His friends feared him, even as they respected him, for if he had the faults of his race, he also possessed its great virtue—justice. No man, prince or peasant, friend or foe, ever appealed to Lord Barminster for that in vain.

Now, in the clear brightness of the spring morning he paced to and fro on the south terrace.

Behind him glittered the long French windows of the morning-room, one of which stood open, revealing the luxury of the room beyond; the table with its silver and delicate china service, and the purple hangings of the walls.

Presently he stopped in his stroll and turned his stern eyes towards the landscape stretching beneath him. Through the confusion of the dark woods there lay a long line of turf, cut here and there by formidable hedges, and divided by a streak of glittering silver, which was in reality a dangerous stream—indeed, higher up it became a torrent—forming the final obstacle of the Barminster steeple-course. All the Leroys had been fond of horses. The Barminster stables had sent many a satin-coated colt to carry off the gold cup; and this race-course had been carefully kept and preserved by the family for many generations.

While he stood gazing on it a light footstep sounded behind him, and a slender hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned slowly, and with a kind of kingly courtesy kissed the long white fingers.

"You are early as usual, Constance," he said approvingly.

Lady Constance Tremaine smiled as she turned with him and walked along the mosaic pavement of the terrace. She was little more than a girl, with a slim, graceful figure, and clad in a simple white morning gown, which served to enhance her youthful beauty. Her face was a pure oval, with clear-cut features and an exquisitely curved, sensitive mouth, while her grey-blue eyes gazed from beneath their thick lashes with a calm serenity that bred faith and confidence in those who looked upon them. Crowned with a wealth of pale golden hair, together with her delicate complexion, she looked as if she had stepped from one of the old Florentine pictures of the saints.

As the two so typical of youth and age stood side by side in the clear morning light, the resemblance between them was marked. Indeed, they were related, for the Tremaines were a distant branch of the Leroy family, and the same proud blood ran in their veins. Lady Constance had been brought up in the Barminster household, and Adrien had grown to regard her in the light of a loved and trusted sister; but, as yet, nothing more.

"Won't you come in to breakfast?" she said, as they reached the end of the terrace. "Aunt Penelope is not coming down; her nerves are bad this morning."

Miss Penelope Leroy, Lord Barminster's only sister, was not strictly speaking Constance's aunt, merely a distant cousin; but as a child Constance had been accustomed to call her so, and the habit had grown up with her.

Lord Barminster smiled grimly.

"I advised her to let the cucumber alone last night," was his only comment as he turned towards the breakfast room.

Constance smiled too, for she knew that when Miss Penelope complained of her nerves, it was in reality nothing but a case of indigestion.

"How bright the course looks this morning!" she said, with a charitable wish to change the subject, for Lord Barminster was apt at times to wax caustic over his sister's small weaknesses.

"Yes," he said grimly; "like all things dangerous, it is pleasant to the eye. I hate that strip of green—it is the grave of many a Leroys' best hope. The turf has always been a fatal snare to our race. But, come," he broke off, "let us go in. Thank goodness, Adrien arrives to-day."

"To-day?" repeated Lady Constance, a delicate flush rising to her sweet face. "I thought he was not going to arrive until the morning of the race."

"The race is to-morrow, but he comes to-day," answered Lord Barminster. "I had a note from him last night saying he would be here by lunch time, and was bringing a few friends down with him."

"And Mr. Vermont, too?" inquired Lady Constance almost timidly.

The old man's face darkened and his thin lips set in a hard line.

"Yes," he said fiercely, "I suppose so. Adrien is as much in love with him as a young fellow with his first sweetheart. I know that he's a scoundrel and a rogue—but there, what would you? Times have changed since my day; we have replaced horses by motors, to spoil our roads and ruin our lands, and gentleman friends by base-born, scheming adventurers."

"Oh, but, uncle," Lady Constance timidly remonstrated, "surely Mr. Vermont is a gentleman?"

"Yes, by Act of Parliament!" snapped the old man, in whose aristocratic eyes a lawyer was but little removed from the criminal whose case he defended.

"Certainly it is strange that Adrien should be so attached to him," the girl said musingly; she, herself, had little liking for the gentleman in question, though her sense of justice had made her speak a good word for him. "But he is a clever steward, at least."

"A rogue's only virtue," said Lord Barminster dryly.

"Amusing, too," she suggested.

"We've no longer need of a court jester," returned her companion, with sarcasm. "But never mind, Adrien will find out his mistake for himself one day. Certainly, I am not going to attempt to strip the mask off his friend's face. Give him rope enough, and he will hang himself. Meanwhile, give me some more coffee, and leave the fellow's name alone; I hate even the thought of him."

Lady Constance refilled his cup and brought it to the end of the table, for she loved to wait on the old man. As she did so, his sharp eyes caught the glitter of a piece of needlework across the back of her chair, and with a curt gesture towards it, he said:

"What is that?"

She blushed, almost deeply, then took it up, and opened it out for him to see. It was a silk riding jacket, in the scarlet and white racing colours of the Leroys, and their coat of arms, worked in silver, upon the breast.

"For the Grand National," said Lady Constance, as she refolded the jacket.

"You worked it yourself?" questioned the old man abruptly.

"Yes," she replied, blushing again. Then, as he was silent for some minutes, she said almost timidly: "You do not mind, uncle, do you?"

He started. "Mind! Good Heavens, child, why should I? You know the wish of my heart only too well. What better favour could he wear than yours? As far as I am concerned, you were plighted in your cradles. Leroy and Tremaine are no unequal match. No—no—my dear, make his jacket, and win his heart—if you can!"

Some few hours later, panting and throbbing, the Daimler motor drew up in the Castle courtyard—Adrien and his friends had arrived for the great steeplechase.

Attracted by the sound of the barking dogs, who apparently disliked the unaccustomed monster—Lord Barminster himself invariably using horses—Lady Constance stepped from her room on to the balcony which looked down upon the courtyard beneath. The gentlemen's hats flew off in greeting, and, as Adrien looked up, an unusual thrill ran through him as he noted the simple beauty of the girl above him.

"We thought we'd left the sun behind us, Constance, but evidently 'she' is still overhead," he said, smiling.

She looked down with mock reproof, playfully shaking at him a flower which she held in her hand.

"I thought compliments were out of date, Adrien. Have you enjoyed your drive?"

"Not half so much as the welcome," was the courteous reply, as he caught the rose which she had let fall.

She laughed, and blushed a little, then turned to the other members of the party, who had now alighted from the car.

"Ah, Lord Standon, I did not know you were coming." Then, as that young man's face lengthened, she added quickly: "Unexpected pleasures are always welcome. I am glad to see you, Mr. Paxhorn."

After a word of greeting to Mortimer Shelton, she drew back into her room; while the men, laughing and chatting, passed into the great hall, where they found Lord Barminster awaiting them. His stern face softened into a welcome, as, with outstretched hand, he came forward to greet his guests.

"Ah, Shelton!" he said, "so you keep my boy company, and you, Paxhorn and Standon. Gentlemen, you are welcome—though there's no need to remind you of that, I know. Adrien," turning to his son, "you have a fine day, did you drive or ride?"

"We motored down, sir," answered the young man, in his soft, melodious voice.

