Dusk was closing in when George and Edgar alighted at a little English station. Casting an eager glance about, George was disappointed to see nobody from his cousin\'s house waiting to meet him. In another moment, however, he was warmly greeted by Ethel West.

"A very hearty welcome, George," she said. "You\'re looking very fit, but thinner than you were when you left us. Stephen\'s waiting outside. He told Muriel we would drive you over; Herbert\'s away somewhere."

"How\'s everybody?" George inquired.

"Sylvia looked as charming as ever when I last saw her a few days ago," Ethel answered with a smile, which George was too eager to notice was somewhat forced. "The rest of us, are much as usual. But come along; we\'ll send over afterward for your heavy things."

They turned toward the outlet, and found Stephen having some trouble with a horse that was startled by the roar of steam. Edgar got up in front of the high trap, George helped Ethel to the seat behind, and they set off the next moment, flying down the wet road amid a cheerful hammer of hoofs and a rattle of wheels. For the first few minutes George said little as he looked about. On one side great oaks and ashes raised their naked boughs in sharp tracery against the pale saffron glow in the western sky. Ahead, across a deep valley, which was streaked with trains of mist, wide moors and hills rolled away, gray and darkly blue. Down the long slope to the hollow ran small fields with great trees breaking the lines of hedgerows; and the brawling of a river swollen by recent rain came sharply up to him.

It was all good to look upon, a beautiful, well-cared-for land, and he felt a thrill of pride and satisfaction. This was home, and he had come back to it with his work done. A roseate future stretched away before him, its peaceful duties brightened by love, and the contrast between it and the stress and struggle of the past two years added to its charm. Still, to his astonishment, he thought of the sterner and more strenuous life he had led on the western plains with a faint, half-tender regret.

By and by Edgar\'s laugh rang out.

"The change in my brother is remarkable," Ethel declared. "It was a very happy thought that made us let him go with you."

"I\'m not responsible," George rejoined. "You have the country to thank. In some way, it\'s a hard land; but it\'s a good one."

"Perhaps something is due to Miss Taunton\'s influence."

Edgar leaned over the back of the seat.

"That," he said, "is a subject of which I\'ve a monopoly; and I\'ve volumes to say upon it as soon as there\'s a chance of doing it justice. George, I hear that Singleton, who told us about the wheat, is home on a visit. Stephen has asked him over; you must meet him."

George said he would be glad to do so, and turned to Ethel when Edgar resumed his conversation with his brother.

"I wired Herbert to have everything ready at my place, though I shall spend the night at Brantholme."

"The Lodge is let. Didn\'t you know?"

"I understood that the man\'s tenancy ran out a few weeks ago."

"He renewed it. Herbert didn\'t know you were coming over; the terms were good."

"Then I\'m homeless for a time."

"Oh, no!" said Ethel. "Stephen wanted me to insist on your coming with us now, but I know you will want to see Muriel and have a talk with her. However, we\'ll expect you to come and take up your quarters with us to-morrow."

George looked at her in some surprise.

"I\'d be delighted, but Herbert will expect me to stay with him, and, of course—"

"Sylvia hadn\'t arrived this afternoon; she was at Mrs. Kettering\'s," Ethel told him. "But remember that you must stay with us until you make your arrangements. We should find it hard to forgive you if you went to anybody else."

"I wouldn\'t think of it, only that Herbert\'s the obvious person to entertain me," George replied, though he was a little puzzled by the insistence, and Ethel abruptly began to talk of something else.

Darkness came, but there were gleams of cheerful light from roadside cottages, and George found the fresh moist air and the shadowy woods they skirted pleasantly familiar. This was the quiet English countryside he loved, and a sense of deep and tranquil content possessed him. He failed to notice that Ethel cleverly avoided answering some of his questions and talked rather more than usual about matters of small importance. At length they reached the Brantholme gates, and Stephen looked down as George alighted.

"We\'ll expect you over shortly; I\'ll send for your baggage," he said as he drove off.

George, to his keen disappointment, found only Mrs. Lansing waiting for him in the hall, though she received him very cordially,

"Herbert had to go up to London; he didn\'t get your wire in time to put off the journey," she explained. "I\'m sorry he can\'t be back for a few days."

"It doesn\'t matter; he has to attend to his business," George rejoined.
"But where\'s Sylvia?"

"She hasn\'t come back from Susan\'s," said Mrs. Lansing, quickly changing the subject and explaining why Herbert had re-let the Lodge. After that, she asked George questions until she sent him off to prepare for dinner.

George was perplexed as well as disappointed. Neither Ethel nor Muriel seemed inclined to speak about Sylvia—it looked as if they had some reason for avoiding any reference to her; but he assured himself that this was imagination, and during dinner he confined his inquiries to other friends. When it was over and Muriel led him into the drawing-room, his uneasiness grew more keen.

"Herbert thought you would like to know as soon as possible how things were going," Muriel said, as she took a big envelope from a drawer and gave it to him.

"He told me this was a rough statement of your business affairs."

"Thanks," said George, thrusting it carelessly into his pocket. "I must study it sometime. But I\'ve been looking forward all day to meeting Sylvia. Wouldn\'t Susan let her come?"

