obviously bursting to know whyMiss Eugenia Liddiard should be, so tospeak, quartering the county like a gamedog, searching for evidence of a marriagebetween a long-dead cousin and a youngwoman with whose name none of themwas familiar. It had been a quarter of acentury now since the Justises haddisappeared from Kent, and not one of thereverend gentlemen Eugenia met that dayhad been the incumbent in his particularparish for that long a period of time. Allany of them could tell her was that therewas no record of Charles Liddiard'shaving married anyone at all in his ownparticular church, and it was accordinglya disappointed Eugenia who kept herrendezvous with Muffet and Tom at the

foot of the lane leading to the Manor thatafternoon.

Her spirits were dampened the moreby the reports given by Muffet and Tom oftheir day's efforts. Muffet's enquiries haddrawn the same blank as had her own,while Tom's had been only slightly moresuccessful. He had heard, it was true, fromtwo separate sources that MacGoff hadrecently been seen in the neighbourhood,but neither of his informants had been ableto tell him where the elusive captain wasstaying. For all Tom knew, he mightalready have left Kent again, for he hadlast been observed driving a smartcurricle, with his groom up behind, alongthe road leading to Tunbridge Wells.

“Well, we shall simply be obligedto try again to morrow," Eugenia said,

endeavouring to keep up their spirits andher own; but it soon developed that eventhat might be somewhat difficult to do, forwhen they returned to the Manor theyfound Mrs. Rowntree in something of apucker over their protracted absence andfull of the matter of a social engagement towhich she had committed them during it.

“A young man named Walfordcalled while you were out," she was inhaste to tell them, "such a very agreeableyoung man, my dears!—and said he hadmade your acquaintance in London and,hearing from Lady Chandross that youwere both come down to Kent upon ashort visit, as he was just about to go upona visit to an uncle of his in theneighbourhood as well, he said heventured to ride over this morning and

enquire if you would attend a strawberry-party his uncle was giving tomorrow—Oh, I have not told you. He—the uncle,that is, to be sure—is Mr. Childrey, therector of St. Aldwyn's. Of course I haveheard of him for time out of mind, andhow it has come about that I have nevermet him I cannot think, only that we havenever had a great deal to do with that partof the county except when my poor mamawas alive, for her sister Lizzie lived inDymchurch for a great many years, youknow—”

By this time Mrs. Rowntree hadentangled herself so inextricably in themeanderings of her own words that shewas obliged to halt and consider whereshe had got to.

“Of course," she went on brightly

after a moment, "I told him you would bedelighted to accept his kind invitation,"and looked in some surprise at the threegloomy faces before her. "My dears," shesaid reprovingly, to Eugenia and Muffet,"I know you must be fagged to death withall your London gaieties, but, really, itwould have been quite uncivil to refuse,when Mr. Walford had ridden all the wayover here on purpose to invite you, And itwill not be in the least like a London ball,you know—only a few people, and theweather so delightful—”

Eugenia and Muffet, resigningthemselves to the inevitable, said ofcourse they would go, and had a fewexasperated words with each other lateron the subject of well-meaning parents.Still, they told each other, they could each

visit another rectory in the morning,before Mr. Walford's uncle's odiousstrawberry-party had to be attended, andEugenia said philosophically that at anyrate the Runners, if they were still in theneighbourhood, must be thoroughlymystified by their Peregrinations, andwere probably convinced by this time thatGerry must have sought sanctuary in achurch, as criminals had done in theMiddle Ages.

So on the following day, afteranother fruitless morning excursion,Eugenia arrayed herself in a charmingfrock of rose-pink cambric with doublescallop work around the hem, and Muffetdonned a somewhat less modish but verybecoming one of sprig muslin, and, eachhaving provided herself with a broad-

brimmed gypsy hat against the sun, theywere borne off from the Manor in theRowntrees' old-fashioned carriage. Tom,who had absolutely refused to accompanythem, though he had most kindly, hismother informed him, been included in theinvitation, had the intention of continuingin pursuit of Captain MacGoff, so that theafternoon, at any rate, was not to beentirely lost.

The rectory in which Mr. Walford'suncle, Mr. Childrey, had been placidlypursuing the even tenor of his ways forclose to forty years stood at the westernend of one of those Kentish villages inwhich time appeared to have stoppeds eve r a l hundred years before. Half-timbered houses smothered in summerflowers and greenery, an ancient inn with

minute windows peeping from beneath itsdeep, dark thatch, ducks sedately afloat ona small stream under a tiny bridge—alllay shining in summer sunlight andenfolded by the slow green sweep of thedowns.

The rectory itself was a drowsy-looking, red brick house set behind a lowbrick wall and wrought-iron gates, withenough of its original glebeland left to itthat its garden, bounded by a row of tall,clipped limes, sloped down to the stream,with an embanking wall topped by a flatstone parapet from which one couldagreeably observe the incredibly peacefulflow of the green-shaded water below.

Young Mr. Walford, on the watchfor them, led them into the house, whichwas quite as serene within as it was

without, all shining old wood and fadedChinese wallpaper, and introduced themto the rector. Mr. Childrey was a tall, thin,courteous gentleman with silvery hair,who looked as if he must have beenchosen for his post because his peaceful,elderly house needed a peaceful, elderlyclergyman to complete its perfection; butactually he had been a young and ratherdashing bachelor when he had first cometo St. Aldwyn's, and it had taken him all offorty years to attain his present suitability.

“How do you do, my dear?" he saidto Eugenia, as he took her hands gently inhis. "I knew your father, you know. Such ahandsome young man! Of course that wasmany, many years ago. And so you andPerry are to—"

“No, no, Uncle!" Mr. Walford's

strangled, horrified voice interrupted him.Eugenia, seeing at once that Mr. Childrey,to whom, as to many absentmindedpeople, past, present, and future are asone, had leapt to the conclusion that whathe had no doubt heard discussed as apossibility for the future was already afait accompli, almost had the giggles, andMr. Walford went on babblingincoherently, rapidly introducing severalunrelated subjects into the conversation,all of which had the virtue of having noconnexion whatever with a projectedmarriage between himself and MissEugenia Liddiard.

On this flood of words he got herand Muffet out of the house and his uncle'spresence, leading them to join a smallgroup of ladies and gentlemen who were

already wandering through the well-tended strawberry-beds and regalingthemselves with the sun-warmed fruit.There was, Mr. Walford babbled on, to bea cold collation set out in the dining room,as it was such a very warm day, though ithad originally been the plan to pic-nicunder the limes, but in the meanwhilewould they care to taste the strawberries?Eugenia, with her usual excellent appetite,s a i d they most certainly would, and,having been provided with a small basketand an introduction to the other ladies andgentlemen, was soon absorbed into theparty and would have enjoyed herselfthoroughly if she had been able to free hermind from its nagging worry aboutRichard and Gerald.

Ought one of them, she wondered,

she or Tom or Muffet, cease being so verycautious and ride over to the DowerHouse to see how matters wereprogressing there? After all, the Runnershad apparently vanished from theneighbourhood; nothing had been seen orheard of them since they had gone out intothe storm that evening from the Manor.Most probably they were in TunbridgeWells now, searching for a pair of elusivetwin footmen; perhaps they had even goneto London. She really must, she felt, havesome word soon with the two young menand reassure them that the search forMacGoff was being diligently pursued, orone or both of them might grow impatientand be led into doing something rash.

A voice at her elbow suddenlyinterrupted her thoughts.

“Miss Liddiard?" It was young Mr.Walford, very pink in countenance, eitheras a result of picking strawberries in thehot sun or from some inward disturbanceof mind. "May I—may I have a word withyou?" he enquired, his face now emulatinga whole sunset as he brought out therequest. "It is—it is perhaps a little cooler—there—”

He indicated the low parapetoverlooking the little stream at the end ofthe garden. Eugenia looked at him, herinitial surprise giving way to interest.

“Good gracious, I do believe hemeans to make me an offer!" she thought,quite without either the triumph or theperturbation that a well-brought-up younglady ought to have left under thecircumstances. "How very odd he does

look, to be sure!”She wondered if she ought to tell

him at once that she really did not wish tomarry him and put him out of the mentalagony that was now turning his suffusedcountenance almost purple; but that hardlyseemed feasible, since he had not as yetasked her and there were several peoplein the vicinity who would infalliblyoverhear every word she said. So shefollowed him docilely down the garden tothe parapet, seated herself upon it, andwaited kindly for him to speak.

Nothing happened. Had she beenable to read his mind, she would haveknown that young Mr. Wal ford wasfrenziedly debating within himselfwhether he ought to: a) sit down on theparapet beside her; b ) cast himself

immediately upon his knees before her; orc) remain upon his feet and launch, in thedignified manner of a Member ofParliament rising in debate before hiscolleagues, into his subject.

As she was not gifted with any suchesoteric powers of divination, however,she merely wondered why in the world hedid not get on with it, and meanwhileleaned over to watch with interest agoggle-eyed fish steer himself through theclear brown water and rise just in time toseize an unwary fly that had descendeddangerously close to the surface. It wasvery warm and still in this part of thegarden, with the voices of the other guestscoming distantly through the sun-filled airand the water flowing gently by below, theonly movement in this enchanted

landscape. A Sleeping Beauty sort oflandscape, Eugenia, not ordinarily givento poetic fancies, found herself thinking;only poor Mr. Wal ford was certainly notthe Prince to awaken one. She leaned over—the wall was low, the little stream veryclose, and she could just trail her hand inthe gentle brown water.

“Oh, Miss Liddiard!" said Mr.Walford suddenly, galvanised into speechby the romantic sight of a young lady in aremarkably pretty frock and a broad-brimmed hat tied with pink ribbonstrailing her hand in a very picturesquestream; and he put his whole soul into thewords. "Oh, Miss Liddiard!”

Eugenia looked up at himenquiringly. The next moment, to herentire surprise, for she had certainly not

expected anything so romantic from youngMr. Walford, he had got down on bothknees before her and was ferventlyclasping her hands in his.

“Oh, Miss Liddiard!" hepronounced again, as if intoxicated by thesound of her name. "Eugenia!" (That, itseemed, was even better.) "Will you bemine? Will you be my wife?" And then hespoiled everything by addingconscientiously, "I have Lord Chandross'spermission to pay my addresses to youEugenia, who had surprised herself themoment before by experiencing an odd,almost terrifying, but certainly exhilaratingsensation somewhere inside her—was itbecause in the sun-dazzle, the shiftingdapple of leaves on his form, it wasalmost possible to imagine that it was not

Mr. Walford, but someone else, someonehidden behind all that golden shimmer oflight, who was speaking those words toher?—came back to reality at the sound ofLord Chandross's name and saidpractically that Lord Chandross really hadnothing to do with it.

“He'd say I could marry anyone, solong as he wasn't too disgraceful a personto have at Mere," she said. "Do get up,Perry. Of course we shall always be verygood friends, but I couldn't marry you."

“Why not?" demanded Mr. Walford,stung into practicality himself by this kindbut exceedingly firm refusal. He got upand brushed off the knees of his fawn-coloured breeches. " I think we shoulddeal extremely well.”

Eugenia said, still kindly but with

the slightest hint of impatience, no, theywouldn't.

“I don't see why not," Mr. Walfordargued, though perhaps with a feeling onhis own side that she might just possiblybe right, for a young lady who couldreceive one's offer of marriage so verycoolly was certainly not what one hadbeen thinking of when one had gazedspell-bound at the picture she hadpresented a few moments before in herrose-pink frock and wide-brimmed hat."There isn't anyone else—is there?" heenquired, with sudden jealous suspicion.

Eugenia began to say scornfully, ofcourse not, and then stopped. The wordsdied on her lips, and as she sat gazing atMr. Walford his sturdy form seemed tomelt and dissolve in the sun-dazzle and

she was looking at someone else—a tallfigure, a bronzed face with heavy-liddedblack eyes beneath strongly markedbrows. "Oh, n o w I know!" everythinginside her seemed to rise to tell her, witha certainty that took her breath away; andPerry Walford, gazing at her, thought thather eyes were like stars and, forgetting hermisconduct of a few moments ago, askedher to marry him all over again.

“No, Perry, I can't. Really I can't,"Eugenia said, but more kindly now,although in an odd, distrait way, it seemedto him.