His father frowned slightly. He heartily detested all modern innovations, and would never hold that motors—or, indeed, any increased facilities for travelling—were improvements. "They breed discontent, sir," he would declaim vigorously. "In my young days people were content to stay in the place in which they had been born, and do their duty. Now, forsooth, they must see this country and that, and visit a dozen places in the year, where their grandparents visited one. Anything for an excuse to fritter away their hard-earned savings!"

On this occasion, however, he made no comment, but turned to Mortimer Shelton.

"You'll find the roads here better suited for horses than for oil-cans," he said grimly. "We are primitive, as you know."

Shelton laughed; but he knew his host's ideas on this subject, and was apt to respect them.

"So much the better, sir," he said in a cheerful tone; "I am a bit tired of the smell of petrol myself. Give me Nature without a corset."

"You'll certainly get that here," Lord Barminster replied, favouring his young guest with an approving glance.

Shortly afterwards, they made their way to the morning-room. Here, luncheon had been laid, and Lord Barminster, Miss Penelope, with Lady Constance, were awaiting them. The little party sat down to table, each one secretly only too ready for the meal; for the ride through the fresh, country air had been a fairly long one.

"I was really hungry, Constance," Adrien said, with his low, careless laugh. "There must be magic in the air of Barminster."

"Yet still you come here so seldom," returned his cousin gently.

"Business and the cares of State," quoted Adrien, with a smile. "But I might retaliate. Why do we not see you up in town? Society misses one of its brightest stars."

Lady Constance toyed idly with the grapes on her plate; then she looked up.

"Society has many brighter lights than I, Adrien," she said quietly. "But now, tell me about the race—auntie is terribly anxious over it; are you not, dear?"

"Yes, my love," returned Miss Penelope, who, in reality, hardly knew one horse from another.

"Oh, Adrien always wins," put in Lord Standon. "That's a foregone conclusion. Have you seen the 'King' lately, Lady Constance?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, "He is exercised in the paddock every morning, and is in fine form."

Adrien smiled.

"Poor 'King Cole'; he'll be worth his weight in gold if he wins to-morrow! What about the other horses, Stan; are they down?"

"Yes," replied Lord Standon; "my man saw some of them at the station; but no sign of the Yorkshire chestnut."

"So much the better," said Adrien; "perhaps his owner has thought discretion the better part of valour and withdrawn him."

The conversation then flowed into other channels; Paxhorn provoking roars of merriment by his stories and epigrams. Presently the ladies withdrew; Lady Constance to prepare for a ride with Adrien, which he had just suggested, and Miss Penelope to rest her "nerves."

While waiting for his cousin to rejoin him Adrien crossed over to the window, which commanded a view of the Castle entrance, and stood gazing idly down. Outside stood a smart motor, and from it was alighting the trim figure of Jasper Vermont.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I had forgotten Jasper."

He tapped at the window, and waved his hand in affectionate greeting to his friend, who looked up with his most amiable smile, as he brushed aside the servants who had hurried out to meet him.

There are people who are served well from sheer force of personality, and who, though neither generous nor unselfish themselves, yet contrive to abstract the very essence of these qualities from those around them; and of these Jasper Vermont was one. His tips were few, though he was lavish in smiles and honeyed words; yet not one of the retinue of servants at Barminster Castle but would fly to attend to his wants, as they would those of Adrien or Lord Barminster himself.

A few minutes later he strolled into the room where the rest of the guests were seated. As he did so Lord Barminster involuntarily drew himself up with a slight frown. He had hoped that the "adventurer," as he invariably termed him, would remain in town and not thrust his unwelcome presence upon the guests at the Castle. But, in another minute, his natural courtesy reasserted itself; and, though it was patent to the least observant that the new arrival was not as welcome as he might have been, he answered Jasper's amiable inquiry as to his health politely enough.

"Thank you, Mr. Vermont," he said grimly, "I am quite well. But you, I fear, are an invalid."

His sharp eyes glanced towards the closed motor, which was gliding round the bend of the drive.

"No, sir, I am quite well, I assure you," Jasper replied, meekly, as if unconscious of any irony.

"But I have learned enough wisdom to feel convinced that all journeys, including that of life itself, should be taken as comfortably as possible. I prefer, therefore, to have the dust and smell outside the car instead of in. Am I not right?"

"Perfectly," returned his opponent, with a sarcastic smile; "you should surely know your own constitution best. It was an unfortunate error on my part."

At this moment, Adrien, who had been listening to the point-and-thrust conversation, exceedingly ill at ease, intervened, and under some pretext drew his father out with him into the corridor.

"I do detest that fellow so," said the old man apologetically, as though ashamed at having displayed his feelings.

"It's a pity, sir," returned Adrien, respectfully; for his father was the only person who dared say a word in disfavour of his friend. "He takes any amount of pains to save me trouble."

"Well, it pays him," retorted Lord Barminster dryly; then with a wave of the hand as if to dismiss an unpleasant subject, he added, "You're off to the stables, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir," replied Adrien, "I want to have a look at 'King Cole.'" With a friendly nod, he ran lightly down the wide oak staircase and disappeared in the direction of the stables.

For a few moments Lord Barminster stood gazing after him, his stern face relaxed, his keen eyes softened. Adrien was more to him than all his possessions, which were vast enough to have provided for a dozen sons. Therefore, he denied him nothing, however extravagant or reckless in price, and refrained from any comment on his line of conduct.



CHAPTER IX

Adrien's appearance in the stable-yard was the signal for much excitement among the hands there; and presently the head groom made his appearance, struggling into his coat, while coughing with embarrassed respect.

"Good morning, Markham," said his master with a nod; "where's the 'King'?"

"In the south stable, sir," replied the man, as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys. "You would like to see him, sir?"

Adrien nodded, and made his way to the stable, accompanied by the groom.

"No one else is allowed to enter the stable but yourself, Markham?" he asked, as the man unlocked the door.

"No one, sir. I'm always here when he's being littered or fed. Not a soul touches him without I'm at his side. He's in fine condition, sir; I never saw him in better."

Adrien passed his hand over the satiny coat of the race-horse. The dainty creature pricked up his finely-pointed ears, and turned to his master with a whinny of delight.

"He looks well enough," he admitted. "Has he had his gallop this morning?"

"Yes, sir; but would you like to see him across the paddock?"

"Yes," said Adrien. "By the way, who rides him to-morrow?"

"Peacock, sir."

"Ah, the new jockey."

"Yes, sir; Mr. Vermont's lad," returned the groom.

"A good seat?" asked Adrien.

"Capital, never saw a better, sir, and weighs next to nothing. I'll send for him." He whistled, and half a dozen stable helpers rushing forward, he despatched them to find the jockey. While waiting, the groom had the precious "King" brought into the yard and saddled; and in a few moments the man arrived. Markham had called him a lad; but in reality he was almost middle-aged, with the stunted stature of a child. Adrien looked him over critically.

"So you ride the 'King' to-morrow?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied the dwarf humbly.

"Let me see you take him round the paddock," said Adrien. The man threw off his coat, showing himself to be in shabby riding costume; then, vaulting into the saddle, he took the racer to the meadow at the back of the stable-yard. Adrien watched the bird-like flight of the superb animal, and nodded approvingly when he presently returned to the starting-point.

"You'll do," he said, as the jockey dismounted; "ride like that to-morrow, and we shall win. There is something for you, but no drinking, mind."