Mrs. Lansing hesitated, and then, leaning forward, laid her hand on his arm.

"I\'ve kept it back a little, George; but you must be told. I\'m afraid it will be a shock—-Sylvia is to marry Captain Bland in the next few weeks."

George rose and turned rather gray in the face, as he leaned on the back of a chair.

"I suppose," he said hoarsely, "there\'s no doubt of this?"

"It\'s all arranged." Mrs. Lansing made a compassionate gesture. "I can\'t tell you how sorry I am, or how hateful it was to have to give you such news."

"I can understand why Sylvia preferred to leave it to you," he said slowly. "How long has this matter been going on?"

Mrs. Lansing\'s eyes sparkled with anger.

"I believe it began soon after you left. I don\'t know whether Sylvia expects me to make excuses for her, but I won\'t do anything of the kind; there are none that could be made. She has behaved shamefully!"

"One must be just," George said with an effort. "After all, she promised me nothing."

"Perhaps not in so many words. But she knew what you expected, and I have no doubt she led you to believe—"

George raised his hand.

"I think there\'s nothing to be said—the thing must be faced somehow. I feel rather badly hit; you won\'t mind if I go out and walk about a little?"

Mrs. Lansing was glad to let him go; the sight of his hard-set face hurt her. In another minute he was walking up and down the terrace, but he stopped presently and leaned on the low wall. Hitherto he had believed in Sylvia with an unshaken faith, but now a flood of suspicion poured in on him; above all, there was the telling fact that as soon as he had gone, she had begun to lead on his rival. The shock he had suffered had brought George illumination. Sylvia could never have had an atom of affection for him; she had merely made his loyalty serve her turn. She had done so even before she married Dick Marston; though he had somehow retained his confidence in her then. He had been a fool from the beginning!

The intense bitterness of which he was conscious was wholly new to him, but it was comprehensible. Just in all his dealings, he expected honesty from others, and, though generous in many ways, he had not Bland\'s tolerant nature; he looked for more than the latter and had less charity. There was a vein of hardness in the man who had loved Sylvia largely because he believed in her. Trickery and falseness were abhorrent to him, and now the woman he had worshiped stood revealed in her deterrent reality.

After a while he pulled himself together, and, going back to the house, entered Herbert\'s library where, less because of his interest in the matter than as a relief from painful thoughts, he opened the envelope given him and took out the statement. For a few moments the figures puzzled him, and then he broke into a bitter laugh. The money that he had entrusted to his cousin\'s care had melted away.

During the next two or three minutes he leaned back, motionless, in his chair; then he took up a pencil and lighted a cigar. Since he was ruined, he might as well ascertain how it had happened, and two facts became obvious from his study of the document: Herbert had sold sound securities, and had mortgaged land; and then placed the proceeds in rubber shares. This was perhaps permissible, but it did not explain what had induced an astute business man to hold the shares until they had fallen to their remarkably low value. There was a mystery here, and George in his present mood was keenly suspicious. He had no doubt that Herbert had left the statement because it would save him the unpleasantness of giving a personal explanation; moreover, George believed that he had left home with that purpose. Then he made a few rough calculations, which seemed to prove that enough remained to buy and stock a farm in western Canada. This was something, though it did not strike him as a matter of much consequence, and he listlessly smoked out his cigar. Then he rose and rejoined Mrs. Lansing.

"If you don\'t mind, I\'ll go over to Wests\' to-morrow," he said. "They pressed me to spend some time with them, and there are arrangements to be made on which they want my opinion. Edgar is taking up land in Canada."

Mrs. Lansing looked troubled.

"Was there anything disturbing in the paper Herbert gave me for you? He doesn\'t tell me much about his business, but I gathered that he was vexed about some shares he bought on your account. I should be sorry if they have gone down."

"You would hardly understand; the thing\'s a little complicated," George said with reassuring gentleness. "I\'m afraid I have lost some money; but, after all, it isn\'t my worst misfortune. I\'ll have a talk with Herbert as soon as he comes home."

He left Brantholme the next morning and was received by Ethel when he arrived at Wests\'.

"We have been expecting you," she said cordially.

"Then you know?"

"Yes. I\'m very sorry; but I suppose it will hardly bear talking about.
Stephen is waiting for you; he\'s taking a day off and Edgar\'s friend,
Singleton, arrives to-night."

Singleton duly made his appearance, but he was not present when George and Stephen West sat down for a talk after dinner in the latter\'s smoking-room. Presently George took out the statement and handed it to his host.

"I want advice badly and I can\'t go to an outsider for it," he said.
"I feel quite safe in confiding in you."

West studied the document for a while before he looked up.

"The main point to be decided is—whether you should sell these shares at once for what they will bring, or wait a little? With your permission, we\'ll ask Singleton; he knows more about the matter than anybody else."

Singleton came in and lighted a cigar, and then listened carefully, with a curious little smile, while West supplied a few explanations.

"Hold on to these shares, even if you have to make a sacrifice to do so," he advised.

"But they seem to be almost worthless," George objected.

"Perhaps I had better go into the matter fully," said Singleton. "I\'ll do so on the understanding that what I\'m about to tell you reaches nobody else.............