She turned away from him again andlooked down at the water. Mr. Walford,feeling that he had been dismissed,swallowed once or twice, tried withoutsuccess to say something more, and after a

few moments went disconsolately away.Eugenia continued to sit gazing at thewater. A pair of ducks paddled sedatelyby, and the sun went behind a large whitecloud for a moment and then came outagain as brightly as before. She had thefeeling of being in a dream in which thefamiliar landscape of her life hadsuddenly became a place into which shehad never ventured before and in whichmagical possibilities and griefs lay onevery side. Griefs because of courseRichard did not love her and no doubtconsidered her only as a rather tiresomegi r l who had meddled in his life withdisastrous results;but one could not haveeverything. What one had was the joy ofknowing love.

A voice spoke beside her,

interrupting her thoughts just as PerryWalford's had interrupted them a shorttime before.

“My dear Miss Liddiard, sittinghere all alone? This will not do." It wasMr. Childrey. He sat down beside her,smiling his gentle, absent smile at her."We are all about to go into the house nowand have some real food," he said to her."Sun-warmed strawberries are all verywell, but hardly sustaining fare, I fear. Ihope you are enjoying yourself?" heenquired a trifle anxiously.

Eugenia said she was enjoyingherself very much, and then, her mind stillfull of Richard, was beginning to considerif she had best take advantage now ofbeing at St. Aldwyn's to enquire of Mr.Childrey whether a marriage had ever

been performed there between CharlesLiddiard and Susan Justis, when theRector startled her by himself saying in amild, reminiscent tone, "I married yourfather and your mother, you know. Dear,dear, how many years ago that was, andwhat a very handsome pair they were! Ithought with no little pleasure, I assureyou, when Perry introduced me to you thisafternoon, .what felicitous fruit that unionhad borne—”

He broke off, seeing that Eugeniawas gazing at him with a perfectlydumbfounded expression upon her face.

“But—but—" she stammered after amoment, "you couldn' t have! MarriedPapa and Mama, that is. They weremarried in London, at St. George's, Hanover Square. Oh, Mr. Childrey, tell me

quickly—are y o u qu i t e sure it wasn'tCharles Liddiard you married, and notWalter?”

Mr. Childrey, looking a good dealperplexed by this sudden, urgent appeal,coming upon him so unexpectedly out ofthe drowsy, sun-filled afternoon, appearedto consider the matter.

“Dear me," he said after a moment,"I really cannot say, my dear child. I tookit for granted, of course, when Perry firstmentioned your name, that you were thedaughter of the Mr. Liddiard who ownedCoverts—"

“Yes, I am!" Eugenia said earnestly."But you reall y couldn' t have marriedhim, Mr. Childrey, so it must have beensome other Liddiard. Could it have beenhis cousin Charles, do you think? He was

married twenty-six years ago, and wethink it was somewhere in Kent—but itwill all be in the church records, won't it?Oh, Mr. Childrey, could we go and see?”

She had jumped up and stood beforehim, her face imploring and vivid withexcitement. Mr. Childrey looked moreperplexed than ever.

“To be sure," he said. "Mywretched memory—I really do not recallwhether the young man's name wasCharles or Walter, my dear. We shallcertainly look at the register presently, ifyou like—but, as you see, I cannot desertmy guests just at this moment.”

He had risen too now, and wasoffering her his arm to escort her back tothe house; there was nothing for it but forher to accompany him; and then to sit

through what was, to her, an interminableperiod, sipping orgeat and nibbling at theexcellent cakes and aspics andsandwiches that were offered her, butwhich might have been made of sawdust,for all she knew. Her mind was seethingwith mingled dread and jubilation—dreadthat the marriage of a gentleman namedLiddiard at St. Aldwyn's might be nothingbut a figment of Mr. Childrey's erraticmemory, jubilation over the possibilitythat she might soon be able to presentproof of his legitimacy to Richard and,with that proof, the ownership of Coverts.

At the other side of the room PerryWalford, who seemed to be taking herrejection of his suit with someunderstandable sulkiness, was beingsolaced by Muffet, to whom he had

blurted out the whole story, and who, as aheroine-worshipper of Eugenia herself,was quite ready to sympathise with hisfeelings. They really would make anexcellent pair, Eugenia thought, observingthe manner in which Muffet's blue eyesrested consolingly and yet somehowhopefully upon her companion's face, and,w i th the wish of a new lover to pusheveryone else into his or her own state,she formed a resolution, in the tiny cornerof her mind that was not alreadypreoccupied with greater concerns, to doeverything in her power to see to it thatyoung Mr. Walford had every opportunityto pursue his latent interest in thatdirection.

At last the moment she had beenwaiting for arrived: the final guest had

taken his departure, and Mr. Childrey, hisduties as host now accomplished, wasfree to institute a search through therecords of a quarter century past for thename of Charles Liddiard.

“I remember it all quite well, yousee—only not the name, the Christianname, that is," he told a breathlesslyexpectant Eugenia as his thin hands turnedthe dusty pages of the register in whichKentish couples who were nowgrandparents had hopefully inscribed theirnames. "Such a splendid-looking youngwoman, only in a state of some agitation,i t seemed—not that that was not quitenormal under the circumstances—aspecial licence, a runaway match, onecould not but suspect. Still, everythingwas quite regular, so that one could not

refuse to perform the ceremony—Ah, herewe are!”

His thin finger pointed to a pair offaded signatures—one bold and dashing,the other painstaking and tremulous—uponthe brittle page. Charles Frederick NormsLiddiard. Susan Elizabeth Justis.

“Exactly so!" said Mr. Childreytriumphantly. "I knew I could not bemistaken." He turned to Eugeniasolicitously, observing her brimming eyes."But, my dear child, you are not crying?"

“Oh yes, I am!" said Eugenia,horrified by her own weakness, but toofilled with exultant joy at her discovery tocare. "But it is only because I am sohappy! Oh, Mr. Childrey, you wi l l takevery good care of that book—won't you?Because, you see, such a great, great deal

depends upon it!”

Chapter 14 In the same golden late-afternoon

heat that enveloped the rectory of St.Aldwyn's, the Dower House drowsed tothe hum of bees and the rustle of a faintbreeze in the Spanish chestnuts. Upstairsin her bedchamber Lady Brassborough,who had concocted a plan of her ownwhich she had not as yet communicated toher two guests, having but a poor opinionof the discretion of young men, was beingassisted by Hoe ense, her ancient dresser,into a toilette that was warranted toastound all beholders, consisting of acrimson brocade gown, a turban ofc r i ms o n satin shot with gold andembellished with a plume of curledostrich feathers, a tinsel shawl, spangled

Spanish slippers, and the Pontowskiemeralds, which mounted her majesticbosom in heavy splendour to fall in anunbelievable cascade to her nonexistentwaist. Her magnificent dark eyes werealight with mischief, and her wide, mobilemouth had put off skepticism for themoment and was slightly primmed in anexpression of satisfaction.

In the large saloon below, RichardLiddiard, bored with elegant confinement,turned the pages of a novel and thought ofa long, exhilarating gallop over thedowns. He had just won several thousandpounds from Gerald at picquet—a purelyacademic debt, however, as both werepenniless and had not the slightestexpectation of receiving funds from anysource. Gerald, even more bored with life

than was Richard, had said he was goingupstairs to his bedchamber and sleep untilit was time for dinner, but instead he hadwandered out of the house.

Most unwisely, it seemed. It wasdifficult to imagine, in the goldensomnolence of these bucolic surroundings,that danger might be lurking among theSpanish chestnuts or crouching behind therhododendrons; but, even as Geraldstrolled aimlessly along the terrace, it wassoon to appear that eyes were upon him.Once, twice, he traversed its length, and ifhe had not been half asleep while hewalked, filled with a daze of summerwarmth and silence and boredom, hewould not doubt have noted the stealthywaving of a bush that no vagrant breezehad set in motion, and glimpsed the

shadow of a figure slipping noiselessly,when his back was turned, from one pointof cover to another.

Mr. Baker, of Bow Street, wasfamous—though of this Gerald washappily unaware—for the Pounce withwhich he frequently captured his unwaryvictims.

Gerald reached the end of theterrace and turned again. The sun was nowdirectly in his eyes; he half closed them,squinting against its golden flood ofbrilliance, and on the instant was seizedfrom behind by a powerful grip.

“Got him!" said Mr. Baker's voicein a grunt of satisfaction.

He held on grimly as Gerald,gathering his bemused senses to arealisation of the attack, twisted violently

in his grasp in an attempt to free himself;but the effort was in vain. A second figurehad already sprung from thosesuspiciously waving bushes and Mr.Cartwright, coming nimbly to hiscolleague's assistance, had in a momentreached their prey from behind and pinnedhis arms firmly to his sides.

“Got him!" he repeated Mr. Baker'swords, while Mr. Baker, drawing a pairof manacles from his pocket, clapped themdexterously upon Gerald's wrists.

“In the name of the Law, I arrestyou, Gerald Liddiard, for the wilfulmurder of Josiah Slook!" said Mr. Baker,panting slightly from his exertions. "And agood job, too!" he added, in justifiableself-congratulation.

Gerald, very pale, was beginning

upon a furious but somewhat inarticulateprotest when his voice was suddenlysuspended. He was gazing at the frontdoor of the Dower House, and the twoRunners, glancing up sharply to see whatit was that had engaged his attention,found themselves staring at what wasapparently the double of the man they nowheld in their clutches. The apparition, whostill held an elegantly bound novel in onehand, with a finger between the leaves tomark the place where he had given overreading, advanced towards the group onthe terrace in a leisurely manner.

“My dear boy," he said to Gerald,raising black brows over what seemed tothe two astonished Runners a pair ofremarkably quelling, heavy-lidded eyes,"what is this? Some jest, I imagine? But in

rather poor taste, it would appear to me.”The two Runners, each still grasping

one of Gerald's arms, gazed at each otherin open dismay. Quite obviously theywere furiously debating within themselvesthe question of whether they ought torelease their present captive and seize thisnew arrival upon the scene; but as the newarrival showed no signs of wishing toescape from them, and on the contraryappeared to have every intention ofremaining where he was, they came to amutual determination to retain the bird inthe hand rather than endeavour to capturethe one in the bush and maintained theirhold upon Gerald.

Gerald himself, who had perceivedin a moment the game that Richard meantto play, prudently remained silent, leaving

it to the Runners to make the next move.It was Mr. Baker who spoke. "And

who might you be, sir?" he enquiredcautiously of Richard, standing ready, as itwere, to act upon information received.

The strongly marked black browswent up again.

“Do you know," drawled Richard,"I believe I might far more properly putthat question to you—as well asdemanding why you have seen fit to clap apair of manacles upon a gentleman who isa guest in this house. I have no doubt thatLady Brassborough will be most seriouslydisturbed by such an occurrence Mr.Baker, looking somewhat abashed but stilldetermined, said they were Bow StreetRunners and had a lawful warrant for thearrest of one Gerald Liddiard.

“One Gerald Liddiard," Richardr e p e a te d thoughtful ly. " O n e GeraldLiddiard. Are there two, then?”

Mr. Baker and Mr. Cartwrightlooked at each other, baffled.

“No two Ge r a l d Liddiards, incourse," Mr. Baker said then, surrenderingto the obvious, but still with bulldogdetermination. "But one of you twogentlemen is him, and which of you it is Imean to find out."

“Well, you won't find out from me,"Richard said. "And as you haven't a pairof warrants on you, I suggest you had bestlet this gentleman go until you makecertain which of us it is that you want.And, by the bye, you know, the fact is thatyou really don't want either of us. Thatmurder was committed not by Gerald

Liddiard, but by one—and I do mean one—Captain Will MacGoff, riding GeraldLiddiard's mare and wearing GeraldLiddiard's coat. Owing to thosecircumstances, Lord Barnstaple'sidentification was somewhat at fault.”

But this red herring—for so theRunners appeared to consider it—didnothing to turn them from their intention ofarresting Gerald Liddiard. Mr. Baker,with an air of patent disbelief, said thatwas all very well, but their warrant saidGerald Liddiard, not Will MacGoff, andGerald Liddiard it was that they intendedto have, if they had to obtain theidentification from Lady Brassboroughherself.

“By all means, then, ask her,"Richard said placidly. "I doubt very much

that she will be happy to receive you, andI doubt even more that she will be able totell you which of us is Gerald Liddiard,but by all means put the question to her, ifyou must. I should advise you, though, toremove those unpleasant-lookingmanacles from this gentleman's wristsbefore you go inside. Lady Brassboroughis a remarkably broad-minded woman, buteven she is not likely to take kindly to thesight of one of her guests in thiscondition.”