He held out a ten-pound note as he spoke. The man stared at it for a moment, then crouching almost like a dog, took it gingerly by the edge.

"Don't be afraid, man; one would think you expected a blow," said Adrien, with a smile.

Touching his forelock, the man took the note, and Adrien turned away. As he walked out of the stable-yard he happened to glance back at Markham, who was re-covering the "King," and he saw that the jockey was still gazing after him, with a tense, almost longing expression in his small, deep-set eyes.

"Poor devil!" said Leroy to himself as he went up the drive, "I must get Jasper to do something for him, especially if he wins—I only hope he doesn't get drunk!"

In the courtyard Lady Constance's horse and his own were waiting for him and in a few moments the girl herself appeared, accompanied by the ever-smiling Jasper Vermont.

Blessed by nature with a good figure, Art, as represented by French modistes and Redfern, had put the finishing touches, with the result that Lady Constance Tremaine, whether in evening dress or the blue cloth riding-habit of the field, was a joy to the eye. As she stood now, waiting Adrien's approach, he could not help mentally contrasting her natural, spiritual type of beauty with the made-up and coarsened charms of Ada Lester, and he wondered how he could have been so blind as not to notice it before.

He was not the only one who admired her. Jasper Vermont had elected himself as the girl's chief slave, and whenever he was at Barminster Castle invariably managed to carry out her lightest whims—indeed, would even endeavour to forestall them. Now it was he who attended to her saddle, and helped her into it before Adrien had fully realised what he was about to do; and for once Leroy experienced just the least feeling of resentment towards his devoted friend.

For a while the two rode almost in silence; but after the first canter Adrien reined up his horse close to that of his companion. Lady Constance purposely brought the conversation round to his estates, for, with all his dissipation and languor, Leroy was no indifferent landlord, and Lord Barminster invariably referred all complaints—such few as there were—to his son.

"I'm sorry you would not renew the lease for Farmer Darrell," she said gently; "he is almost heart-broken at having to leave Briar Farm."

Adrien pulled up his horse sharply.

"Farmer Darrell to leave Briar Farm!" he said quickly. "What do you mean, Constance?"

She looked at him steadily, as she replied:

"I rode over there yesterday, and found them all in great trouble. They told me Mr. Vermont, acting under your orders, had refused to grant them new leases. I promised to speak to Uncle Phillip; but you know how angry he gets whenever any one mentions Mr. Vermont's name, so I thought I would ask you myself." She blushed crimson, as if at her own boldness. "Of course, you mustn't do it just on my account, but—"

"Mustn't I?" interrupted her cousin, looking keenly, almost affectionately at the slim, girlish figure, and pretty piquant face. "I should certainty grant whatever you asked me if it lay in my power. As a matter of fact, however, I think Jasper said that, as they were unable to make Briar Farm pay, would I lower the rent; and as that would be creating a precedent for all the other tenants—I refused."

Lady Constance nodded her head. "Quite right," she agreed; "but I happen to know that the farm does pay splendidly, and—"

"In any case, Constance," interrupted Adrien, almost tenderly, "it is quite sufficient, if you wish it so. But I think—I am sure—Jasper must have made a mistake."

Lady Constance did not reply, but wisely changed the subject; she was too clever to pursue her advantage, and she had gained her point—sown the least little doubt of Mr. Jasper Vermont's rectitude in Adrien's mind.

Meanwhile, Mr. Vermont had also betaken himself to the stables; but he did not ask to see "King Cole"—contenting himself with beaming admiringly on Mr. Markham, while the head groom held forth on all the precautions he was taking with regard to the precious animal's safety.

"An' if he's got at, Mr. Vermont, sir, I'll eat my head," was his parting speech.

In reply to which Mr. Vermont murmured inaudibly, as he walked away: "It's a lucky job, my good fellow, that I shan't make you keep your word!"

At the end of the plantation, beyond the stable buildings, there was a little cottage attached to the straw-yard. Having reached this, Jasper listened attentively; then, without any warning knock, he lifted the latch, and entered.

To all appearances the room was empty, save for some pieces of poor furniture. But the visitor, blinking at the sudden transition from light to darkness, walked over to a rough couch, where lay the misshapen jockey Peacock, either asleep or deep in thought. Jasper shook him angrily by the shoulder, and a sullen scowl darkened the little monkey-like face as he recognised his visitor.

"Well?" he said gruffly, without attempting to change his position.

"Short, and not polite!" retorted Jasper, shaking him again. "Didn't I tell you I'd come here to-day, you imp of darkness?"

"You did, guv'nor," the man replied sullenly.

"Well, here I am. You're not drunk, are you? Here—let's look at you." With a cruel smile, the soft, amiable Mr. Vermont seized the ear of the dwarfed jockey and dragged him to the light. "No, not drunk—for a wonder. Well, you know what to do to-morrow?"

The man nodded sulkily.

"Tighten and choke off at the last hurdle. Mind you do it neatly, too. You can do it, I know; and it won't be the first little affair you've sold, eh? You sold one too many, though, when you crossed my path, and you know what will happen if you fail me."

"All right," the jockey muttered hoarsely.

"I hope it will be all right," said his persecutor, shaking him gently to and fro by the ear. "If not, you'll find yourself in the care of a paternal Government—I tell you—picking oakum."

The man gave a sudden jerk and released himself from the cruel grasp; then he looked up almost piteously.

"Must we do it, guv'nor?" he said hoarsely. "I've seen 'im——"

"Him! whom, you idiot?"

"Him—Mr. Leroy—as we're to sell."

"You're to sell, you mean, you gallows-bird," returned Jasper.

The man eyed him viciously.

"Yus," he growled, "you think you're going to git off scot-free, don't yer? What if I don't do it? He giv' me a tenner, he did. 'E's a real gent. What if I don't do it?" he repeated.

Mr. Vermont's eyes narrowed till he looked like a snake about to strike. Raising the riding-whip which he had in his hand, he seized the wretched creature once more, and brought the whip down again and again on his almost skeleton body.

"Play me false, you hound, and I'll kill you," he almost hissed; and, half beside himself with pain and rage, the jockey gasped brokenly:

"Stop! stop! I'll do it."

It was just five o'clock when Lady Constance and Leroy returned from their ride. During the course of it Adrien had realised something of his cousin's beauty of character, as well as of face. Until that day he had only regarded her as a younger sister, pretty, perhaps, in a quiet, retiring way, but nothing more. Now, as he lifted her down from the saddle, he could have bent and reverently kissed the little foot that lodged so lightly in the stirrup.

Woman-like, she was quick to notice the change in him, and her heart beat high with hope.

"He will love me yet," she whispered to herself triumphantly, as, with outward calmness, she bade him au revoir till they should meet at dinner.

Adrien went straight to his own rooms. An unusual restlessness was upon him, and his pulses throbbed wildly, but as yet he did not understand what these things meant. He, who had played the lover so lightly all his life, did not realise that it was now his turn to feel Cupid's dart, and that he was becoming as deeply enamoured of his pretty cousin as any raw boy straight from college.

As he paced up and down his luxurious study, thoughtfully smoking a cigar, his past life rose before him, with all its idleness and wasted years. He knew that with most women he had only to throw down the glove for it to be snatched up eagerly; women had loved him, petted and spoilt him ever since he could remember. But here was one who thought of him as nothing but a means to save her people—or, rather, his people—-from distress. It said much for Lady Constance's powers of reserve that she had impressed him thus, and had she known it, nothing could have helped her cause more.

