That same day, Lord Saltire and Lady Ascot were sitting in the drawingroom window, in South Audley Street, alone. He had come in, as his custom was, about eleven, and found her reading her great old Bible; he had taken up the paper and read away for a time, saying that he would not interrupt her; she, too, had seemed glad to avoid a tete-a-tete conversation, and had continued; but, after a few minutes, he had dropped the paper, and cried —

“The deuce!”

“My dear James,” said she, “what is the matter?”

“Matter! why, we have lost a war-steamer, almost without a shot fired. The Russians have got the Tiger, crew and all. It is unbearable, Maria; if they are going to blunder like this at the beginning, where will it end?”

Lord Saltire was disgusted with the war from the very beginning, in consequence of the French alliance, and so the present accident was as fuel for his wrath. Lady Ascot, as loyal a soul as lived, was possibly rather glad that something had taken up Lord Saltire’s attention just then, for she was rather afraid of him this morning.

She knew his great dislike for Lord Welter, and expected to be scolded for her weakness with regard to Adelaide the night before. Moreover, she had the guilty consciousness that she had asked Adelaide to come to lunch that morning, of which he did not yet know. So she was rather glad to have a subject to talk of, not personal.

“And when did it happen, my dear James?” she asked.

“On the twelfth of last month, Lady Ascot. Come and sit here in the window, and give an account of yourself,???sall you have the goodness?”

Now that she saw it must come, she was as cool and as careless as need be. He could not be hard on her. Charles was to come home to them that day. She drew her chair up, and laid her withered old hand on his, and the two grey heads were bent together. Grey heads but green hearts.

“Look at old Daventry,” said Lord Saltire, “on the other side of the way. Don’t you see him, Maria, listening to that organ? He is two years older than I am. He looks younger.”

“I don’t know that he does. He ought to look older. She led him a terrible life. Have you been to see him lately?”

“What business is that of yours? So you are going to take Welter’s wife back into your good graces, eh, my lady?”

“Yes, James.”

“‘Yes, James!’ — I have no patience with you. You are weaker than water. Well, well, we must forgive her, I suppose. She has behaved generous enough about Charles, has she not? I rather admire her scolding poor William Ravenshoe. I must renew our acquaintance.”

“She is coming to lunch today.”

“I thought you looked guilty. Is Welter coming?”

Lady Ascot made no reply. Neither at that moment would Lord Saltire have heard her if she had. He was totally absorbed in the proceedings of his old friend Lord Daventry, before mentioned. That venerable dandy had listened to the organ until the man had played all his tunes twice through, when he had given him half a crown, and the man had departed. Immediately afterwards, a Punch and Judy had come, which Punch and Judy was evidently an acquaintance of his; for, on descrying him, it had hurried on with its attendant crowd, and breathlessly pitched itself in front of him, let down its green curtains, and plunged at once in medias res. The back of the show was towards Lord Saltire; but, just as he saw Punch look round the comer, to see which way the Devil was gone, he saw two pickpockets advance on Lord Daventry from different quarters, with fell intentions. They met at his tailcoat pocket, quarrelled, and fought. A policeman bore down on them; Lord Daventry was still unconscious, staring his eyes out of his head. The affair was becoming exciting, when Lord Saltire felt a warm tear drop on his hand.

“James,” said Lady Ascot, “don’t be hard on Welter. I love Welter. There is good in him; there is, indeed. I know how shamefully he has behaved; but don’t be hard on him, James.”

“My dearest Maria,” said Lord Saltire, “I would not give you one moment’s uneasiness for the world. I do not like Welter. I dislike him. But I will treat him for your sake and Ascot’s as though I loved him — there. Now about Charles. He will be with us today, thank God. What the deuce are we to do?”

“I cannot conceive,” said Lady Ascot; “it is such a terrible puzzle. One does not like to move, and yet it seems such a sin to stand still.”

“No answer to your advertisement, of course 1 ” said Lord Saltire.

“None whatever. It seems strange, too, with such a reward as we have offered; but it was worded so cautiously, you see.”

Lord Saltire laughed. “Cautiously, indeed. No one could possibly guess what it was about. It was a miracle of obscurity; but it won’t do to go any further yet.” After a pause, he said — “You are perfectly certain of your facts, Maria, for the fiftieth time.”

“Perfectly certain. I committed a great crime, James. I did it for Alicia’s sake. Think what my bringing up had been, how young I was, and forgive me if you can; excuse me if you cannot.”

“Nonsense about a great crime, Maria. It was a reat mistake, certainly. If you had only the courage to have asked Petre one simple question! Alicia never guessed the fact, of course?”

“Never.”

“Do you think, Maria, that by any wild possibility James or Norah knew?”

“How could they possibly? What a foolish question.”