But this was something that Mr.Baker could by no means be prevailedupon to do. He had succeeded in placingat least one possible Gerald Liddiard horsde combat, and, taking into considerationthe size and muscularity of the other, hehad no inclination to place himself and his

colleague at what was certain to be adisadvantage if his prisoner were free touse his fists as well.

So Gerald, to his deep annoyance,was obliged to enter the Dower House inhis manacled state under the unblinkingand incurious eyes of Matthieu, the ancientbutler, who had lived so long and seen somany things that he would have shown anequal lack of surprise if the Prince Regenthad been ushered in in a similar statebetween a pair of warders.

“Priez Madame la baronne, s'ilvous plait, a venir ici," said Gerald, whohad learned that Matthieu would respondto his very bad French far better than tothe most painstakingly uttered English.

Matthieu said, "Oui, monsieur," andobligingly moved towards the staircase;

but at that moment Lady Brassboroughherself, in all the startling splendour ofcrimson brocade, ostrich plumes, andenormous emeralds, appeared at its headand peered down upon the strange littleassemblage below.

“Hortense! Hortense!" she calledher dresser in stentorian tones. Theancient little dresser scuttled into view."Bring me," commanded LadyBrassborough, "my face-a-main. My eyes,it seems, are not what they were. Is thatyoung man in manacles, Hortense?"

“Oui, madame," confirmed thedresser, squinting down at the groupbelow.

“Im-possible!" said LadyBrassborough, in the tones she hademployed in her memorable farewall

performance, when she had essayed, forthe first and only time in her career, therole of Lady Macbeth. She began todescend the stairs in a slow and menacingmanner. Mr. Baker and Mr. Cartwrightv i s i b l y quailed, and Richard lookedappreciative and amused. Decidedly,there was no need to fear that LadyBrassborough would not take her cue andgive a performance calculated to renderthe greatest possible benefit to her twoyoung guests in the way of confusing anddaunting the unwelcome Runners. "What,"she enquired, when she had accomplishedthe stair-descending performance withmaximum effect and had placed herselfdirectly before the now highly flushed Mr.Baker, "what, if I may enquire, is themeaning of this, my good man?”

Richard and Gerald remainingmaliciously silent, Mr. Baker was obligedto answer the question himself.

“If you please, my lady—" hebegan, in an unhappy voice.

“Wait!" commanded LadyBrassborough. She held up one hand in adramatic gesture. The little dresser,scuttling down the stairs to her, handedher her face-a-main, which LadyBrassborough raised to her magnificentdark eyes, surveying Mr. Baker and hiscolleague through it with mercilessintentness. She then slowly lowered it andsaid in an even more imperious tone,"Continue!”

Mr. Baker swallowed; his Adam'sapple jumped convulsively.

“Yes, my lady," he said obediently.

"Well, you see, my lady, it was like this.In the execution of our dooty, weapprehended a cove—a gentleman—wetake to be Gerald Liddiard, wanted formurder and highway robbery—"

“You have the wrong man," LadyBrassborough said instantly.

“The wrong man?" Mr. Baker's eyesleapt triumphantly to Richard's face; hetook an involuntary step in his direction.

“The wrong man," LadyBrassborough repeated severely. "Theman you should have arrested in thismatter, my good idiot, is Captain WillMacGoff. He will be arriving hereshortly, and you may then proceed to theexecution of your dooty, as you call it, andarrest him."

“Arriving here!" The exclamation

came simultaneously from Richard andGerald, and Gerald atonce continued, in atone of incredulous jubilation, "Do youmean to say you've found him then, LadyB.? By God, you are a Trojan!"

“Of course I have found him," saidLady Brassborough complacently. "It wasnot at all difficult. I merely allowed thenotion to get about that I had heard he wasin the neighbourhood and that I was piningto see him again, and of course he hastaken the bait, the silly juggins! We haveexchanged billets-doux, and he will behere within the half hour.”

Precisely how she had "allowed thenotion to get about" she did not say; itmight have been presumed to present somedifficulties, as there had been no visitorsto the Dower House since her two young

guests had arrived there, nor had sheherself gone out; but then there are alwaysdeliveries made, and butchers' boys cancarry a tale through a village as rapidlyand efficiently as a fire runs through atinder-dry forest.

At any rate, neither Richard norGerald was inclined to enquire into hermethods at the moment, while the Runners,much confused by the turn events weretaking, stood consulting each other withtheir eyes and wishing in a somewhatcowardly way that they had not beenclever enough to capture Gerald Liddiardafter all, since in the first place itappeared that it would take the wisdom ofa Solomon to discover if he really wasGerald Liddiard, and in the second place,it might not be Gerald Liddiard they

wanted in the first place.“Meanwhile," Lady Brassborough

was saying to Mr. Baker in her imperiousvoice, "you may remove F those repellentgyves from this gentleman's wrists, andthen we shall all go and sit down andmake our plans. I do think we ought tohave a plan, so much simpler in the longrun, though if one leaves things tothemselves they often sort themselves outin the most extraordinary way. Do get onwith it now, my good man!" she addedwith some severity, as Mr. Baker merelystood staring at her in a bemused fashion."MacGoff will be here very shortly!”

Mr. Baker, recognising the voice ofauthority, gave it up and unlocked themanacles.

“Good!" said Lady Brassborough.

"And now come along.”She led the way into the saloon,

where Mr. Cartwright, quite bewilderedby its grandeur of crimson and gold, triedto take Wellington's chair when invited tosit down, and was rewarded by beingbitten, though fortunately, as he waswearing buckskins, not through to theflesh.

“And now," said LadyBrassborough, gathering the indignantWellington into her arms and seatingherself in a large fauteuil like an empressupon her throne, "to business. I take it thatyou two gentlemen"—she turned uponMessrs. Baker and Cartwright thebrilliant, mischievous dark eyes withwhich Meg Morvin had lured the heartsfrom the breasts of their fathers in the

gallery of Drury Lane Theatre a generationago, and they at once fell down,metaphorically speaking, at her feet—"Itake it that you are interested inapprehending the man who shot LordBarnstaple's coachman on the Bath Roadin the course of a highway robbery. Butfi r s t, you see, we must have properevidence that he did it, which is why I amabout to form a plan. I have had a greatmany ideas on the subject, because whenone has acted in as many plays as I have,plots are really six for a penny, so tospeak. But it seems to me that the best,now that you are most providentially hereas representatives of the Law, would bethe one in The Deceiver Deceived. Areyou familiar with the piece? No? Then Ishall tell you all about it.”

And her ladyship, to the intensebewilderment of her auditors, proceededto unfold for them a highly complicatedstory of intrigue in high life, the salientpoint of which appeared to be theconcealment of various persons, Bolusand in groups, behind a large screen,whence they popped out at inconvenientmoments upon the other players as theyengaged in clandestine activities, most ofthem having to do with the tender passion.

“Of course, no one is in love withanyone here," Lady Brassborough said,looking from one to the other of theRunners rather accusingly, they felt, as ifconvicting them of dereliction of dutyupon this point, "though I daresayMacGoff may pretend to be, as he may notquite have given over hope of prevailing

upon me to marry him. But the point is thatwe do have the screen"—and she pointedtriumphantly towards a very large Chineseone, full of polite mandarins and sloe-eyed ladies—"and so you may all hidebehind it while I lure MacGoff into adamaging admission. I am very good atluring," said her ladyship with somepride, "though I must say I have neverattempted it in a criminal case before thistime. And then you may pop out at theproper moment and arrest him 'in theexecution of your dooty,' as you say, andnot trouble Gerald any longer.

The Runners again gazed at eachother in helpless dismay. It was obviousthat they understood little of the "plan" thatLady Brassborough had unfolded to them,and, indeed, neither was quite sure at the

moment that he was not being dragoonedinto taking part in some sort of theatricalperformance, staged for purposes of herown by the gorgeously eccentric ladyseated opposite them.

But all thought of revolt against thevery peculiar program that was beingdrawn up for them was put out of thequestion the next moment by the sound of ajaunty rat-tat-tat abruptly sounding uponthe knocker of the front door.

“There he is now!" exclaimed LadyBrassborough, springing to her feet withan agility that belied her age and bulk."Quick, quick, all of you—behind thescreen!”

The two Runners, to their intensediscomfiture, found themselves beingherded, as if by a large and energetic

sheep dog, behind the tall Chinese screen,where they were rapidly joined, in ratherclose quarters, by Gerald and Richard.

“And not a sound, mind you," LadyBrassborough admonished them, "or youwill spoil everything. Wellington, mydarling, no, no, no!" These last wordswere addressed to the pug, who,apparently feeling that the unfortunate Mr.Cartwright was attempting to escapewithout suitable chastisement for his act oftrespass, was engaged in a vigorous attackupon his boots, accompanied by furiousgrowls. "This nice man is going to be agreat help to us," said Lady Brassborough,gathering Wellington up reprovingly, "soyou must n o t bite him. You may biteCaptain MacGoff, if you like, because he—Oh, here he is now!" She looked up,

beaming, as a tall, coarse-looking,powerfully built man of about forty, in acoat of vaguely military cut, strode intot h e saloon, putting aside the protestingMatthieu, who was vainly endeavouring toannounce him in a properly formalmanner. "Will MacGoff," she said,looking up into his broadly grinning face,"I have just been telling Wellington that hemay bite you if he likes, because it hasbeen such ages since you have been to seeme! And now sit down and tell meeverything you have been doing, younaughty, naughty man!”

She seated herself invitingly upon acrimson satin tete-a-tete.

The Captain, who was regarding thefabulous flow of emeralds over her amplecrimson brocade facade with cupidity

gleaming brightly in his rather small eyes,promptly seated himself beside her.

Chapter 15 To the four eavesdroppers crowded

together behind the Chinese screen, thehalf hour that followed was, to say theleast, an extraordinary and somewhatunnerving experience. Few men have beenprivileged to be observers—or at leastauditors, for none of them could see overor around the screen—of a courting scenebetween a full-blooded military gentlemano f uncertain respectability and a lady ofripe years, vast experience, and quiteuninhibited manners. An initialembarrassment was the first reaction allaround: the two Runners stared woodenlystraight before them, earnestly refrainingfrom meeting each other's eyes; Geraldgrinned uncomfortably; and Richard

looked more than ordinarily detached.But human nature is human nature,

and as the Captain grew more ardent andthe lady more coy, four pairs of earsgradually liberated themselves fromgentlemanly scruples about eavesdroppingupon private conversations andconcentrated with an unabashed interestupon that scene of small scuffles, knuckle-rapping fans, and occasional heavybreathing ( the Captain) and full-throatedchuckles (Lady Brassborough) comingtantalisingly to them from beyond thescreen.

“No, no, n o , you bold, wickedcreature!" That was Lady Brassborough:Meg Morvin's famous alto tones, full oflaughter and what Mr. Baker and Mr.Cartwright, reading behind the negatives,

correctly characterised to themselves as"come-hither." "You forgot yourself, sir! Ihave promised nothing!"

“Ah, but your letter, most dear lady—your lovely letter!" That was theCaptain, naturally, in ardently cajolingIrish. "I have it here!"—and there was amuffled thump, indicating, no doubt, theCaptain's attack upon that part of hisrobust anatomy, probably his chest, wherethe missive in question was to beunderstood to lie hidden. "Didn't you askme to come round here yourself, and didn'tyou say it might be to my advantage? Anddidn't you say, moreover, that it might beto your advantage as well? Tell me then,what could be more to both of ouradvantages than the two of us gettingriveted? You'll have a fine, strong,

handsome husband, and I'll have a finearmful for a cold night—”

Here a sharp, but scarcely violentslap and the sound of a satisfied guffawreached the ears of the fascinatedeavesdroppers, and the Captain's voicesaid, "Ah, it's a woman of spirit you are,Lady B.!"

“I am," came Lady Brassborough'svoice, with more than a little of MegMorvin's lilting Irish in it in return. "Andit's a man of spirit I'd be wedding, WillMacGoff, not some poor creature with nomore life in him than to be sitting tame bythe fire, without so much as a lark or ajolly prank in him! Ah, my poorBrassborough, now—there was a roaringboy for you! Many a time we set Paris bythe ears, the two of us, before these cruel

wars came on—yes, and Lisbon andVienna, too, if it comes to that—"

“And couldn't we do it again, thetwo of us?" demanded the Captain—"forit's to the Continent be taking you, m'dear,as soon as we'd be wed. I've had enoughof England, if you'd know the truth—it'sno place for a man of my talents. Listen,now, listen." The Captain's voice becamelow and urgent. "I've the loan of a yachtfrom a friend of mine—a decent boat,crew and all—and she's to take me toAntwerp on the Friday. Say the word andwe go together. We can be married themoment we set foot on land—"

“Dear boy, you are going far toofast!" Lady Brassborough's voice,accompanied by a series of short, furiousbarks from Wellington, who apparently

shared in this opinion. The Captain swore."Shocking!" said Lady Brassborough,reprovingly. "Before ladies, or at leastone lady—for I am a lady, you know, bycourtesy of poor Brassborough."