Throwing himself into a chair, the young man reviewed again the incidents of their ride. How beautiful she had looked; how pointedly and yet gently she had reproved him for his long absences from his estates and the people who loved him. Well, it should come to an end now, and there and then he formed a resolve to return to town directly after the race, and go through his affairs with Jasper. His friend would help him to lead a worthier and more useful life, he thought—if any one could do so.

When he went down to dinner that night few would have noticed any difference in his calm face and demeanour; none, indeed, save Lady Constance herself, who, with the subtlety which seems inbred in even the best of her sex, devoted her attention almost exclusively to Mr. Jasper Vermont. It was he who was allowed to sit next her at dinner; it was to him she turned when the race, with which all present were concerned, was the subject under discussion.

Adrien noted all this, and his heart grew heavy within him. But he did not grudge Jasper her favour—as yet; he blamed himself too deeply for the neglect of his past opportunities.

Jasper skilfully turned the conversation to Lady Merivale's ball, which he described in detail to Lady Constance; adding many little realistic touches concerning the fair hostess and Adrien, till he had convinced her—as he thought—that there was a great deal more between them than was really the case. For Vermont, as had been said before, was "no fool"; and he realised only too well in what direction events were tending with Lady Constance and her cousin.

But she showed no signs either of understanding or misunderstanding his allusions to Adrien, and began to discuss a ball which Miss Penelope was trying to arrange.

"Mr. Shelton, I am counting on you to help us," she said, turning to the gentleman on her other side. "Auntie has been besieging uncle for the last two months; and has, I think, carried the citadel."

"What is the motive of the attack?" inquired Mortimer Shelton.

"Aunt Penelope wants a fancy dress dance in the ball-room in the east wing," she returned gaily, adding, as she looked across at her cousin, who was listening attentively: "Adrien, if you would add your word, we should get it. Won't you do so?"

"A fancy dress ball here?" he replied. "But if my father has refused you, it is scarcely likely that I shall have any more influence." He turned to his aunt. "Why not have Barminster House, Aunt Penelope?" This was the town house, supposed to be given up almost exclusively to the young man's use, though he generally inhabited his own chambers in Jermyn Street. "I will hand it over to you from cellar to attic, and will bind myself to be your faithful slave from early morn to dewy eve."

His aunt laughed.

"No, thank you, Adrien, I know your idea of slavery," she said. "You would hand it over to Mr. Vermont, and he does quite enough of your work already." Vermont was a favourite with Miss Penelope, owing chiefly to his frequent gifts of marron glaces—a great weakness of hers. "Besides," she continued, "Barminster House is too modern. I want to revive a ball, just as it happened two or three centuries ago. It must be Barminster Castle or nothing."

Adrien smiled across at her.

"Your word is law, my dear aunt; but if I were you, and it comes off at all, I'd leave the arranging of it to Jasper."

Mr. Vermont beamed. Nothing seemed to please him so much as the idea of work, especially when it involved the spending of money other than his own.

"I am at your service, dear lady," he said amiably.

Miss Penelope rose, and gave the signal for the ladies to retire.

"I shall take you at your word, Mr. Vermont," she said graciously, as she passed out.

After the ladies had gone, the wine circulated freely, and in the merry badinage that followed it must be admitted that Jasper Vermont was the life and soul of the party. He had the newest scandal at his finger-tips, the latest theatrical news; and all was related in a witty manner that kept his listeners in a perpetual roar of laughter.

Adrien, though compelled by politeness to take his share in the conversation, was yet glad when they adjourned to the silver drawing-room. This was one of the smallest of the half-dozen drawing-rooms in Barminster Castle, and was decorated entirely in blue and silver. The furniture was upholstered in pale blue stain and silver embroideries. Curtains, hangings, and even carpet, were all of the same colour, while the mirrors and ornaments were entirely of silver.

To-night, Lady Constance's dress matched the room, for it was of palest azure silk, veiled with chiffon, on which were Etruscan silver ornaments and silver-thread embroidery. It was a colour which suited her shell-like complexion; and she looked her best in it.

She was at the piano when the men entered; and Leroy, who was passionately fond of music, and a musician of no mean order himself, came straight over to her. At his request, Constance sang song after song; while Vermont sat a little apart, listening, and occasionally glancing thoughtfully at the beautiful profile of the singer. Then his cold, malignant eyes would wander with an almost sinister expression over the rapt face of his friend and benefactor, as he leaned over the piano. But at any movement of the other guests his countenance would assume its usual amiability of expression, as though a mask were re-adjusted, while his fat, white hand softly beat time to the music.

At last Lady Constance declared she was tired, and turned to Adrien, begging him to sing instead. He hesitated for a moment; then, as if throwing off the unusual moodiness that oppressed him, he seated himself at the piano; and, after a few moments of restless improvisation, he sang song after song from Schumann's "Dichter-liebe," with an intensity of passion in the clear tenor notes that thrilled the soul of every listener.

In the silence which fell on the little company when the last chords died away, Jasper Vermont, half-hidden by the curtain, opened the window, and slipped out on the terrace. The moon shone full on his white face, distorted with an unaccountable fury, as he muttered through his clenched teeth: "Curse the fellow! How I hate him!"



CHAPTER X

The morning of the race dawned clear and bright, and the Leroy course shone like a strip of emerald velvet in the crisp, sparkling air.

Since sunrise, throngs of people, men, women, and children, had been streaming in from the outlying districts, some many miles away; while at the side of the course stretched a long line of vehicles of all kinds, which had already disbursed their load.

In twos and threes the late horses arrived swaddled in cloths, and surrounded by the usual crowd of bow-legged grooms and diminutive jockeys; while the air reeked with the smell of the stable and the oaths and slang of the men.

Later still came the bookmakers with their brisk, business-like method of entering the bets, big or small; the "swell's" thousand or the countryman's shilling were all one to them. And lastly, amid all the din and turmoil of the most crowded meeting Barminster had ever witnessed, came the army of the Castle servants to put the finishing touches to the boxes in the grand stand, over which floated the Leroy colours.

Towards noon, the hour at which the first race was to be run, the crowd grew denser, the excitement keener.

"Two to one on 'King Cole'—three to one 'Miracour'—and five to one 'Bay Star'—six to one, bar three"—all these cries rose in a loud, turbulent roar. It was known to all that the "swells"—as they termed the Castle people—had backed their champion "King Cole" for sums which, as Jasper Vermont had rightly said the preceding night, would almost equal his weight in gold; and such was their faith in him that no other horse had been entered from that same county.

Twelve o'clock struck, and no signs as yet of the Leroy party; that is to say, with the exception of one man, namely, Mr. Jasper Vermont.

"Your swells are always late," said a thick-lipped turfite, biting his stubby pencil prior to booking a favourable bet. "They gives any money for style, an' plays it high on us. It ain't their way to be to time for anything, not they—only us poor chaps."

The surrounding crowd echoed his shout of "two to one on 'King Cole,'" despite his diatribes against the swells; when suddenly attention was caught by a dark chestnut, thin in the flank, and badly groomed, which was led into the paddock by a dirty, close-shaven countryman, who looked as nonchalant and self-satisfied as if he held the bridle of "King Cole" himself.