“I don’t know. Those Roman Catholics do strange things,” said Lord Saltire, staring out of window at the crowd.

“If she knew, why did she change the child?”

“Eh?” said Lord Saltire, turning round.

“You have not been attending,” said Lady Ascot.

“No, I have not,” said Lord Saltire; “I was looking at Daventry.”

“Do you still,” said Lord Saltire, “since all our researches and failures, stick to the belief that the place was in Hampshire?”

“I do indeed, and in the north of Hampshire too.”

“I wonder,” said Lord Saltire, turning round suddenly, “whether Mackworth knows?”

“Of course he does,” said Lady Ascot, quietly.

“Hum,” said Lord Saltire, “I had a hold over that man once; but I threw it away as being worthless. I wish I had made a bargain for my information. But what nonsense; how can he know?”

“Know?” said Lady Ascot, scornfully; “what is there a confessor don’t know? Don’t tell me that all Mackworth’s power came from finding out poor Densil’s faux pas. The man has a sense of power other than that.”

“Then he never used it,” said Lord Saltire. “Densil, dear soul, never knew.”

“I said of sense of power,” said Lady Ascot, “which gave him his consummate impudence. Densil never dreamt of it.”

At this point the policeman had succeeded in capturing the two pickpockets, and was charging them before Lord Daventry. Lord Daventry audibly offered them ten shillings a-piece to say nothing about it; at which the crowd cheered.

“Would it be any use to offer money to the priest — say ten thousand pounds or so?” said Lord Saltire. “You are a religious woman, Maria, and as such are a better judge of a priest’s conscience than I. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Lady Ascot. “I don’t know but what the man is high-minded, in his heathenish way. You know Cuthbert’s story of his having refused ten thousand pounds to hush up the matter about Charles. His information would be a blow to the Popish Church in the West. He would lose position by accepting your offer. I don’t know what his position may be worth. You can try him, if all else fails; not otherwise, I should say. We must have a closer search.”

“When you come to think, Maria, he can’t know. If Densil did not know, how could he?”

“Old Clifford might have known, and told him.”

“If we are successful, and if Adelaide has no children — two improbable things — ” said Lord Saltire, “why then —”

“Why, then — ” said Lady Ascot. “But at the worst you are going to make Charles a rich man. Shall you tell William?”

“Not yet. Cuthbert should never be told, I say; but that is Charles’s business. I have prepared William.”

“Cuthbert will not live,” said Lady Ascot.

“Not a chance of it, I believe. Marston says his heart-complaint does not exist, but I think differently.”

At this moment, Lonl Daventry’s offer of money having been refused, the whole crowd moved off in procession towards the police-station. First came three little girls with big bonnets and babies, who, trying to do two things at once — to wit, head the procession by .superior speed, and at the same time look round at Lord Daventry and the pickpockets — succeeded in neither, but only brought the three babies’ heads in violent collision every other step. Next came Lord Daventry, resigned. Next the policeman, with a pick-pocket in each hand, who were giving explanations. Next the boys; after them, the Punch and Judy, which had unfortunately seen the attempt made, and must to the station as a witness, to the detriment of business. Bringing up the rear were the British public, who played practical jokes with one another. The dogs kept a parallel course in the gutter, and barked. In turning the first comer, the procession was cut into, and for a time thrown into confusion, by a light-hearted costermonger, who, returning from a successful market with an empty barrow, drove it in among them with considerable velocity. After which, they disappeared like the baseless fabric of a dream, only to be heard of again in the police reports.

“Lord and Lady Welter.”

Lord Saltire had seen them drive up to the door; so he was quite prepared. He had been laughing intensely, but quite silently, at poor Lord Daventry’s adventures, and so, when he turned round he had a smile on his face. Adelaide had done kissing Lady Ascot, and was still holding both her hands with a look of intense mournful affection. Lord Saltire was so much amused by Adelaide’s acting, and by her simplicity in performing before himself, that, when he advanced to Lord Welter, he was perfectly radiant.

“Well, my dear scapegrace, and how do you do?” he said, giving his hand to Lord Welter; “a more ill-mannered fellow I never saw in my life. To go away and hide yourself with that lovely young wife of yours, and leave all us oldsters to bore one another to death. What the deuce do you mean by it? Eh, sir?”

Lord Welter did not reply in the same strain. He said —

“It is very kind of you to receive me like this. I did not expect it. Allow me to tell you, that I think your manner towards me would not be quite so cordial if you new everything; there is a great deal that you don’t know, and which I don’t mean to tell you.”