“The brute bit me," the Captainmuttered sulkily.

“Did he?" said Lady Brassboroughcomfortably. "The dear dog has moresense than a Christian. Of course hedoesn't care for you flying at me in thatalarming way, as if you were about to eatme up! Here—have my handkerchief.”

And then there was the sound, forthe four enthralled eavesdroppers behindthe screen, of a great clashing of emeraldsand a sort of whalelike upheaval on thetéte-à-téte, which meant that LadyBrassborough was hunting amongst her

draper ies and appurtenances for herreticule.

“Now," she went on presently, "thati s much, much better, isn't it? Such a tinyscratch to be making such a to-do over,and you a soldier! Were you neverwounded, then, in all the grand battles youwere in?”

This, as Gerald, at least, who waswell-acquainted with the Captain, knew,was good for a round quarter hour ofhighly coloured description of severalperfectly apocryphal feats of valourperformed by that gentleman in the courseof his military career; and he groaned inspirit at the thought of being obliged toremain cooped up in their airless coverton this very hot afternoon while theCaptain's reminiscences ran their course.

Mr. Baker and Mr. Cartwright hadobviously indulged liberally in onionsduring their midday meal; Richard'selbow was in the small of his back; and hewas obliged to stifle a ferocious andpersistent desire to sneeze, brought on, nodoubt, by the knowledge that it would bequite fatal to all their plans for him to doso.

“God bless Lady Brassborough!" hethought gratefully, as the determineddowager cut ruthlessly into her militarywooer's imaginative reminiscences andsaid that was all very well, but that hadbeen in his grasstime, when he had beenyoung and full of juice, and she had nodoubt that what he liked best to do nowwas to sit by the fire and tell lies about hisformer exploits.

“Now Brassborough, the dearcreature," she said, "never lost his élan, ifyou have the least idea what that means.Do you know what he did just the yearbefore he died, when we were in St.Petersburg?—God knows why, I meanwhy we were in Petersburg, for it was ascold as hell would be if they turned thetemperature in the other direction downthere. Well, it happened that he sat downto play with one of those Russian princes—not Pontowski, and you may keep yourgreedy eyes off my emeralds!—and therewas some bobbery with the cards. Nothingthat Brassborough could prove, mind you,but he was determined to have his moneyback. So the next time his Russian friendwas foolish enough to travel by night helay in wait for him and held him up, mask

and all, like an English highwayman, andtook enough from him to make up hislosses—”

Behind the screen Gerald andRichard had stiffened to attention at thisaudacious plagiarism of the Captain's ownactivities upon the Bath Road. If theCaptain, they thought, would rise to thebait-1 The Captain rose.

“By the powers, and didn't I do thesame thing myself not a month back," hesaid boastfully, "when that sneaksbyBarnstaple fuzzed the cards on me in afriendly game? Tried to put the change onme, the blackguard, but no man hascontrived to do that vet to Will MacGoff! Icaught him out on the Bath Road—maskand pistols, just as you say—and had myfair dues of him."

“Barnstaple? On the Bath Road?"Lady Brassborough's voice soundedperfectly calm but not averse to beingimpressed. "So it was you who wasb e hi nd that business! But you wentBrassborough one better there, I think.Wasn't there a man killed in that littleaffair? You're a dangerous man, WillMacGoff!”

The Captain said complacently thathe believed he was. "A fellow gets usedto a little blood," he said, "when he's beenin as many battles as I've seen, m'dear. Ofcourse, I'd no intention of going so far inthat business—not the same as war, or thefield of honour, you know! If that clumsyfool of a coachman hadn't frightened myhorse—sheerest accident that the gun wentoff, you see! Not that I haven't blown a

hole through my man more than once attwenty paces on Paddington Green—ah,it's no milksop you'll be marrying, mylove, and you can make up your mind tothat!”

But the Captain's boasts wereallowed to proceed no further. Mr. Bakerand Mr. Cartwright had heard enough fortheir purpose, and the former, stepping outfrom behind the screen, his pistol drawnand at the ready, announced his identity inemphatic tones and commanded theCaptain to stay where he was, as he wasunder arrest.

The Captain, not unreasonablystartled by this sudden irruption of a BowStreet Runner into the scene of hisprospering amours, turned pale andswore, but, being a prudent man despite

all his braggadocio, remained where hewas on the téte-à-t é t e beside LadyBrassborough. He then turned even paleras Gerald and Richard emerged frombehind the screen, stared at Gerald, staredeven harder at Richard, and finally,recovering himself with a visible effort,managed to say in a blustering tone to Mr.Baker, "Put that pistol up, man! What thedevil d'you mean by it, breaking into alady's drawing room and flourishingfirearms about like that? Is it drunk youare then, or mad?"

“Oh no, he isn't drunk—or mad,"Lady Brassborough said, rising from thetête-a-tête as composedly as if she werequite accustomed to having her gueststaken in charge at pistol-point every day inthe week. "And he hasn't broken into my

drawing room, either. I put him behind thescreen myself so that he could hear whatyou have just said to me. You are a greatfool, Will MacGoff. You have just hangedyourself with your own long tongue—although I daresay you won't be after all,in the end," she added thoughtfully,"because I have always found that men ofyour stamp have as many lives as a cat. Idon't wish to say the word itself becauseWellington holds them all in the greatestaversion and seems to know when onementions them, even in French, thoughelementary spelling, it appears, i s quitebeyond him.”

All action had perforce ceasedduring this interesting monologue,although Gerald was obviously bursting togive MacGoff a piece of his mind over the

double-dealing that had made him afugitive from the Law during the pastweeks, and Mr. Baker was equallyanxious to pronounce his official formulaover his captive. As it happened,however, neither was able to unburdenhimself even after Lady Brass-boroughhad finished speaking, for at that momentthe sound of another voice intruded rudelyinto the conversation.

“Stand fast, culls!" said the voice,speaking from outside one of the longwindows which gave on the terrace, andwhich now stood open in the lateafternoon warmth. "And drop that pistol,or I'll blow a hole through the lady!" Thislast remark, obviously, was addressed toMr. Baker, who, like the other occupantsof the room, was staring as if bemused at

a heavy-set young man in a broad-brimmed, greasy hat and a stained andfrayed coat, standing just outside thewindow with a very serviceable-lookingpistol levelled at the group inside. "Dropit, I said!" repeated the unwelcome newarrival, emphasising his words this timeby letting off the pistol with deafeningeffect.

The ball shattered an elaborate lampjust at Lady Brassborough's elbow, andMr. Baker prudently dropped the pistol.

“Good work, Joe!" said CaptainMacGoff, his broad face now creased inan approving grin. "Damme, I was right,you see-it was a trap." He moved swiftlyto pick up the pistol that Mr. Baker haddropped and dexterously removed asimilar one from Mr. Cartwright's coat

pocket. "Come inside now and keep thesepeople quiet while I collect the jewels,"he ordered the young man called Joe,whom Gerald knew well as the Cpatain'sgroom. The young man did as he wasbidden, and MacGoff grinned unpleasantlyinto Lady Brassborough's indignant face."If I can't have you and your fortune,m'dear," he said, "it seems I must make dowith all those pretty baubles you'vecollected. We'll start with the emeralds,and those great diamonds on your fingers—I can put them to good use, you see,keeping myself in comfort on theContinent, out of the way of thesemeddlesome Redbreasts. And then I'llthank you to hand over the key of yourjewel box—”

Lady Brassborough drew herself up

to her not inconsiderable height.“I shall do nothing of the sort—" she

began awfully; but Richard's quiet voiceinterrupted her.

“You had best do as he says, LadyBrassborough," he said. "He means tohave them, you know. This was his realreason for coming here this afternoon, Ifancy."

“Well, you've the right of it there,whoever you are," the Captain agreed."Not Gerry Liddiardthat's plain to be seen,no matter how much you look like him, forhe never said such a sensible thing in hislife."

“You curst blackguard!" saidGerald angrily. "You've been cleverenough up to this time, haven't you?—butyou needn't think you'll get clear with this

haul. Good God, man, don't you know thehouse is full of servants? They must haveheard that shot, and ten to one some ofthem have already gone for help!"

“Ay, and by the time they've fetchedit, I'll be long gone," the Captain saidconfidently, "for they're all close on ninetyand move like tortoises. Now, Lady B.,"he addressed his fulminating hostess,"will you give those emeralds to me orwill I take them off you myself?”

Lady Brassborough, casting a glanceof ineffable loathing upon him, removedthe emeralds from around her neck anddropped them into his outstretched hand.

“Why don't you d o something, yougreat looby?" she demanded meanwhile ofthe helpless Mr. Baker. "I suppose this iswhat one pays rates for—to be robbed of

one's valuables in broad daylight, with apair of Bow Street Runners looking on!Don't be in such a hurry!”

This last admonition was addressedto Captain MacGoff, who, after hastilydropping the emeralds into his coatpocket, had seized upon her reticule andwas engaged in pawing through it insearch of her keys. She pulled the reticulefrom him and in doing so spilled its entirecontents out upon the floor in a madconfusion of scent bottles, handkerchiefs,embroidery silks, scissors, a vinaigrette,and other assorted odds and ends.

The Captain swore and got down onhis knees to commence his pawing again,during which diversion LadyBrassborough took advantage of heropportunity and instantly removed several

of the large diamond rings she wore uponher fingers and popped them into hermouth.

Unfortunately, this manoeuvre wasobserved by the greasy youth with thepistol, who promptly informed the Captainof it, and as Lady Brassborough found itimpossible to reply in suitably scathingterms to the Captain's order that sheremove them immediately withoutcomplying with this demand, and on thewhole considered it more unsatisfactory tobe deprived of speech than of her jewelsat that moment, she did so, emitting at thesame time a series of uncomplimentaryremarks upon the Captain's ancestry andpersonal characteristics that made evenMr. Baker and Mr. Cartwright stare at herin respectful admiration.

The Captain, however, remainedimpervious, dropped the diamonds intohis coat pocket to join the emeralds, and,having extracted a set of keys from themagpie contents of the reticule upon thefloor, enquired which of them would openher jewel-case.

“I shan't tell you, you rag-mannered,beef-witted, pudding-hearted jackanapes,"said Lady Brassborough roundly. "Find itout for yourself.”

The Captain said he would do soand, striding over to the door, opened it,revealing a cluster of LadyBrassborough's ancient retainers standingoutside, gabbling excitedly in French.They scattered in terror before him as hemade for the stairs, brandishing Mr.Baker's pistol, and in the confusion he did

not observe that at the centre of the clusterthere had been a young lady in a modishfrock of rose pink cambric and a broad-brimmed gypsy hat-in short, Miss EugeniaLiddiard.

Her presence in the hall at thatcrucial moment had come about as a resultof the decision she and Muffet had arrivedat to stop at the Dower House on the wayback to the Manor from thestrawberry-party, for the purpose ofallowing Eugenia to acquaint Richardwith the good news she had learned at theRectory. The carriage, in pursuance of thisplan, had just drawn up before the frontdoor when its occupants had been startledby the sound of the shot the greasy youthhad let off in Lady Brassborough's saloon.

The coachman, a prudent man, had

immediately attempted to whip up hishorses and remove himself and hispassengers from the vicinity; Muffet,alarmed, had done nothing to stop him;and only Eugenia's threat to jump out ofthe carriage if he did not stop had obligedhim to bring his horses once more to ahalt.

Eugenia had then said firmly that shewas going inside, had, in spite of theimpassioned entreaties of Muffet and thecoachman, descended from the carriage,and had mounted the steps andimmediately been admitted, even beforeshe had had an opportunity to knock, bythe agitated Matthieu. What had happenedto Muffet and the carriage after that shehad no idea, for she had instantly beenengulfed by a group of terrified servants,

none of them having the least notion whatto do, all of them speaking in animatedFrench, and all anxious to shift the burdenof responsibility for action upon theshoulders of a member of the EnglishQuality, even a young female one, whowould presumably be more familiar thanwere they as to the proper method ofcoping with these extraordinary events.