Presently, while the crowd pushed around the sacred enclosure, Jasper Vermont walked swiftly up to the Yorkshireman, and whispered behind a sheltering cough:

"That will do. Take him off. The plant's safe without him."

Three minutes later, a laugh of derision arose as the announcement was made that the chestnut was "scratched." But further discussion died down, as the Leroy carriages arrived—-only just in time, for the saddling bell had already rang.

The course was now looking its best. Long lines of glittering motors and smart carriages had joined their humbler brethren of traps and omnibuses. The seats and stands were filled with gaily-dressed people; women in their furs, velvets and exquisite hats, giving the impression from a distance of a huge living flower garden.

On the appearance of Adrien Leroy, the excitement reached its height, for he was known to everybody by name and sight, and was, moreover, the owner of the favourite.

The carriage containing Lord Barminster had been drawn up as near the course as possible, and as far from the crowd as space would permit; for his lordship invariably refused to mix with any concourse of people, even when they consisted of his own order.

Adrien, having seen that he was comfortable, escorted the ladies down to their seats on the grand stand; then he betook himself to the paddock, where "King Cole" had just been saddled.

At the sound of the loved voice the beautiful animal turned his head, with a whinny of delight. Then, as the two people he disliked with every fibre of his being approached him—Jasper Vermont and Peacock, the jockey—he laid his ears back with every appearance of alarm and distrust. It seemed as if his animal instincts were keener than those of his master.

Leroy stroked the soft nose of the race-horse, while Jasper passed his hand admiringly over the satiny neck.

"Beautiful as a daisy," he exclaimed, and as Mr. Vermont would hardly have recognised that humble flower if he had seen it, this was rather qualified praise.

"Too long in the leg," murmured a man whom Jasper had previously introduced as a sporting friend of his.

Adrien turned round and surveyed the speaker calmly for a moment.

"Too leggy, you think, do you? I'll lay two to one upon them."

"Done," said the man sharply. "Hundreds or thousands?"

"Thousands," said Adrien quietly.

Jasper touched him on the arm and whispered, in gentle remonstrance:

"Steady, old chap, there's pots of money on him as it is. Don't you think it would be as well—"

"Make it thousands," interrupted Adrien, almost haughtily, as he turned on his heel.

The man booked the bet, bowed to Vermont, as to an utter stranger, and the two gentlemen passed to the weighing-seat. Peacock had already gone to don his riding-clothes, and without waiting to see him again, Adrien and his companion returned to the grand stand. Here Leroy stopped to speak to Lady Merivale, who, with her sister, the Marchioness of Caine, had motored down from London to witness the race.

The marchioness was a lady with a passion for bridge, and an intense admiration for Adrien Leroy.

"You are quite sure your horse, that pretty creature with the long neck, is going to win?" she inquired, as he stood by her chair.

Her sister, Lady Merivale, looked up mockingly.

"Of course he's going to win, Alicia. Did not Lady Constance Tremaine say so? Surely she ought to know!"

Leroy did not appear to notice the jealous sarcasm of this speech.

"I hope he will win," he said gravely. "Nothing is certain in this world, and race-horses are said to be as fickle as your sex, dear lady." This was a mild thrust at Lady Merivale; but she only smiled sweetly in response. "Still, I think you may safely bet on the 'King'; he's in fine form." Then he turned to his cousin. "Here is your beau cavalier, Constance," he said, almost jealously, as Jasper Vermont came leisurely up the steps of the grand stand; then, with a swift glance at the girl which was not lost upon Lady Merivale, he went down once more to his father.

"The bell is about to ring now," he said. "Are you sure you can see?"

"Quite sure," replied Lord Barminster curtly. "How is the horse?"

"In splendid form, sir," Adrien answered cheerfully. "I should think it is a safe thing. If you are quite all right, I'll get back to the others now, before the crush begins."

His father nodded, and the young man made his way back to the stand. Here he found the Castle guests already seated. Harsh cries from the betting-ring still ascended at intervals, though the majority of the vast crowd had settled down to watch the race. With a thrill of pleasure, Adrien saw that Lady Constance had kept a seat vacant for him beside herself; and with a light word to Lady Merivale as he passed, he took his place, and unstrapping the heavy field-glasses, arranged them to Lady Constance's liking.

"Can you see all right?" he asked.

"Beautifully," she replied, as she tried them. "What excitement they are all in," she added, as she surveyed the seething crowd.

Adrien smiled, pleased because she was pleased; for himself, except that he wished his horse to win in order that it should gain fresh laurels, he had no interest in the affair. Certainly he never gave a thought to the fearful amount of money involved.

Then, amid a murmur of excitement, the starting-gate went up, and the horses were off. For a while "Miracour" led; "Bluebell" running close beside him; the "King" striding along in cool, quiet canter that covered the miles at greater speed than the little mare could hope to maintain.

"There goes the 'King'!" exclaimed Lady Caine, almost rising from her seat in her excitement. "Oh, I do hope he will win don't you, Mr. Vermont?"

Jasper smiled.

"I do, indeed," he said, while his little steely eyes rested upon the shrivelled figure of Peacock, the jockey, with a keen, cold scrutiny.

Meanwhile the horses pounded away over the course, still in the same order. "Miracour" leading, "Bluebell" falling behind, and the "King" creeping up easily to the second place.

The first fence placed nearly half the horses out of the running; the next threw out two more, though the "King" cleared it in his stride, so close in the wake of his rival that a speck of white foam flecked the haunches of the leader.

Adrien nodded approvingly.

"That fellow knows how to ride," he said. "If he keeps the 'King' like that, the race is ours."

"Oh yes," agreed Vermont, smiling grimly; "he understands him, evidently. It is to be hoped he keeps him cool till the spurt comes."

"Which will be after the last jump," put in Lord Standon, as he shifted his field-glasses.

"Exactly," purred Jasper.

Hedge after hedge was cleared, and still "Miracour" was leading; but it was evident that the high blood of the "King" was burning to get away, and that his jockey was playing a waiting game.

It was at the stream that the strain began to tell. "Bluebell," the Irish mare, had struggled on gamely; but at the last she refused to leap, she stopped short, and her jockey was pitched forward into the water.

A laugh arose even in the midst of the excitement; but it was speedily drowned in the cries of "The 'King' wins. No! No! 'Miracour!'—'Vicket'—beats. No! No! the 'King'—the 'King's' got away!"

They were right, for Peacock had thought it wisest to put the spurt on already, and the "King," with every fibre stretched to its utmost, had darted ahead. "Miracour" caught up again, and side by side they raced over the level flat, cheered and shouted at by the frantic crowd.

A roar like that of the sea broke forth as the two animals neared the last obstacle, a great hedge filled with thorn, and like a miniature mountain. Neck and neck they seemed to be, when suddenly the "King" darted forward, and, amid terrific shouts of astonishment, took the leap too short, fell sideways, and pitched his jockey into the short scrub, a dozen feet away.

"Miracour" rose for the leap, and clearing it, cantered in the winner by sixty lengths.

For a moment there was tense silence, broken by a roar of surprise, rage and disappointment, as the crowd broke away and swarmed over the course to the spot where the jockey still lay. A murmur of horror had also gone throughout the length of the grand stand; but whether of disappointment, or at the fall of the rider, it was hard to say.

