It is to be hoped that the reader has not quite forgotten the existence of Everard Lisle.

After Ethel Thursby\'s refusal of him on her eighteenth birthday he went back with a sad heart to his duties at Withington Chase. There he had rooms in the house of Mr. Kinaby, the land steward, an old red brick house situated a little way outside the precincts of the park. Mr. Kinaby\'s health had been failing for some time, and Everard was gradually taking over the greater part of his duties. Every morning he went to the Chase to see to Sir Gilbert\'s correspondence and take his instructions in reference to the estate and other matters. But he had still other duties to attend to. In addition to being a numismatist of some note and a collector of curios, Sir Gilbert of late years had developed into an antiquarian and arch?ologist, and for some time past had been engaged in putting together the framework of what he intended ultimately to elaborate into an exhaustive history of the "hundred" of the county in which the Chase was situated, as natives of which his ancestors for three centuries back had played more or less conspicuous parts. In furtherance of this labour of love, for such it was to him, he found Everard very useful in the way of hunting up authorities, making extracts and transcribing his notes into a calligraphy which it would be possible for a compositor to set up--when, at some as yet unknown date, the great work should be sufficiently advanced to be sent to press--without having to tear his hair in the process.

Sir Gilbert, whom advancing years had tended to render more of a recluse than ever, had gradually, and by a process of which he himself was scarcely conscious, begun to entertain a great liking (in his frigid, undemonstrative way) for this frank-eyed, clear-headed, straightforward young man, in whom he could detect no faintest trace of sycophancy, and who knew so well how to retain the full measure of his own self-respect without in any way grating against the amour-propre of his employer. Lisle had evolved a happy faculty of managing the lonely cantankerous old man, for whom he often felt a profound pity, as no one before had ever succeeded in managing him. Thus it had come to pass that a week never went by without Everard being asked to dine once, and frequently oftener, at the Chase. On these occasions, when dinner was over, the old man and the young one would wind up the evening by playing a few sober games of chess or backgammon, at both of which Sir Gilbert was an adept. By the time the turret clock struck ten, Everard would be strolling back through the park in the direction of his rooms, with no company save a cigar and his own thoughts. At such seasons, with the fresh night air blowing about him, with the stars raining down sweet influences upon him, and with the huge ghost-like trees to sentinel him on his way, whither ought a young man\'s thoughts to wing their flight save to the one fair being, fairer to him than all the world beside, who holds captive his heart, a willing prisoner!

But, in Everard\'s case, she who still held his heart captive did so all unwittingly. She had rejected his proffered love and all was at an end between them. He could never hope to win her for his wife, but that seemed to him no reason, however little such a course might recommend itself to his cooler judgment, why he should not go on loving her just as he had done all along, In any case, he did go on loving her, nor did it seem possible to him that a time should ever come when he could do otherwise. He knew that in all human probability the day was not far distant when he should hear the news of her marriage with another, and he tried to school himself by anticipation, so that when the shock should come, he might be enabled to bear it with manly equanimity.

On a certain morning, as Sir Gilbert Clare and Everard Lisle were engaged together in the library at Withington Chase, a servant entered carrying a highly-glazed card on a salver. "I have shown the gentleman into the morning-room, sir," said the man as he presented the card.

Sir Gilbert took it and adjusted his pince-nez. "Captain Verinder," he read aloud. "Have no recollection of anyone of that name. Um-um. I suppose I must go and see what he wants me for." Then, to the man, "Tell Captain Verinder I will be with him immediately."

The Captain had come down from town by an early train and had made his way on foot from the railway station to the Chase. He had not seen anything of the old mansion on the occasion of his previous visit, and as he drew near, approaching it by way of the drive, he could not help being much impressed, not merely by its size and the noble simplicity of its fa?ade, but by the old-time air of stately, if somewhat faded, dignity which seemed as integral a part of it as the ivy which clung round its gables and chimneys, or the patches of many-coloured lichen with which time had encrusted its high-pitched roof. Nor was this impression lessened when, in response to his summons, a servant in livery opened wide the great double doors, and having taken his card, ushered him through the big echoing hall, hung with trophies of war and the chase, into a charming room furnished in the Empire style--although, to be sure, the gilding was tarnished and the coverings of chairs and lounges considerably the worse for wear--which looked out through its long windows on a gay parterre of flowers, and was shut in with a sort of sweet privacy by a semi-circular hedge of laurel and box. And here Sir Gilbert found his visitor some three minutes later.

The Captain, it may be remembered, had only seen the baronet once before, on that Sunday morning when he took account of him in his high-backed pew at church. Now that he beheld him close at hand, he could not help saying to himself, "What a grand wreck of a man!--and what a splendid fellow he must have been in his prime!" And indeed, although Sir Gilbert\'s one-time height of six feet two inches was now slightly curtailed owing to the burden of his years, he still towered above most people with whom he came in contact, as though he were descended from some heroic race of old, while his shaggy brows, his white drooping moustache, his high thin nose and his eyes still luminous with a sort of untamed fire, lent to his aspect a something of leonine majesty.

"Captain Verinder, I presume," said Sir Gilbert as he advanced, holding the other\'s card between his thumb and forefinger. The Captain bowed. "You have--a--um--the advantage of me, sir. But pray be seated." His keen critical eyes were taking Verinder in from head to foot as he spoke. It was a scrutiny which, despite his coolness and his habitual indifference to the opinion of others, somewhat disconcerted the latter.

"I have taken the liberty of intruding upon you, Sir Gilbert," he began, as he drew forward a chair and gave a little preliminary cough behind his hand, "in order that I may have an opportunity of laying before you certain information which has only quite recently come into my possession, but which, I feel sure, when you have been made aware of it, you will agree with me is of the greatest possible importance."

Sir Gilbert opened his eyes a little wider than usual. "Pray proceed, sir," he said stiffly.

"The information to which I refer bears especially on certain incidents in the life of your late son and heir, Mr. John Alexander Clare."

On the instant Sir Gilbert\'s figure became as rigid as a ramrod. His lips opened and then shut again without a sound.

"Unless my information is at fault," resumed the Captain, "the last occasion on which you and your son met was when, accompanied by another gentleman, you stopped for a few hours at Catanzaro in Calabria, at which place Mr. Clare was then residing."

Sir Gilbert contented himself with bowing a grave assent. His face just then was a puzzle.

"Shortly afterwards Mr. Clare emigrated to the United States, and there, between two and three years later, he unfortunately met with his death through an accident." Here the Captain paused and looked questionably at Sir Gilbert.

"Your information, Mr.--er--Captain Verinder, is quite correct as far as it goes," said the latter as if in response to the look. "Still, I fail to see in what way--er--in short----"

"Why I, a stranger, have had the impertinence to come here and talk to you about matters which, as you doubtless think, can be no possible concern of mine," interposed Verinder coolly. "That is the precise point, Sir Gilbert, as to which I now propose to enlighten you."

Drawing his chair a few inches closer to that of Sir Gilbert he resumed:

"I have merely recapitulated certain facts already known to you in order that I might thereby be enabled to lead up to certain other facts which, as I have every reason to believe, have never been brought under your cognisance."

He paused for a moment as if to allow his next words to gather force thereby.

"Sir, is it within your knowledge that when your son left Italy for America he took with him--a wife?"

At these words Sir Gilbert\'s jaw dropped, a curious glaze came over his eyes and his fingers began to twitch spasmodically. The Captain sprang to his feet; he was on............