By the time the Captain emergedfrom the saloon, Eugenia had managed togather from the torrents of Frenchdescending upon her from all sides thato ne of the two young men staying withLady Brassborough had been escorted intothe house in manacles by two odd-lookingstrangers—"hommes sans importance," inMatthieu's disparaging phrase—and thatthe whole party, plus Lady Brassborough

and the other young man, had then goneinto the saloon, where they had beenjoined after a time by Captain MacGoff.As to who had been firing at whom, orwhy, they had not the least notion, butMatthieu, upon hearing the shot, hadfetched from his own quarters a very largeand ornate French pistol with a burnishedbarrel inlaid with silver, obviously farpredating the Revolution, which hedisplayed for Eugenia's edification assoon as the Captain had vanished up thestairs.

“Is that loaded?" she enquired,looking at it skeptically.

“Mail oui, mademoiselle—oui!"Matthieu assured her enthusiastically.

Eugenia, still looking skeptical,investigated the ancient firearm, which

appeared to her almost certain to misfire,or, worse still, explode if one attempted tolet it off. But she could hear the Captaintramping furiously about upstairs in hissearch for the jewel-case, and decidedthat if she was to do anything in the way ofrescuing her friends in the saloon she hadbest do it quickly.

She took a deep breath, walked tothe door of the saloon, and flung it open,holding the heavy pistol pointed assteadily as she could straight before her.

What happened next occurred soswiftly that no one was able afterwards tostate the precise order of events. Thegreasy youth, seeing the door open and ayoung lady appear suddenly upon thethreshold with a pistol in her hand, rapidlyraised his own weapon; Lady

Brassborough uttered a blood-curdlingshriek; Richard shouted, "Eugenia—no!"and launched himself in a flying leapacross the room, knocking the pistol fromthe greasy youth's hand; the pistol wentoff, the ball striking the crystal chandelieroverhead and sending glass flying in alldirections to the accompaniment of aprolonged and cheerful bell-like tinkling;the two Runners flung themselves upon thegreasy youth; Wellington bit Mr.Cartwright; and Lady Brassboroughfainted into an astonished Gerald's arms.

There was, of course, no doubtwhatever as to the outcome of the contestbetween the two Runners and the greasyyouth, once the pistol had been knockedfrom the latter's hand, and in a matter ofmoments he was wearing the manacles

that had lately been removed fromGerald's wrists and had been pusheddown firmly into one of LadyBrassborough's elegant fauteuils, withMr. Cartwright standing over him.

Meanwhile, Richard, aware that theCaptain must have heard the shot fromupstairs, tore the ancient pistol ruthlesslyfrom Eugenia's hand and, pushing herbehind the téte-à-téte on which LadyBrassborough and the Captain hadconducted their amours, instructed her in avoice that brooked no contradiction to getdown behind it. He then moved rapidlytowards the door, accompanied by Mr.Baker, who had possessed himself of thegreasy youth's pistol, while Gerald,immobilised by Lady Brassborough,endeavoured to deposit her limp and

ponderous form upon a sofa in a seemlymanner, which was not an easy task, as hewas quite unable to lift her and was moreor less obliged to drag her into position.

By the time Richard and Mr. Bakerhad arrived at the door of the saloon theCaptain's footsteps were already to beheard rushing down the stairs. He reachedthe ground-floor hall just as they did and,casting one horrified glance at them, fledprecipitately across the hall and shot outthe front door, scattering LadyBrassborough's ancient servants, allsquawking with terror like a hen-housefull of chickens invaded by a fox, right andleft as he did so.

Mr. Baker, unable to fire his pistolfor fear of injuring one of the servants,made haste to pursue him, with Richard

beside him and outstripping him as theyran down the steps; but they were too late.The Captain had already jumped into hiscurricle, which stood before the frontdoor, and, snatching the reins from thehands of the ancient groom in attendanceupon it, whipped up his horses and wasoff down the drive in a swirl of flyinghooves. A ball from Mr. Baker's pistolwhistled harmlessly past his ear as hedisappeared. Mr. Baker swore.

“Here—you!" he addressed thegroom urgently. "I'll need a horse—"

“Mail non-non!" old Matthieu'scracked voice came proudly behind him."Monsieur verra—tout s'arrangera.”

Richard turned. The old man hadcome outside behind them and now spokeanother sentence in French to Richard,

who raised his brows, grinned, and askedincredulously, "Assurément?"

“Assurément, monsieur," saidMatthieu, nodding emphatically.

“What's he gabbling about?"demanded Mr. Baker hurriedly. "Lookhere, I need a horse—”

The sound of a loud crash and thefrightened neighing of horses came faintlyto their ears from down the drive.

“It's all right," said Richard. Heclapped old Matthieu cordially on theshoulder. "He says we are not todisarrange ourselves, because he gaveinstructions to the groom to do somethingfrightful to the wheels of the Captain'scurricle. I should think they—or at leastone of them—had just come off. Shall wego and see?”

Chapter 16 The peace of a warm, golden, late

summer afternoon had once moredescended upon the Dower House. Mr.Baker, having rescued the dazed andb r ui s e d Captain MacGoff from thewreckage of his curricle, had departedwith him, Mr. Cartwright, and the greasyyouth, with profuse apologies to Geralda n d to Lady Brassborough for anyinconvenience he and his colleague mighthave caused them. Lady Brass-borough,recovered from her swoon and with herjewels restored to her, was seated on thesofa upon which Gerald had placed her,sipping French cognac, which restorativeto the nerves she had also offered to herguests, and casting bitter aspersions upon

herself for having been weak-mindedenough to faint away during the mostexciting crisis of the afternoon.

“It is most dispiriting," she said. "Ihave never been so foolish before, evenwhen Brassborough and I were attackedby three armed men in a gondola inVenice, and I pushed one of them into thecanal while he ran his sword through theother two.”

Gerald said it must have been evenmore exciting than their little turn-up thatafternoon, and then he and Richard, whowere both bursting with gratitude towardsher for having lured the Captain intoconfessing his guilt, confoundedthemselves in praises of her, so that shequite forgot to be depressed over her sadwant of conduct in swooning away just as

events had become—in her words—reallyinteresting.

Meanwhile, Eugenia, who had alsotaken, upon Lady Brassborough'sinsistence, a small glass of cognac as arestorative, was bursting with her ownwish to cap Richard's satisfaction at beingfree at last of the menace of the Law bytelling him of the proof of the marriage ofCharles Liddiard and Susan Justis that shehad obtained at the Rectory of St.Aldwyn's that afternoon. But before shecould find a moment's intermission in theconversation in which to make herannouncement, there was the sound ofgalloping hooves outside, followed by aviolent attack upon the knocker and animmediate hubbub in the hall.

Lady Brassborough's brows went

up. "What now?" she enquired resignedly."I hope it is not those tiresome Runnerscoming back to say they have lost theirprisoners and we must find them for themall over again.”

But it was not Mr. Baker and Mr.Cartwright who burst into the saloon, but,to the astonishment of Lady Brassboroughand her guests, a party consisting ofSquire Rowntree, Tom, and theRowntrees' coachman, all armed withfowling-pieces and apparently in theexpectation of being required to makeinstant use of them. At the spectacle ofLady Brassborough seated calmly upon asofa, however, sipping cognac, withRichard, Gerald, and Eugenia arrangedequally at their ease around her, theSquire, who was leading the party, halted

abruptly upon the threshold, blinking.“But—but—" he stammered. His

face suddenly coloured up beetroot red; heturned furiously upon his coachman. "Youdamned jobbernoll!" he said. "If you'vebrought us here on a fool's errand—I”

Eugenia jumped up. "Oh!" she said,enlightened. "The shot! You have come torescue us! How very kind of you, Squire!But you are too late—I mean, it is all overnow and we are really quite safe.”

Lady Brassborough heaved herselfup from her sofa and advanced upon thebewildered and now highly embarrassed-looking intruders.

“Mr. Rowntree—isn't it? And youngMaster Tom," she said, flashing herfamous smile upon them. "Won't you sitdown—first, of course, allowing Matthieu

to relieve you of those alarming-lookingfirearms—and take some refreshment?Such a very warm day, is it not? Matthieuwill see that your man has a , tankard ofale in the kitchen, and"—she addressedthe ancient butler, who was hoveringagitatedly in the background—"theManzanilla, I believe, for the gentlemen,Matthieu. A really excellent sherry—”

She halted, seeing that the Squirewas not attending to her, but was staringinstead at Gerald and Richard, who hasrisen and stood together, the formergrinning cheerfully at him and the latterregarding him with his usual air ofreserved composure.

“Good heavens!" said the Squire ina disbelieving voice. "There are a pair ofyou, just as those damned Runners said!"

“Yes, there are," Eugenia hastenedto explain. "Richard is Charles Liddiard'sson, you see; and I have found out onlythis afternoon that Cousin Charles reallydid marry Susan Justis—that is, Richard'smother—because Mr. Childrey, at St.Aldwyn's, says he performed theceremony himself." She turned to Richard,who had suddenly grown rather pale andstood regarding her with a slight, almostincredulous frown upon his face. "No, it istrue!" she protested. "I am acquainted withPer ry Walford, who is Mr. Childrey'snephew, and he is visiting at the Rectoryand rode over to invite Muffet and me to astrawberry-party there this afternoon, andwhile I was there I asked Mr. Childrey ifh e had married Charles Liddiard andSusan Justis, and he said he had. Muffet

and I have been making enquiries of allthe clergymen in the neighbourhood, yousee, but none of them knew anything aboutCousin Charles until I asked Mr. Childrey,and he remembered it distinctly, andshowed me the register with the signaturesin it. It is all quite legal, and so you areRichard Liddiard and will be able to haveCoverts instead of Cousin Cedric," shefinished, rather out of breath from talkingso fast, for the words had all but tumbledover one another in her eagerness to getthem out, while at the same time she ratherwished that she had not had to say thembefore so many people, but had been ableinstead to tell him quietly somewherealone.

But there was no help for it now,and she was pleased when the Squire,

who had been following her words withgreat interest, stepped forward and shookRichard cordially by the hand.

“Well, well," he said, "so you areCharles Liddiard's son! I knew your fatherwell, you know; we were just of an age—boys together and all that. Now I daresayyou'll be taking up residence at Covertsshortly, and a very good thing for theplace that will be! There's Cedric livingin Canterbury—never did care tuppencefor the land—but when Walter was alivehe had a very pretty little stud over there—"

“Do sit down, Mr. Rowntree," LadyBrassborough said, firmly interrupting theSquire, who, once in the saddle overcounty matters and with a clear fieldbefore him, might have gone on forever if

someone had not taken him in hand. "Youand Richard may talk horses and land asmuch as you like then, but we have all hada very fatiguing afternoon and I do thinkwe ought to have all these explanationswhile we are sitting down.”

But to everyone's surprise theSquire, thus brought up short, greeted thesuggestion with a frown, shot a glance atGerald, coloured up very pink, and saidgruffly after a moment, "No, my lady, Ithank you, I won't sit down. Not with aman in the room who is under a charge ofmurder-"

“But he isn't!" Eugenia said, flingingherself once more into the breach. "Youmean Gerry, of course, but that is all overnow, and the Runners have takenthe manwho really did it in charge here this very

afternoon. That was what the shooting wasabout, you see. It was Captain MacGoff,and Lady Brassborough very cleverlylured him here and entrapped him intoconfessing, and he tried to steal herjewels, and then the Runners arrested him.So Gerry i s quite cleared now of anysuspicion-”

The Squire, who had been attendingto this speech in obvious astonishment,exclaimed suitably and at some length, atits conclusion, over this unexpected turnof events, after which he apologisedhandsomely to Gerald and at last acceptedL a d y Brassborough's invitation to sitdown and partake of the sherry thatMatthieu had brought in.

The whole party then settled into adelightful gossip cum explanations on the

events of the day, with the Squire, Gerald,and Lady Brassborough leading theconversation. Eugenia's own cognac-induced loquacity had by this timedeserted her; she was conscious thatRichard was sitting quite silent,frowningly regarding the glass of cognache held in his hand and looking not at allelated by the sudden reversal in hisfortunes that the day's events had broughtabout, and this puzzled and disturbed her.Of course, she thought, feeling somewhathurt in spite of herself, one did not lookfor thanks for something that, after all, onehad only stumbled upon by the sheerestaccident; but she could not help feelingthat she had behaved rather well thatafternoon, even though Lady Brassboroughhad said that she would rather lose every

jewel she possessed than be obliged to gothrough that moment again when Eugeniahad appeared in the doorway with a pistoli n her hand and the greasy youth hadraised his own pistol to fire at her.