All eyes were turned on Adrien. His face was rather pale, but quite calm, and closing up his field-glasses he said:

"'Miracour' ran finely. I can't understand the 'King' falling at the last jump. Jasper, let us go down and see if the fellow is hurt."

Making their excuses to the ladies they hurried down the steps, and strode swiftly over the course, the crowd making way for them in hushed silence, for they recognised Leroy as the owner of the defeated favourite.

Reaching the spot from which the crowd was being kept back, they found two men bending over the little heap of scarlet silk and leather. Shelton, who had been one of the stewards, looked up as Adrien approached, and shook his head.

Adrien bent down beside him, and gazed at the thin, shrivelled face of the jockey.

"Have you sent for a doctor, Shelton?" he asked.

"Yes," replied his friend in a hushed voice. "But I think he will be too late, his spine——"

At the sound of Adrien's voice, the heavy eyelids raised themselves; the bloodstained lips parted as if about to speak.

"What is it?" said Shelton, bending closer.

"Where—where is he?" gasped the man in disjointed words. "I want—to—see him."

"Whom?" asked Mortimer Shelton gently. "Whom do you want to see, my poor fellow?"

Mr. Vermont pushed his way forward, his face alight with eager sympathy.

"Perhaps I can be of use," he said, "I know him; perhaps he wants to tell me——"

The jockey raised his head. It seemed as if the soft, smooth voice gave him strength to speak. He glared at Jasper, then his glance fell on the pitying face of Leroy. With a sudden light in his eyes, he stretched out his hand.

"Him—him, the swell—I tell him the race—was—sold! He—Mr. Vermont——"

His breath came fast in great sobs; he glared from Adrien to Jasper, then back to Leroy, as if seeking to convey some warning, but in vain; with the last words, he fell back.

A gentleman pushed his way forward.

"Allow me, I am Doctor Blake," he said, and he knelt down beside the still form.

"He is dead," he declared solemnly, as he placed his hand on the body.

The crowd fell back still further, with murmurs of horror. There was a silence, broken at last by Jasper Vermont.

"Dear, dear!" he exclaimed in tones in which, had it not been for the absurdity of the idea, one might have fancied there was almost a spark of satisfaction. "How very, very sad. I wouldn't have had this happen for anything!"



CHAPTER XI

It was night and the race-course lay deserted and silent beneath the pallid moon. The noisy crowd had tramped and driven its way back to London. But there was one whom the noise and bustle of a race meet would never rouse again—Peacock the jockey, who lay dead in the stable house.

His death had cast a depression over the entire Castle, and though both Adrien and his father—to say nothing of Jasper—had striven their utmost to keep the minds of the guests away from the unhappy event, it was yet an almost gloomy party that gathered after dinner in the silver drawing-room.

Nearly all had lost heavily through the fall of poor "King Cole." They had had such entire faith in their champion, that his loss of the race had come like a thunder-bolt; and most of all to Adrien himself. The actual monetary loss did not seem to trouble him; indeed, it was probable that he himself was unaware of the immensity of the sum involved. Only Jasper knew, Jasper who wore his usual calm, serene smile, and certainly worked hard to banish all regrets concerning such a trifle as a dead steeplechaser, as well as any lingering memories of his dying words.

"One thing is certain," said Lord Standon to Lady Constance, who had been sighing over the defeat. "Adrien will not allow any one to ride the 'King' again but himself. I heard him say so."

"He has lost heavily, I'm afraid," the girl said in a low voice.

"Immensely," replied Lord Standon, who himself had, lost more than he could afford—indeed, there was little doubt that this race would almost prove his ruin; but, nevertheless, his inordinate good humour and optimistic nature triumphed above every other consideration. Certainly, no word of blame or self-pity would he allow to pass his lips. "Yes, he has lost more heavily than any of us, as Mr. Vermont knows; I'll be bound," he broke off, as that gentleman approached.

Jasper Vermont smiled, as he did at every question or assertion made to him.

"I'm afraid he has plunged deeply this time," was his smooth reply. "Unfortunately, he only has himself to blame, though I deplore the fact that I was not with him at the time."

Both Lady Constance and Lord Standon looked up, startled by his tone as much as by his words; and Jasper continued glibly:

"He gave the jockey a ten-pound note last night, and, of course, the man got drunk. Consequences—an unsteady hand this morning, a hasty push at the last rise, and a clear loss of the race, not to mention the colossal sum in bets. All his own fault! If he will be so recklessly generous, what is to be done? But, as I said before, I blame myself for not watching him more closely."

"No one blames you, Mr. Vermont," said Lord Standon coldly, for even he, the least suspicious of men, seemed to detect the false sorrow in the speaker's voice.

Lady Constance looked at him gratefully; and Lord Standon was encouraged thereby to proceed:

"Adrien is generous to a fault; and if in this case it has had disastrous results, it is usually a fault which few imitate."

Jasper raised his eyebrows; then, with a low bow to Lady Constance, and a gentle, deprecatory shrug of his shoulders, walked away.

The girl waited till he was out of earshot, then turned impulsively to Lord Standon.

"I hate that man," she said in a low voice; "and sometimes I believe he hates Adrien too."

"So do I," returned Lord Standon, looking with intense admiration into her lovely, troubled face.

"Do you?" she murmured. "Oh, if you would only try to open my cousin's eyes to his friend's falseness—I know he's false, but Adrien is so blind."

It seemed as if he were blind in more than one direction; for at that minute Leroy himself crossed the room, with an aspect that, in any other man, would have been termed glum. The sight of the girl with whom he was so rapidly falling in love, sitting in rapt conversation with Lord Standon—even though that young man was his friend—had roused a strong feeling of resentment within his heart. He restrained himself, however, though it was in a rather cold, forced voice that he asked Lady Constance if she would sing. She rose demurely enough; for his very coldness and jealousy, slight as it was—careless as she knew it to be—proved to her that the love she so ardently desired was awakening at last.

The evening passed quietly. Adrien himself refused to sing, though he stayed close by his cousin's side, and turned over the pages of her music with such a devoted air that at last the ladies of the party began to whisper knowingly amongst themselves.

Luckily for Adrien's peace of mind—for he loathed and dreaded scenes of any description—Lady Merivale had not returned with the party to the Castle, much as Miss Penelope had wished it. Eveline Merivale was only too cognisant of what was passing between Lady Constance and her cousin; and though she knew that Adrien and herself had merely played at love, and greatly against his will, at that, still she was just as unwilling to see him the devoted slave of another woman, who was younger, if not more beautiful, than herself.

After the ladies had retired for; the night, Adrien gave himself up to unaccustomed reverie. The tenor of his life had been changed. The inane senseless round of dissipation had begun to tire him; the homage and flattery cloyed on his palate. And now, with his newborn love for Constance filling his heart and mind, had come the overwhelming failure of his beloved horse, and the death of his jockey; the last causing him more pain than the light-hearted companions around him would have believed possible. Neither had the half-defined charge made against Jasper escaped his notice, though he had disdained to make any mention of it.

Shelton noticed his absent manner, as they smoked their last cigar before going to bed.

"Counting up the losses, Adrien?" he asked casually.

Adrien started at the question, and smiled.

"Not I," he said, "I leave that to Jasper—I call him my walking account-book. I'm sorry you fellows were let in though; I can't understand it; although"—with a rueful laugh—"I suppose it was my fault with that tenner. Yet, I must say, I noticed the man as he galloped past, and saw no, signs of anything wrong."

