Charles, though no genius, had a certain amount of common sense, and, indeed, more of that commodity than most people gave him credit for. Therefore he did not pursue the subject with William. Firstly, because he did not think he could get any more out of him (for William had a certain amount of sturdy obstinacy in his composition); and secondly, because he knew William was, in the main, a sensible fellow, and loved the ground he stood on. Charles would never believe that William would serve him falsely; and he was right.

He told Marston of the curious words which William had used, and Marston had said —

“I don’t understand it. The devil is abroad. Are you coming into any money at your father’s death?”

“I am to have ￡180 a year.”

“I wouldn’t give ￡50 a year for your chance of it. What is this property worth?”

“￡9,000 a year. The governor has lived very extravagantly. The stable establishment is fit for a duke now; and, then, look at the servants!”

“He is not living up to ten thousand a year now, I should say.”

“No; but it is only the other day he gave up the hounds. They cost him two thousand a year; and, while he had them, the house was carried on very extravagantly. The governor has a wonderful talent for muddling away money; and, what is more, I believe he was bit with the railways. You know, I believe, the estate is involved.”

“Bathershin. But still, Cuthbert won’t marry, and his life is a bad one, and you are a heretic, my poor little innocent.”

“And then?”

“Heaven only knows what then. I am sure I don’t. At what time does the worthy and intellectual Welter arrive?”

“He will be here about six.”

“Two hours more rational existence for one, then. After that a smell as of ten thousand stables and fifty stale copies of Bell’s Life in one’s nose, till his lordship takes his departure. I don’t like your cousin, Charles.”

“What an astounding piece of news! He says you are a conceited prig, and ‘jive yourself airs.”

“He never said a wiser or truer thing in his life. I am exactly that; and he is a fifth-class steeplechase rider, with a title.”

“How you and he will fight!; ’

“So I expect. That is, if he has the courage for battle, which I rather doubt. He is terribly afraid of me.”

“I think you are hard on poor Welter,” said Charles; “I do, indeed. He is a generous, good-hearted fellow.”

“Oh! we are all generous, good-hearted fellows,” said Marston, “as long as we have plenty of money and good digestions. You are right, though, Charley. He is what you say, as far as I know; but the reason I hate him is this: — You are the dearest friend I have, and I am jealous of him. He is in eternal antagonism to me. I am always trying to lead you right, and he is equally diligent in leading you into wrong.”

H Well, he sha’n’t lead me into any more, I promise you now. Do be civil to him.”

“Of course I will, you gaby. Did you think 1 was going to show fight in your house?”

When Marston came down to dinner, there was Lord Welter sitting beside old Densil, and kindly amusing him with all sorts of gossip — stable and other.

“How do, Marston?” said he, rising and coming forward.

“How d’ye do, Lord Welter?” said Marston.

“I am very glad to meet you here,” said Lord Welter, with a good-humoured smile, “although I am ashamed to look you in the face. Marston, my dear Mr. Ravenshoe, is Charles’s good genius, and I am his evil one; I am always getting Charles into mischief, and he is always trying to keep him out of it. Hitherto, however, I have been completely successful, and he has made a dead failure.”

Old Densil laughed “You are doing yourself injustice, Welter,” he said. “Is he not doing himself an injustice, Mr. Marston?”

“Not in the least, sir,” said Marston. And the two young men shook hands more cordially than they had ever done before.

That’evening Lord Welter fulfilled Mary’s prophecy, that he would smoke in his bedroom, and not only smoked there himself, but induced Charles to come and do so also. Marston was not in the humour for the style of conversation he knew he should have there, and so he retired to bed, and left the other two to themselves.

“Well, Charles,” said Welter. “Oh, by-the-bye, I have got a letter for you from that mysterious madcap, Adelaide. She couldn’t send it by post; that would not have been mysterious and underhand enough for her. Catch hold.”

Charles caught hold, and read his letter. Welter watched him curiously from under the heavy eyebrows, and, when he had finished, said —

“Come put that away, and talk That sort of thing is pretty much the same in all cases, I take it. As far as my own experience goes, it is always the same. Scold and whine and whimper; whimper, whine, and scold. How’s that old keeper of yours?”

“He has lost his wife.”

“Poor fellow! I remember his wife — a handsome Irish woman.”

“My nurse?”

“Ay, ay. And the pretty girl, Ellen; how is she?”

“Poor Ellen! She has run away, Welter; gone to the had, I fear.”

Lord Welter sat in just the same position, gazing on the fire. He then said, in a very deliberate voice:—

“The deuce she is! I am very sorry to hear that. I was in hopes of renewing our acquaintance.”

The days flew by, and, as you know, there came no news from Ellen. The household had been much saddened by her disappearance and by Nora’s death, though not one of the number ever guessed what had passed between Mary and Marston. They were not a very cheerful household; scarce one of them but had some secret trouble. Father Tiernay came back after a week or so; and, if good-natured kindly chatter could have cheered them at all, he would have done it. But there was a settled gloom on the party which nothing could overcome. Even Lord Welter, boisterous as his spirits usually were, seemed often anxious and distraught; and, as for poor Cuthbert, he would, at any time, within the knowledge of man, have acted as a “damper” on the liveliest party. His affection for Charles seemed, for some reason, to increase day by day, but it was sometimes very hard to keep the peace between Welter and him. If there was one man beyond another that Cuthbert hated, it was Lord Welter; and sometimes, after dinner, such a scene as this would take place.

You will, perhaps, have remarked that I have never yet represented Cuthbert as speaking to Mary. The real fact is, that he never did speak to her, or to any oman, anything beyond the meresl common places — a circumstance which made Charles very much doubt the truth of Ellen’s statement — that the priest had caught them talking together in the wood. However, Cuthbert was, in his way, fond enough of the bonny little soul (I swear I am in love with her myself, over head and ears); and so, one day, when she came crying in, and told him — as being the first person she met — that her little bantam-cock had been killed by the dorking, Cuthbert comforted her, bottled up his wrath, till his father had gone into the drawingroom with her after dinner, and the others were sitting at their wine. Then he said, suddenly: —

“Welter, did you have any cock-fighting today?”

“Oh, yes, by-the-bye, a splendid turnup. There was a noble little bantam in an inclosed yard challenging a great dorking, and they both seemed so very anxious for sport that I thought it would be a pity to baulk them; so I just let the bantam out. I give you my word, it is my belief that the bantam would have been the best man, but that he was too old. His attack was splendid; but he met the fate of the brave.”

“You should not have done that, Welter,” said Charles; “that was Mary’s favourite bantam.”

“I don’t allow any cock-fighting at Ravenshoe. Welter,’” said Cuthbert.

“You don’t allow it!” said Lord Welter, scornfully.

“No, by heav............