Perhaps, she thought, Richard wasvexed with her because she had spoken soopenly of the question of his legitimacybefore the Squire and Tom; but it was notin the least like him to stand upon hisdignity, and he must certainly realise, atany rate, that the tale of Charles Liddiardand Susan Justis was already well knownin this district. She sat regarding himrather anxiously, and wishing very muchthat she might be able to speak to himalone, until presently the sound of carriagewheels upon the drive outside againintruded upon the conversation. A few

moments later Matthieu appeared in thedoorway to proclaim, with proudsatisfaction in at last having a propervisitor to announce, "Miladi Chandross!”

Eugenia jumped. She had not had theslightest notion that Lady Chandross wasin the neighbourhood; but even as herladyship trod into the room, apparelled, asalways, in the highest kick of fashion in amodish pomona-green travelling costumeand a dazzling bonnet with an upstandingpoke-front, the whole sequence of eventsthat must have accounted for herunexpected appearance in LadyBrassborough's saloon at this momentformed itself in her mind. There was notthe least doubt but that Mr. Baker and Mr.Cartwright, during the period when theyhad disappeared from the neighbourhood,

had gone, not to Tunbridge Wells, but toLondon, to question the Chandrosses aboutthe elusive twin footmen who hadaccompanied the Chan-dross carriage intoKent; and Lady Chandross, understandablypuzzled and alarmed by theincomprehensible appearance of two quiteunknown footmen upon the scene, hadhastened down to Kent to discover thetruth of the matter.

Nothing less than her expectation,Eugenia was dismally aware, that she,Eugenia, might be irretrievablycompromising herself by jauntering aboutKent in the company of two members ofthe male sex who certainly were not in theChandrosses' employ could have inducedher to make such a journey, and shelooked forward with some apprehension

to the explanations that must nowinevitably ensue. Her only dependance layin the hope that the successful outcome ofher efforts at clearing Gerald's namewould cause Lady Chan-dross to overlookthe reprehensible fact that she haddeceived her completely as to her reasonfor coming into Kent.

But Lady Chan dross, though shewas undoubtedly, by the coolness of hermanner and the unwonted sparkle in hergrey eyes, very angry indeed, was aboveeverything a Lady of Fashion, and as suchhad no intention of descending to bandyingwords with her ward before strangers.She greeted Lady Brassborough in herusual bored, husky voice, apologised forbreaking in upon her, and excused herselfupon the grounds that, having just arrived

at the Manor, she had been givensomewhat alarming news by -Mrs.Rowntree concerning the situation at theDower House as disclosed by Muffet, andhad ac cordingly felt it best to come andsee for herself what was going forwardthere.

Lady Brassborough, who was bythis time enjoying herself immensely, whatwith people coming and going in herhouse as freely as if it had been a busyposting-house and with opportunities tomeddle in other people's business on allsides, said she was to think nothing of it,gave her a glass of sherry, and launchedinto a vivacious explanation of the eventsof the afternoon, all of which wasaccepted by Lady Chandross with herusual air of fashionable indifference. Even

the sight of what was apparently twoGerald Liddiards, and the information thatone of them was actually CharlesLiddiard's legitimate son and, as such, theowner of Coverts, failed to elicit morethan a lift of the eyebrows from her; shetold Gerald he was a wretch to have setthem all by the ears with this latest scrapehe had fallen into, but said Cecil would nodoubt be so relieved that he, Gerald, wasnot to be obliged to stand his trial formurder that he might be cozened intodoing something handsome for him if hepromised to lead an exemplary life infuture.

“So it seems that everything hasturned out for the best in the end, quite inthe manner of one of those dull littlecomedies where everyone reforms or is

suitably paired off just before the curtainfalls," she said, shrugging her shoulders asshe looked over at Tom. "Eugenia has toldme of your plans, of course, dear boy,"she remarked to him. "I do hope thewedding will be soon. Long engagementsare so dreary—don't you find?”

The Squire stared at her. "Longengagements!" he exclaimed inastonishment, while Tom's face flushed upall over and Eugenia, wishing that thefloor might open and swallow her, sat toopetrified with shock to say a word. "Why,what do you mean, my lady?" His eyeswent accusingly and delightedly to Tom."Here, you young rascal, what have youb e e n up to behind my back?" hedemanded. "Made her an offer, have you?—and without so much as a by-your-leave

to me?”Now, thought Eugenia in miserable

expectation, now she was about to sufferfor her misdeeds. Tom would deny that hehad done anything of the sort; the Squirewould be upset and displeased; andGussie—with every right in the world, shewas obliged to admit—would be angrierwith her than she had ever been before.

But as she waited for the axe to fall,she heard Tom say, astoundingly, "J-justso, sir. I do wish to marry Eugenia." Shelooked over at him in consternation: hisface was still highly flushed, but he wasspeaking quite steadily, and her first swiftthought that he had had too much of LadyBrassborough's sherry was obviouslydoing him an injustice. "If you don't object—" he added, with a rather sheepish

glance at his father.“Object? Not a bit of it! Delighted,

my boy! Perfectly delighted!" said theSquire, his broad, cheerful face givingevery evidence that he was speaking thetruth. "Best thing in the world you couldpossibly do—settle down early in lifewith a fine young woman, set up yournursery as soon as may be—no someeligible young man into making her anoffer.

“I shall simply have to go out as agoverness," she thought, hoping for Tom'ssake that she did not look as forlorn as shefelt.

But Tom was in no case to noticehow she looked, being too covered withconfusion at all the attention he wasreceiving to think of anyone but himself.

The party from the Manor, includingLady Chan-dross, who had accepted Mrs.Rowntree's hospitable invitation to be herguest there while she remained in Kent,now rose to take their leave. Eugeniafound Richard taking her hand andthanking her, in a cool, expressionlessway that could not have been disapprovedof even by Lady Chandross (who hadobviously not forgiven him for havingtaken her in at Mere and thencompounding the injury by being actuallyrelated to her in the most respectableway), for having turned up Mr. Childreyand the register at St. Aldwyn's.

“Oh, it was nothing!" said MissEugenia Liddiard in her most grown-upvoice, feeling quite unable to find theproper words to express her own gratitude

to this suddenly remote Richard for hishaving saved her life by deflecting thebullet the greasy youth had meant for her.

And then Lady Chandross called toher to come along, and they all wentoutside, where the Rowntrees' carriagewas waiting, the coachman, relieved toescape from a barbarous kitchen in whichonly the French language was spoken,already upon the box and ready totransport them back to the more civilisedpurlieus of the Manor.

better stock in the county than theLiddiards, you know—no, nor any prettiergirl than Miss Eugenia," he added,suddenly becoming alarmingly gallant, andputting down his glass to come over andenvelop Eugenia in a large, heartyembrace. He then kissed her and said,

much to the admiration of those of hisauditors who were not too thunderstruckby the turn events had taken to listen, thatTom was a lucky dog and if he was twentyyears younger and not already riveted hewould have a try at cutting him outhimself.

By this time Eugenia had no ideawhere to look. It seemed quite impossible,so rapidly had the matter developed, tosay at this point that they were allmistaken, and that Tom had neither askedher to marry him nor, indeed, wished to doso, that he was acting, in fact, out of asense of chivalry to protect her from theconsequences of the deception she hadpractised upon Lady Chandross. She andTom were being felicitated now on everyside—by Lady Brass-borough, by Gerald,

even, she noticed with a sinking of theheart, very civilly and properly byRichard—and she felt that she could notembarrass Tom at this juncture by tellinghim publicly that she really did not wishto marry him, after all, and that hissacrificial gesture had thus been in vain.Far better to wait until they were back atthe Manor, when a more privateexplanation might be managed.

Gussie, of course, would be furious,but that, after all, did not matter. Feelingas she did about Richard, Eugenia thought,she could not possibly go back to Londonnow and allow Gussie to entice ordragoon

Chapter 17 The chaise in which Lady

Chandross had travelled down from

London, and which had also been pressedinto service to convey her to the Manor,having been sent off in favour of the entirep a r t y ' s returning together in theRowntrees' carriage, Eugenia foundherself alone with the three persons towhom she most pressingly desired todeclare the true state of affairs; but withthe coachman upon the box it wasobviously impossible for her to enter intoexplanations with them at the moment. Shewas obliged instead to sit in silence whilethe Squire and Lady Chandross had aspirited discussion, which would havedegenerated into a brangle had thecoachman not been present, upon wherethe wedding was to take place, the Squireputting forward the claims of the villagechurch, which both Eugenia and Tom had

attended from their tenderest years, andLady Chandross holding out withfashionable obstinacy for St. George's,Hanover Square. Tom cast a sidelongglance or two at her during the short drive,as if to see how she was taking hisaudacious behaviour at the Dower House,but she re fused to be drawn into anypersonal conversation until they hadreached the Manor.

Once there, however, with Muffetand Mrs. Rowntree to swell her audience,she made her announcement. There was tobe no engagement between her and Tom; ithad all been a mistake; Tom had actedonly out of chivalry in telling LadyChan-dross that he had made her an offer.

“But I didn't!" Tom astonished herby saying, with some heat. "I mean, I

didn't act out of chivalry! Don't be agudgeon, Eugenia! Of course we shall bemarried; I should like it above all things!”

Eugenia stared at him. "But that's notat all what you said when I asked you—"she began, and then, conscious where herunwary tongue was leading her, bit thewords off short.

But she had said enough to bring thesharp-witted Lady Chandross down uponher.

“Do you mean to tell us, youunprincipled child," she demandedincredulously, "that it was you who didthe asking?"

“No, she didn't! It was me!" Muffetsaid, coming, albeit somewhatungrammatically, to her friend's defence."I—I mean," she went on, faltering a little

under the penetrating gaze of LadyChandross's grey eyes, "I said I thought itwould be a very good idea if—if Tom didmarry Eugenia—”

Mrs. Rowntree, lookingscandalised, said she had never thought adaughter of hers would have so littledelicacy.

“Delicacy be damned!" said theSquire, who had had quite enough of thediscussion and, in his usual way, clung,buckle and thong, to the root of the matter."What does it signify who asked who, aslong as the affair is settled? If Tom hadn'tt h e rumgumption to ask the girl forhimself, it's as well that his sister did itfor him."

“She didn't!" Tom said indignantly,at which point a brief but spirited dispute

took place between brother and sisterwhich carried all the Rowntrees back soforcibly to nursery days that Mrs.Rowntree said reprovingly that that wasquite enough, stopping herself just in timefrom adding that they should have no cakefor their supper if they didn't behave moreproperly, while the Squire lost his temperentirely and said in a very loud voice thathe would have no more of this.

Eugenia, deeply conscious of beingthe cause of all this dissension, and thatshe could put an end to it in a moment byagreeing to marry Tom, wished with allher heart that she could bring herself to doso; but she could not. If she could notmarry Richard, she could marry no one. Indesperation, she at last threw out thesuggestion that she wished to become a

governess, which was greeted with coldscorn by Lady Chandross, with disgust byTom, and with patent incredulity by Mrs.Rowntree. As for the Squire, he had goneoff in a temper to his estate-room,declaring that he didn't understand modernyoung people and never would.

“You are a great fool, my girl!" saidLady Chan-dross, exasperated at last intoabandoning her bored manner in favour ofplain speaking. "A governess, indeed!And what, pray, do you think Cecilwillhave to say to that? If you won't marryTom Rowntree, then you must take youngPerry Walford. I am sure you may havehim any time you choose to whistle forhim!"

“No, I can't!" said Eugenia, feelingshe might as well be hanged for a sheep as

for a lamb. "He has already made me anoffer and I've refused him!”

And she fled upstairs to herbedchamber, which did no good either,however, for Muffet followed her thereand under the guise of sympathising withher kept earnestly pointing out to her whata splendid thing it would be for everyoneif she really would agree to marry Tom.

“I don' t see why you won't," shekept repeating, until Eugenia finally madethe fatal mistake of telling her she couldn'tbecause she was in love with someoneelse.

“Y o u a r e ! With who?" Muffetdemanded, wide-eyed, thus disgracingMiss Bascom for the second time that day,and made herself such a nuisancethereafter with awed and repeated

questionings that Eugenia at last felt as ifshe would have liked to jump into bed,pull the covers over her head, and die inpeace.