"Nor I," put in Vermont. "I was in the weighting-room, and saw him scaled. He was all right then. He always was white and seedy-looking. I saw nothing wrong."

"Nor I," echoed the others.

Adrien lit another cigar, and the light fell full on his grave face.

"The losses are heavy all round; yet, speaking for myself," he said, "I would have rather dropped treble the amount than that poor fellow should have lost his life by a horse of mine."

"His own fault. It was absolutely a case of suicide," declared Lord Standon angrily. "He put the 'King' to that last hurdle half a minute too soon. The horse was not to blame; he would have taken the hedge, and another on top of that, but for that unlucky spurt. 'Pon my soul," he concluded hotly, "if I didn't know how well he'd been cared for, I should have said it was done on purpose!"

Unlucky youth! he little knew the harm he had done his empty pockets by this rash speech. Jasper Vermont's eyes narrowed, as was their wont when anything occurred to annoy him, and he registered a mental note against the unfortunate peer's name.

Adrien frowned, as he rose with the rest.

"That is impossible," he said, almost sternly; "Jasper saw to that too well. But, in future, no one shall ride the 'King' but myself; he's just up to my weight," he concluded. "Jasper, enter him for the Cup. We will give him a chance to retrieve this day's failure."

Jasper had risen with him, and amid a volley of good-nights, the two men passed into the corridor. As Adrien was about to ascend the stairs to his own apartment, he turned to Vermont, and said quietly:

"Jasper, I should like that poor fellow to have a Christian burial in the private chapel; and if there are relations, find them out——" He broke off abruptly. "There, you know better than I what to do, and how to do it. Oh! just one word more; of course, I shall see that no notice is taken of his delirious ravings. Good-night, old man."

Jasper thanked him and returned his "good-night" with sympathetic cordiality; then turned softly to his own apartment. Having reached it, he gave himself up to a spasm of silent laughter.

"Christian burial!" he chuckled. "Oh, yes, he shall have Christian burial in the family vaults. Lucky job for me the hound died, or the game would have been all up. As it is, that fool—that popinjay, almost guessed. Well, deny everything and demand proof, that's my line. After all, it's the very risks and chances that make the game so fascinating."

He sat down and drew out a little note-book—only a very ordinary penny note-book; for it was wonderful how mean this man could be when he had to expend his own money. Save clothes, which necessarily had to be of good material, though quiet in colour, he never failed to buy the cheapest article obtainable; unless, of course, when, on the principle of "throwing a sprat to catch a herring," he stood to make a profit.

In this little book there lay the records of fortunes. A fortune spent by Leroy—a fortune gained by Jasper Vermont. He smiled to himself, as he closed one eye, and counted up the gains he had netted through this day's work.

"Eight—ten, with Yorkshire Twining's last little touch—ten thousands pounds. Ah, if those fools knew how the 'intruder' was stripping them of golden plumes, how mad they would be! Ten thousand pounds! But Twining was too risky," he muttered, frowning at the recollection, "My grand knight might have smelled a rat. Just like his noble lordship; two to one, because some stranger doubts the strength of the animal's legs."

He chuckled again as he thought how carefully he had stage-managed the day's comedy. Of the tragedy into which it had been turned by the death of his poor tool and accomplice, Peacock, he gave no thought, his whole mind was bound up in his jealous hatred of Leroy. Just why he hated him so he, himself, could hardly have explained; but with men of Jasper Vermont's calibre, the mere fact that one possesses so much—wealth, position, and popularity—while the other must perforce live by his wits, is quite sufficient to arouse all the evil passions of which he is capable.

"A mighty regal way he has with him," he muttered again, as he put away his book. "Ten thousand pounds! Go on, Jasper, my boy—persevere! The game starts well, the winning cards are yours. Gentlemen, make your game, the ball is rolling."

With this invitation to mankind in general, and his titled and wealthy acquaintances in particular, Mr. Jasper Vermont made his preparations for the night. He kept no valet; men of his type seldom care to have another in such close relations as must necessarily happen when one man holds the keys of another. It has been said by some cynic, that "the man who takes off your coat sees what is passing in the heart beneath it," and with this statement Mr. Vermont probably agreed.

"I am a simple-minded, rough-and-ready creature," he often assured his friends; "a man to worry my tie, and force me to buy a new coat, because he desires my old one, would drive me mad."

So he undressed himself slowly, reckoning up his gains, smiling at his mask of a face in the large mirror, and hatching his little plots every knot he untied, every button he released. At last he got into bed, and slept as easily and serenely as any simple-minded farmer.



CHAPTER XII

But that night Adrien Leroy could not sleep. Dismissing his valet, he threw himself into a chair, and began to review the events of the day, which had affected him more deeply than he would confess to. Then the mere sight of Lady Constance with Lord Standon had convinced him that any hope of ever winning her for his wife was at an end. For so many years had he himself been wooed and sought after, without response, that he was as ignorant of the rules of the game of love as any child. Love! he had sneered at it, jested at its power all his life; but now he was beginning to suffer from its pangs himself. He rose hastily, and throwing open the window of his dressing room, stepped out on the balcony.

It was an exquisite night, and the stars shone like diamonds. Yet their very distance and detachment from all things earthly only served to deepen Adrien's melancholy. Before him stretched, in seemingly endless vista, the woods and lands of his heritage. As far as eye could reach, the earth and all within it and upon it belonged to him; and yet he sighed for the love and devotion of one frail girl, which, had he but known, were already his.

As he walked to and fro, he was again assailed by a wholesome distaste of his present empty, aimless existence, and a great longing came over him to break away from it and start afresh. Yes! he was very tired of it all. The men and women with whom he had up to this spent his time were becoming abhorrent to him. The thought of the soft lips and glances that had hitherto beguiled him, and lulled him into a state bordering upon stupor, now filled him with shame. Love, that marvellous panacea, had driven out the false, the impure visions of his heart, as surely and as thoroughly as ever Hercules cleansed the Augean stables.

The blood of his race stirred with him; he would have liked to have snatched Constance, and borne her away on his trusty steed, as his forefathers would have done. But instead he must stand aside, and see her married to another. Nay, he himself would be asked to attend the wedding, perhaps even give her away to the man who was surely no more worthy of her than Adrien himself.

Jasper Vermont had indeed done his work well. No sooner had he seen the light of love shining in his friend's face, than he had set to work; and, like the grim spider of evil he resembled, had filled Adrien's mind with the suggestion that Constance loved—in fact, was secretly engaged to, Lord Standon.

His reasons for this were twofold. If Adrien married Constance, Ada Lester would—whether with or without cause—hold him responsible, and was more than capable of carrying out her threat to unmask him to his patron. Moreover, Jasper looked upon Lady Constance with an appreciative and covetous eye, and felt that if he could ever ingratiate himself with her sufficiently for her to promise to become his wife, the summit of his ambition would be reached.

Adrien was easily deceived; for, with all his faults, he was not conceited. He did not guess that Constance's very openly expressed pleasure in the company of Lord Standon was to prevent the discovery of her real and passionate longing for that of her cousin.

Henceforth, he told himself, he must do his best to hide the pain that was gnawing at his heart. Henceforward, the pleasure of life would be as Dead Sea fruit to him. His hand fell on the balustrade in his unconscious despair; and at that moment, another window farther down the long balcony opened, and the figure of Lord Barminster stepped out into the moonlight.