It is sometimes quite impossible, even for a writer of fiction, a man with carte blanche in the way of invention, to give the cause for a man’s actions. I have thought and thought, and I cannot for the life of me tell you why Lord Welter answered Lord Saltire like that, whether it was from deep cunning or merely from recklessness. If it was cunning, it was cunning of a high order. It was genius. The mixture of respect and kindness towards the person, and of carelessness about his favour was — well — very creditable. Lord Saltire did not think he was acting, and his opinion is of some value, I believe. But then, we must remember that he was prepared to think the best of Lord Welter that day, and must make allowances. I am not prepared with an opinion; let every man form his own. I only know tliat Lord Saltire tapped his teeth with his snuff-box and remained silent. Lord Welter, whether consciously or no, was nearer the half of a million of money than he had ever been before.

But Adelaide’s finer sense was offended at her husband’s method of proceeding. For one instant, when she heard him say what he did, she could have killed huu. “Reckless, brutal, selfish,” she said fiercely to herself, “throwing a duke’s fortune to the winds by sheer obstinacy.” (At this time she had picked up Lady Ascot’s spectacles, and was playfully placing them on her venerable nose.) “I wish I had never seen him. he is maddening. If he only had some brains, where might not we be?” But the conversation of that morning came to her mind with a jar, and the suspicion with it, that he had more brains of a sort than she; that, though they were on a par in morality, there was a strength about him, against which her finesse was worthless. She knew she could never deceive Lord Saltire, and there was Lord Saltire tapping him on the knee with his snuff-box, and talking earnestly and confidentially to him. She was beginning to respect her husband. He dared face that terrible old man with his hundreds of thousands; she trembled in his presence.

Let us leave her, fooling our dear old friend to the top of her bent, and hear what the men were saying.

“I know you have been, as they say now, ‘ very fast, ‘ ” said Lord Saltire, drawing nearer to him. I don’t want to ask any questions which don’t concern me. You have sense enough to know that it is worth your while to stand well with me. Will you answer me a few questions which do concern me?”

“I can make no promises. Lord Saltire. Let me hear what they are, will you?”

“Why,” said Lord Saltire, “about Charles Ravenshoe.”

“About Charles!” said Lord Welter, looking up at Lord Saltire. “Oh, yes; any number. I have nothing to conceal there. Of course you will know everything. I had sooner you knew it from me than another.”

“I don’t mean about Adelaide; let that go by.

Perhaps I am glad that that is as it is. But have you known where Charles was lately? Your wife told William to come to her this morning; that is why I ask.”

“I have known a very short time. When William Ravenshoe came this morning, I gave him every information. Charles will be with you today.”

“I am satisfied.”

“I don’t care to justify myself, hut if it had not heen for me you would never have seen him. And more. I am not the first man, Lord Saltire, who has done what I have done.”

“No, of course not,” said Lord Saltire. “I can’t fling the first stone at you; God forgive me.”

“But you must see, Lord Saltire, that I could not have guessed that Ellen was his sister.”

“Hey?” said Lord Saltire. “Say that again.”

“I say that, when I took Ellen Horton away from Ravenshoe, I did not know that she was Charles’s sister.”

Lord Saltire fell back in his chair, and said —

“Good God!”

“It is very terrible, looked at one way, Lord Saltire. If you come to look at it another, it amounts to this, that she was only, as far as I know, a gamekeeper’s daughter. Do you remember what you said to Charles and me, when we were rusticated?”

“Yes. I said that one vice was considered more venial than another vice now-a-days; and I say so still.

I had sooner that you had died of delirium tremens in a ditch than done this.”

“So had not I, Lord Saltire. When I became involved with Adelaide, I thought Ellen was provided for; I, even then, had not heard this esclandre about Charles. She refused a splendid offer of marriage before she left me.”

“We thought she was dead. Where is she gone?”

“I have no idea. She refused everything. She stayed on as Adelaide’s maid, and left us suddenly. We have lost all trace of her.”

“What a miserable, dreadful business!” said Lord Saltire.

“Very so,” said Lord Welter. “Hadn’t we better change the subject, my lord?” he added drily. “I am not at all sure that I shall submit to much more cross-questioning. You must not push me too far, or I shall get savage.”

“I won’t,” said Lord Saltire. “But, Welter, for God’s sake, answer me two more questions. Not offensive ones, on my honour.”

“Fifty, if you will; only consider my rascally temper.”

“Yes, yes! When Ellen was with you, did she ever hint that she was in possession of any information about the Ravenshoes?”

“Yes; or rather, when slie went, she left a letter, and in it she said that she had something to tell Charles.” Good, good!” said Lord Saltire. “She may know.

We must find her. Now, Charles is coming here today. Had you better meet him, Welter?”

“We have met before. All that is past is forgiven between us.”

“Met!” said Lord Saltire eagerly. “And what did he say to you? Was there a scene, Welter?”

Lord Welter paused............