She had never thought a great dealabout being in love before, not beingromantically inclined and having readvery few of the novels over which theother young ladies at Miss Bascom's hadshed luxurious tears; but obviously, shethought, as she went to bed exhausted atthe end of the day, it was quite asuncomfortable' a matter as those marbledv o l ume s had depicted it as being.Everyone was cross with her; LadyChandross had assured her in the tartestpossible terms that she would be takenback to London the very next day, whereshe would be expected to conduct herself

as befitted the Earl of Chandross's wardand not in the style of some hurly-burlygirl of no gentility whatever who wasobliged to earn her own living; andRichard—Richard had thanked her forfinding Mr. Childrey for him as politelyand formally as if they had never shared asecret plan at the King's Head inThatcham, or met in Ned Trice's littleroom under the leads, or eaten Old Nan'sbuttered eggs together in her cottage on theriver.

And at the thought of those happydays, never to come again, she did pull thecovers over her head and indulge in a boutof tears quite as bitter as any enjoyed byone of the long-suffering heroines whosetribulations had so affected herschoolfellows at Miss Bascom's.

In the morning, matters did not, asthey usually did, seem any better to her.She was to leave for London with LadyChandross as soon as that fashionablepeeress had breakfasted and been attiredby her abigail for the journey, but as thiswas not likely to be until an advancedhour of the morning, there would be all theRowntrees, expressing in their variousways disbelief, disapproval, anddisappointment, to be faced for whatseemed to her an interminable period. Shecould not simply remain in herbedchamber, because Muffet and Mrs.Rowntree, and perhaps even Tom, wouldbe certain to visit her there; so she put onher riding-dress and announced herintention of going fdr a short ride beforeshe would be obliged to leave for London.

She managed to escape from thehouse before Muffet or Tom, who wouldhave been certain to wish to accompanyher, had discovered what she was about todo, and in a short time, by some strangecoincidence, found herself approachingthe wrought-iron gates of the DowerHouse.

Now that she chanced to haveridden in this direction, she told herself, itwould be only civil to stop and say aproper good-bye to Lady Brassborough—and, of course, to Gerald and Richard ifthey were still there. So she turned hermare's head and trotted up the long drivebetween the Spanish chestnuts to the door,where she was admitted by Matthieu, wholooked quite unperturbed by all theexcitements of the previous day, and who

informed her that Lady Brassborough wasin the breakfast-parlour.

“Oh, and—and Mr. Liddiard? Ime a n, b o t h M r . Liddiards?" Eugeniaenquired, in what she hoped was a quiteordinary voice, though her heart hadsuddenly begun to beat rather faster thanusual.

Matthieu said that one of ces jeunesmessieurs was already gone out, and theother had not yet risen, but as to whichwas which he was unable to enlighten her;and as she felt that whether Richard wasaway from the house or was still asleepupstairs, he was equally inaccessible toher, she followed Matthieu obediently andrather disconsolately back to thebreakfast-parlour.

Here she found Lady Brassborough

in an extraordinary negligee of lilac silkdripping with Malines lace, and was atonce greeted with much cordiality andinvited to partake of chocolate and angel-cakes.

“No, thank you," said Eugenia,which caused Lady Brassborough, whowas well-acquainted with her ordinarilyhealthy appetite, to look at her sharply andput up her brows. "I only came to saygood-bye, and to thank you again for beingso splendid yesterday," Eugenia said."Gussie is taking me back to Londontoday, you see.”

Lady Brassborough's veryexpressive brows again climbed up herforehead.

“So soon?" she said. "I see. Not avery romantic female, Lady Chandross, I

fancy. Tearing the love birds apart, I mean.Is young Master Tom quite desolate?”

Eugenia, who was industriouslyturning a Meissen saltcellar round andround as if she wished to examine it fromevery side, said there weren't anylovebirds and she expected Tom wasquite all right, only a little angry with her,perhaps, for not wanting to marry him.

“I don't, you see," she went on, stillscrutinising the saltcellar with greatattention. "I thought I did once, and it is allmy fault that he asked me, because I toldGussie he was going to offer for me so shewould let me come down to Kent, andwhen she took it for granted yesterday thathe had, he said it was so, because he isreally a very kind person, and I expect hethought he wouldn't mind much being

married to me. But he isn't in the least inlove with me, and I-”

She stopped.“And you are not in love with him,"

Lady Brass-borough obligingly finishedher sentence for her.

“Yes," said Eugenia in a rathersmall voice. "I mean, no. That is, I'm not—”

Lady Brassborough poured herselfanother cup of chocolate from the silverpot on the table, surveying her guest as shedid so with shrewd, wise eyes.

“In point of fact," she went oncalmly after a moment, "you not only arenot in love with young Master Tom, youare in love with someone else. Dear child,shall I guess who it is—?"

“No!" said Eugenia in alarm, raising

startled eyes to Lady Brassborough's face.She suddenly coloured up furiously. "Thatis, I—I am not in love with anyone!" shedenied hastily. "I have decided that I shallnever marry. I am going to be agoverness."

“Are you, indeed?" said LadyBrassborough equably. "A very estimableoccupation, I am sure, dear child, butsadly dull, I fear. I cannot but think that, ifyou really have no tendre for anotheryoung man, you would do far better tomarry Master Tom—"

“No!" said Eugenia, even moreviolently than before.

“I see," said Lady Brassboroughwith great tranquility.

Eugenia would have liked to tell herthat she did not see in the least, but she

had a horrid feeling that if she began tosay anything at that particular moment shewould disgrace herself by beginning tocry, so she went back to examining thesa l tce l l a r again. Lady Brassboroughproceeded with her breakfast.

After a short time she remarked inan extremely casual voice, but with herdark, pessimistic eyes never leavingEugenia's face, "Gerry is still asleep, Iexpect. Would you like me to have himwaked, so you can say good-bye to him,too?"

“Oh, no," said Eugenia. She hadherself in firm control now, and spokerather mournfully, as she was feelingmournful.

Those expressive brows of LadyBrassborough's went up again. "I have

been thinking," she said after a moment,very slowly and distinctly, "now thateverything has been so nicely cleared up,of going abroad for a time again, andtaking Gerry with me as a sort of courier.”

Eugenia said, still in that mournfulabsent voice, that she thought Gerry wouldlike that very much.

“He needs a wife, you know," LadyBrassborough continued in the samedistinct voice. "Not an English one, Ifancy, but a young woman with plenty ofmoney and a Continental background, whow i l l know how to cope with hisexpensiveness and his infidelities. He is arogue, you know, but a very charming one,and I think, if he makes the proper sort ofmarriage, that he need not ruin himselfentirely.”

She paused. Eugenia, who was notat the moment in the least interested inwhether Gerald ruined himself or not,became conscious of a lengthening silenceand, coming to herself with a start, saids he dared say Lady Brassborough wasquite right.

“I am so glad you agree," said LadyBrassborough. "Now Richard, on the otherhand, I should say," she went on with thesame deliberation, "will need another sortof wife altogether. Someone who will bequite content to live in the country andtake more interest in horses and the landthan in balls and amusements andfashionable frocks—and someone,moreover, with whom he is genuinely inlove—”

Eugenia pushed her chair back

violently from the table and jumped up. Itwas one thing to know that Richard didnot love her and would never wish tomarry her, but it was quite another to beobliged to sit quietly listening to talk ofhis loving and marrying someone else.

“I—I must get back to the Manor atonce," she said. "Gussie will wish toleave for London very soon—"

“You won't wait for Richard toreturn?" enquired Lady Brassborough,looking quite unsurprised by her youngguest's sudden agitation. "He left herequite early to ride over to St. Aldwyn'sand consult Mr. Childrey, and I fancy hewill be back very soon."

“No—no, I can't wait," Eugeniadeclared hastily, feeling that if Richardwere to walk into the room at that moment

she would sink herself beneath contemptby bursting into tears. "Tell him—tell himI am very glad that he is to have Coverts,and—and that I hope he will be veryhappy—”

She kissed Lady Brassborough andwent quickly out of the room. LadyBrassborough, left alone, poured herselfanother cup of chocolate, sighed, smiled,and, ringing the bell, instructed Matthieut o tell Monsieur Richard, as soon as hereturned, that she would like to see him inthe breakfast-parlour.

She had not long to wait. Within afew minutes she heard Richard's step inthe hall outside and in a moment hewalked into the room.

“Well?" said Lady Brassborough,motioning him to a chair.

He sat down.“It's all right, I expect," he said. He

was unsmiling, his manner rather abrupt."I've seen Childrey—there seems to be nodoubt about the marriage. I expect my nextstep must be to communicate with CedricLiddiard. I'll go to Canterbury thisafternoon."

“Y o u d o n ' t sound," LadyBrassborough said, regarding himmeditatively, "highly elated, dear boy, forsomeone who has just come into aconsiderable estate."

“Don't I?" Richard got up again andwalked to the window, where he stoodlooking out at the fine Kentish morning. "Iexpect I'm a bit overwhelmed; that's all."

“Overwhelmed—or merely thinkingof something else?" Lady Brassborough

enquired. "One so often is, you know,even at the most inopportune moments. Iremember when Brassborough and I werebeing married, all I could think of waswhether Hortense had remembered topack my chinchilla muff, which was reallyquite absurd of me, as it was full summerand I could not possibly need it. Eugeniarode over to say good-bye while you weregone," she added without pause, in thesame conversational tone. "It seems sheisn't to marry Tom Rowntree, after all.She says she is going to be a governess."

“A governess!" Richard swunground; there was a quite unreadable butdefinitely startled expression upon hisdark face. "Why in heaven's name shouldshe want to be a governess?"

“It is what very young and

inexperienced girls always do want to bewhen they have been disappointed inlove," Lady Brassborough explained tohim kindly. "For some reason, they seemto feel it is both feasible and romantic,which of course it isn't in the least.”

Richard stood there frowning at her."Disappointed in love?" he said after amoment, abruptly. "Do you mean youngRowntree won't marry her, after all—?"

“Dear boy," Lady Brassboroughsaid soothingly, "I gather he would beonly too happy to. Eugenia is a remarkablypretty girl, you know. But there are otheryoung men in the world, as well. Yourself,for example—"

“Myself?”Richard looked at her, his bronzed

face growing, it seemed to her, a little

pale.“Why, yes," she said placidly. "Of

course I knew, when she brought you andGerry down here, that she must be in lovewith one of you, but I was able to see solittle of her that I really couldn't decidewhich of you it was until this morning. Butw h e n she greeted with completeindifference my plan to find a wife forGerry, and almost burst into tears andrushed away from the house the moment Ispoke of finding one for you—”

She paused, looking speculatively atRichard, who had turned away once moreto the window. After a few moments hesaid to her in a rather harsh, steady voice,"I have great respect for yourperspicacity, Lady B., but in this case Ibelieve you are mistaken. Eugenia has

never given me any indication—"“Never given you any indication that

she is in love with you? Dear boy, don'ttalk such fustian to me!" said LadyBrassborough with energy. "Ten to one thegirl didn't know it herself until she waspitchforked into examining her feelings byall this talk of marrying someone else! Iassure you, she is probably crying hereyes out at this very moment, or wishingshe had the chance to, and if you do not dosomething quickly she will run away to bea governess or a lady's maid, or somethingequally disastrous, and end by causing theChandrosses to wash their hands of herand ruin herself entirely." She looked atRichard for the first time rather anxiously."Oh, dear!" she said. "I can't be mistaken,can I? You do care for her, don't you? You

looked so ferocious yesterday when LadyChandross spoke about her marrying Tom,and then so alarmingly polite, that I madequite sure—”

Richard's face suddenly cleared."No, you weren't mistaken, Lady B.," hesaid. "I d o care—very much indeed; somuch, in fact, that even having Covertsisn't worth a brass farthing to me unless Ican have her there, too. If you think I havea chance, I'll putit to the touch. Perhaps ifshe won't take me for myself, she'll takeme for Coverts—"

“Richard, Richard, don't say that toher!" said Lady Brassborough, horrified;but Richard was already out of the room.

“Men!" said Lady Brassborough,regarding her empty cup with dark,disillusioned eyes. "If they can't make a

mull of a love scene one way, they'll do itanother!”

She poured herself out another cupof chocolate.

Chapter 18 When Richard arrived at the Manor

a quarter of an hour later, it was in theexpectation of finding Eugenia about to setout for London with Lady Chan-dross; butsuch was not the case. In point of fact,even as he enquired for her of the butler,he was conscious of some sort ofcommotion in the house, and almost beforehe had pronounced her name both Mrs.Rowntree and Muffet, as if they had beenon the listen, suddenly appeared in the hallwith expressions of anxiety andexpectation upon their faces.

“Oh—it is only you, Richard!"Muffet said in a disappointed tone as hereyes fell upon him. "Have you seenEugenia? We are in the most dreadful-”

A warning look from her motherhalted her. She cast an impatient glance atthe old butler, who of course kneweverything that was going on but kept up adignified pretence, for the sake of hisposition, of being deaf and blind as wellas quite uninterested, and dragged Richardinto the drawing room.

“H a v e you seen Eugenia?" shedemanded then once more. "We are in themost dreadful pelter about her, becauseshe went out for a ride early this morningand hasn't come back, and Lady Chandrosswishes to take her to London and is quitecertain that she has run away. Oh, Mama,"she went on, turning to her mother, whohad come into the room behind them andwas looking at Richard in a ratherbewildered way, "this is Richard

Liddiard, the one I told you about thatlooks just like Gerry and is going to haveCoverts.”

Richard greeted Mrs. Rowntree, andsaid that Eugenia had visited the DowerHouse that morning, but had left, heunderstood, in ample time to have reachedthe Manor if she had gone directly there.

“The Dower House!" gasped Mrs.Rowntree. Her plump face crumpled upinto an expression of piteous alarm, ratherlike a baby's when it is about to cry. "Oh,dear! Oh, dear! It is just as I feared!" shelamented. "That dreadful woman hasencouraged her to run off—perhaps shewill even help her to go on the stage, andthen she will be quite ruined and Tomwill not be able to marry her, though ofcourse he will insist upon doing so, and

how we are to stop him I cannot think, foreven if he is not of age, he may say he isand people will be sure to believe himbecause he is so well-grown for his years—”

Richard, seeing no end to thisspeech in sight, cut in upon it to saysoothingly that he had spoken to LadyBrassborough after Eugenia had left theDower House, and that he was quite sureshe had no more idea than had they whereEugenia had gone. He then asked Muffet,who was the more coherent of the two,whether Eugenia had given any hint thatmorning as to what she intended to do.

“No," said Muffet. "But I think shewas feeling perfectly dreadful because wewere all trying to make her agree to marryTom and she wouldn't. It's because she is

in love with someone else, you see.”'Did she tell you so?" demanded

Richard, suddenly feeling as if the sun hadcome out with extraordinary brillianceupon a beautiful world, which was quiteabsurd, as it had been shining just as hardas it could out of a perfectly cloudlesssummer sky all morning.

“Yes," said Muffet, looking curious."She wouldn't say who, though. I say, doyou know?”

Richard said he didn't, but thatdidn't stop one from hoping.

“Oh!" said Muffet, her eyeswidening. "Are you—? Do you—?"

“Yes," said Richard. "I am and I do.And don't worry, Mrs. Rowntree," hewent on, addressing that agitated lady; "I'llfind her if I have to scour all Kent for her,

and I shan't let her go for a governess, oran actress, either." He said to Muffet,"Where would she go if she wanted tocry?"

“To cry?" Mullet, a sensible girl,first looked startled and then considered."I expect she might go to Coverts," shesaid, after a moment. "She couldn't cryhere because people would be sure to tryto get her to stop, and there's no one livingthere now—”

But Richard was already out of thedrawing room on his way to the door.

He had never seen Coverts, butEugenia had described it for him so often,as well as its situation, that he was able toturn his horse's head confidently in theproper direction—confidently, that is,until he suddenly found himself lost in an

intricate network of little lanes, most ofthem old drovers' tracks that had been soworn by centuries of use that they weremore like cool green tunnels through thewoods than proper roads. Fortunately, asmall boy driving a single cow before himwas able to put him right, and without lossof time he came out presently, at the footof one of the lanes, upon the house.

There it stood, rising peacefullyfrom the hollow of its meadows as if ithad been bred and nourished by the soiljust as the meadows had—the huge,rambling structure of irregular ragstone,brick, and massive, age-blanched timbersthat had grown out of the originalquadrangular Tudor manor. The sun wasdazzlingly reflected from the leadeddiamond panes of its windows. A flock of

geese paraded solemnly from around theside of the house to preen themselves inthe flowery heat; otherwise, nothing butpeace and silence. Richard caught hisbreath.

After a few moments he dismounted,tied his horse to a tree, and was about toembark upon an exploration when thehorse whinnied energetically and wasimmediately answered from around thecorner of the house. Richard went roundand saw Eugenia sitting on the turf under alarge silver-grey poplar, to which hermare was tethered. She was so immersedin her own thoughts that she did not hearhim approach, and he was able to see thatshe looked very woebegone before she atlast became aware that she was not aloneand looked up at him with startled eyes.

“O h ! " she exclaimed. "It's you!What in the world are you doing here?”

And she jumped up so quickly thatshe became entangled in the trailing skirtof her riding-dress and would have fallenif Richard had not caught her.

“I came to find you," Richard said,showing no haste to let her go. "And Ihave. Were you crying?”

Eugenia, furiously searching in herpocket for a handkerchief, which ratherobliged Richard to release her, said in asomewhat muffled voice of course shehadn't been, and, accepting the large cleanhandkerchief that Richard silentlyproffered her, mopped her telltale eyeswith it and blew her nose rather defiantly.

“The reason I asked," Richard said,when this had been accomplished, "is

because if by any chance it has anything todo with me, I mean the way you arefeeling, you needn't"—at which point LadyBrassborough, if she had been perchedsomewhere above in the branches of thegreat poplar and thus able to heareverything that was going on, would havesaid, "Men!" in the same scornful tone shehad used that morning in the breakfast-parlour of the Dower House and washedher hands of him entirely. "I mean,"Richard went on, feeling even with hisow n imperfect masculine comprehensionof what a love scene ought to be that hewas making an appalling mull of it, "Ishould like it above everything if youwould marry me and come back to livehere at Coverts again-”

Eugenia looked not at all cheered by

this offer, and tears began instead to wellup in her eyes again.

“Oh, Richard!" she said. "How veryk-kind of you! But I couldn't possibly letyou make such a s-sacrifice!"

“A sacrifice!" said Richard, lookingthunderstruck. "But it wouldn't be! Whatput such a cork-brained idea into yourhead—?”

But before Eugenia could reply, theclip-clop of a horse's hooves trottingsmartly up the drive interrupted them, andaround the corner of the house came avery sedate gig, driven by a plump,scholarly-looking clerical gentleman whogave the appearance of having very littlenotion where he was going, being contentto leave such mundane affairs to thediscretion of his horse while he

concentrated his mind upon moreimportant matters. At sight of Richard,Eugenia, and the latter's mare, the horsestopped, instead of going round to thestable-yard, which had obviously been theclerical gentleman's intention insofar as hehad one, and the clerical gentleman cameout of his meditations and saw them.

“Eugenia, my dear! And Gerald!" heexclaimed with a pleased expression uponhis face, at the same moment that Eugenia,starting forward, cried, "Cousin Cedric!What are you doing here?"

“I have come to make my quarterlyi ns pe c ti on, " Mr. Cedric Liddiardexplained, climbing down from his gigwithout making the least provision toprevent his horse from wandering off inany direction it pleased. Richard, coming

forward, took the reins and tethered thehorse to a tree. "Such a weight upon myshoulders, my dear," continued Mr.Liddiard, "for one does feel dreadfullyinadequate when Willcox—an estimableman, I am sure, but so apt to expect one tounderstand drains—goes through estatematters with one. Gerald, my boy," hewent on, turning politely to Richard, "howare you? Have you been—I d o seem tohave heard something—getting yourselfinto trouble again?"

“It isn't Gerald. It's Richard,"Eugenia said. "He looks just like Gerry,but he isn't. He is Cousin Charles's son,and Cousin Charles and Susan Justis weremarried by Mr. Childrey at St. Aldwyn's,so he is your real nephew and is to haveCoverts.”

Mr. Liddiard looked bewildered.“It's quite true, sir," Richard said. "I

might say I was sorry to dispossess you,but it would be a lie. I never set eyes onthis place until five minutes ago, but Iknow already that it's where I belong."

“Yes, yes, of course it is—since youare poor Charles's son," Mr. Liddiardsaid, rather distractedly. "Dear me, dearme! This will take a bit of getting used to,you know! Still you can't think what arelief it is to me, my dear boy! I don'tunderstand the land and never have, andyet one's obligation to it—bless me, I canscarcely believe in my good fortune! ShallI really never be obliged to come hereagain?"

“Not unless Eugenia and I invite youto—which I hope we shall do very often,

sir!" Richard said, looking amused. "Weare going to be married, you know."

“Are you, indeed? Dear me, this isindeed a day of happy surprises!" said Mr.Liddiard, beaming upon Eugenia. "Howsplendid for you, my dear! I know howattached you have always been to Coverts!And now you will be coming home again."

“But I'm not—" Eugenia began,looking indignantly at Richard, for it wasmore than should be expected of any girl,she felt, to sacrifice the dearest wish ofher heart twice in one day. "Richard isonly being k-kind—"

“She hasn't quite got used to the ideayet, you see, sir," Richard said blandly."And as she is expected back at the Manorand it is apparent that I still have someexplaining to do, perhaps you will excuse

us for the present? When I have seen herback to the Manor, I shall return and wecan have a talk, if that will beconvenient."

“Oh, yes! Dear me, yes! Highlyconvenient, and very proper!" Mr.Liddiard agreed cordially. "I shall tellWillcox all about you, and he will showyou over the estate, I am sure! He will bevery pleased, you know, very pleased! Iexpect you understand all about drains—and crops, and cows—”

Richard said not all about them,perhaps, but what he didn't know hewould be happy to learn, and, untying Mr.Liddiard's horse from the tree, helped thehappy clerical gentleman into his gig,which then proceeded on its way aroundthe house to the stable-yard.

As soon as it had disappeared,Richard turned to Eugenia, but before hecould speak she backed away from him,both hands out to prevent him fromapproaching her.

“No, Richard—please!" she saidrather desperately. "I know you are onlydoing it to be k-kind, and—and notthinking in the least of yourself, just as youwere when you stopped that horrid youngman from shooting me at the Dower House—"

“So far is Richard from being kind,"he said, advancing ruthlessly upon her andtaking her into his arms in spite of herattempts to ward him off, "that he willprobably beat you if you persist in makingthat idiotish statement. My darling,sensible l i t t l e widgeon, has it never

occurred to you that I have been in lovewith you ever since I first set eyes on youin the King's Head at Thatcham, or Ishould never have allowed you to cozenme into entering upon that outrageousmasquerade at Mere in the first place?"

“But you—but you never—"Eugenia managed to protest, but veryineffectually, for Richard was holding herso close that she was sure he could feelthe wild beating of her heart.

“I never told you so?" Richardcompleted the sentence for her. "The devilof a coxcomb I should have been, to askyou to marry a penniless bastard, whocouldn't offer you so much as a name! Andby the time I discovered that mycircumstances had changed, y o u wereengaged to Tom Rowntree."

“That," acknowledged Eugenia,hanging her head, "was a mistake."

“I have gathered as much."“And," she went on, struck by an

interesting thought, "you can't offer me onenow, either, Richard. A name, I mean—atleast not a new one, because if I marryyou, I shall still be Eugenia Liddiard. Orwould I be Eugenia Liddiard Liddiard?”

Richard said that as far as he wasconcerned she would be Mrs. RichardLiddiard, which was good enough for him,and at that point his impatient feelings gotthe better of him to the point that evenLady Brassborough, had she been lookingdown upon the scene as before from thepoplar's upper , branches, would havebeen more than content with hisperformance. Eugenia, emerging radiant

a nd breathless from an ardent embracethat Lady B.'s most romantic leading manwould have found it difficult to improveupon, gazed up at him with starry eyes.

“Oh, Richard!" she said. "I think—Ireally d o think that you may be in lovewith me, after all!"

“Think!" said Richard. "May be!Good God, my girl, what must I do toprove it to you?”

But at this point Lady Brassborough,being a discreet woman whencircumstances demanded, would no doubthave flown silently away from her perchin the poplar tree, remarking, "Yes, that ismuch better," to herself in an approvingtone, and allowing the rest of what seemedto be shaping into a highly satisfactorylove scene to be played out undisturbed in

the golden brilliance of the sweet-scentedJune day.