Adrien was in no humour to meet even his father; he was too weary in spirit to confront the old man's satire with his usual calm; so he shrank back into the shadow of the buttress against which he leaned. But Lord Barminster's eyes were quick to perceive him; and, striding forward, he laid his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Well, Adrien," he commenced, "what is wrong? Can't you sleep, or are you given to spending the small hours in star-gazing?"

"I might retort in kind, sir," returned Adrien, pulling his scattered thoughts together, and smiling faintly.

"Ah! I am old," said his father. "Age has its penalties as well as its privileges; and the freedom to speak plainly is one of the latter. Come, my boy, what is wrong? At your age I was happy enough; but you seem to have taken the troubles of the world on your shoulders. Are you ill?"

"No, sir, I am well enough," returned Adrien quietly.

"Then are you worrying over your debts through that unlucky horse? Because, although, as you know, I do not interfere with your money matters as a rule, you are quite at liberty to draw on my bank if you care to do so."

His son turned to him affectionately.

"No, no, sir," he said gratefully. "I don't suppose they are as bad as all that. Jasper will see to them."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he regretted them. His father's face darkened; his eyes grew fierce.

"Jasper! always Jasper," he snarled, even as Mortimer Shelton had done. "It's a pity he didn't break his neck this morning, instead of his miserable tool."

Adrien uttered a protesting exclamation; he would have sacrificed anything sooner than have given his father this opportunity to revile his friend.

"You must be blind, sir," continued Lord Barminster, now working himself up into a rage. "Did not you see and hear enough from that jockey this morning to make you realise what that precious friend of yours had done? I tell you, Adrien, that Jasper Vermont bribed that miserable man to rope your horse. For him, you have allowed your friends, my guests, to be swindled out of their money."

It was the first time in Adrien's recollection that the proud old man had ever even hinted that Barminster Castle was not entirely his son's yet; that the guests were those of his father's choice as well of his own.

Adrien's eyes blazed.

"Father," he said in a low voice, but as hard as steel, "I know you have always hated Mr. Vermont, but this goes farther than hate. Forgive me if I ask you, but surely you have some proofs? Otherwise you would not have accused him of such villainy. Give them to me, and I promise you to punish him as severely as you yourself could wish."

"Proofs!" his father repeated sternly with knitted brows. "What proofs would such a clever scoundrel leave about? This morning's work should be sufficient proof even to satisfy you."

Adrien drew himself up to his full height, and confronted his father with a resolute air.

"It is no use, sir," he said. "I cannot take a drunken jockey's ramblings as proof of such an awful thing as that. Jasper is my friend, and besides, it is more to his interest to help me than to hate me."

Lord Barminster sighed deeply. The experience of age had taught him the impossibility of convincing youth against its will.

"Well, my boy," he said, "have your own way, but mark my words, you will live to repent your folly! I have no more proof, and to me no more is needed. Men on their death-beds do not lie, and I am as firmly convinced that Jasper Vermont forced that man to sell the race, as though I had the confession on paper. Still, I will say no more; you are young, and 'Youth knows All.' Find out for yourself the man's character, I shall not warn you again. You are placing your faith in a thankless cur; don't grumble when he turns round and bites the hand that has helped him. As for me, I will wait. Believe me, I would far rather know myself to be wrong than deal you any further unhappiness, so let us drop the subject for a time. I did not mean to bring up the man's name. I want to speak to you of far more important things."

His voice grew more grave, indeed almost solemn.

"Adrien, I am an old man, nearing the grave, and, as is only natural, my thoughts turn to the future of our race. You are the last of our line, it is to you I look to carry it on. You are no longer a boy, with a youth's follies and tastes; it is time you took up your responsibilities."

Adrien made as if to speak; but his father checked him, with a gesture of his hand.

"Stay, hear me out," he said. "When I was your age, your mother was at my side, I had given the House of Leroy its son and heir. I was married, and had left the lighter loves of the world for a more lasting and responsible one. You know I have never interfered much with your life; but though I am no longer of the gay world, I yet hear something of its doings. You 'live the pace,' they tell me, and are the idol of the smart set. Barminster Castle, Adrien, looks for something higher than that in its lord and master. I repeat, sir, at your age I was married."

"And loved," said Adrien softly.

"Yes, indeed," exclaimed Lord Barminster, his face lighting up at the thought of the woman whom he had lost, and mourned so long. "Your mother was that which ranks above rubies, a good and virtuous woman, worthy of any man's love."

Adrien turned his pale face away, as if to avoid scrutiny, then he said gently:

"I admit your right to speak like this, sir, and if it rested with me I would obey you at once."

"It does rest with you, Adrien," returned his father quickly. "Surely you are blind, not to see that Constance Tremaine loves you with her whole heart."

Adrien started up, his face alight and quivering with excitement.

"Impossible, sir!" he exclaimed. "Would to heaven it were true; for I know no other woman to whom I would so gladly devote my life."

The grim old face softened and relaxed. He had not expected such an overwhelming victory.

"Why do you say it is impossible?" he asked.

Adrien did not answer for a moment, then he slip hoarsely:

"She is already engaged to Lord Standon."

An exclamation of astonishment burst from the old man's lips. He put out his hand in involuntary sympathy, and the two so strangely alike, yet so wide apart in years, clasped hands. Then, as if ashamed of the momentary emotion, the old man turned away, saying quietly:

"This is, of course, a surprise to me. Its truth yet remains to be proved, but I should feel inclined to doubt it myself." With which he went back to his own apartments.

Left alone once more, Adrien walked restlessly to and fro.

"If Constance really cared for me," he said to himself, "nothing else in the world would matter. Lucky Standon! I dare not think of the future, it what Jasper said was true."

At last he, too, returned to his room; but it was almost morning before he fell into a troubled slumber.



CHAPTER XIII

The morning following the disastrous steeple-chase, Mr. Jasper Vermont ordered his car, and then sat down to write to Adrien. He told him that he regretted having to leave the Castle so suddenly, but urgent business required his presence in London, and that he would return to Barminster as soon as possible.

On the appearance of the motor, he took his departure, travelling direct to Jermyn Court, where he stayed to lunch, waited on by the attentive Norgate as though he had been Adrien himself. Then, having filled his cigar-case with his friend's choicest Cabanas, he strolled through the fashionable parts of the Park.

The loungers and idle men of fashion who usually frequented it at that time of the day knew him well, and nodded with forced smiles of friendship—it was clearly to their interest to be on good, if possible, cordial terms with a man who always had the entree to the innermost circles, and who had won the confidence of a popular favourite like Adrien Leroy.

Those who had not been personally introduced to Jasper, had still heard reports of his position, and looked after him with that half-envious air which says so plainly:

"There goes the kind of prosperous, wealthy man I myself should like to be."

Mr. Vermont strolled along, his face wreathed in a perpetual smirk of recognition, his hat off half a dozen times a minute, acknowledging the smiling glances accorded to him.

When he had nearly come to Hyde Park Gate, he was confronted by one of the loungers—an old acquaintance of his—whose woe-begone countenance seemed expressive of acute mental distress.

Jasper Vermont recognised him in spite of his altered appearance—usually a very gay one—and stopped him.

"What, Beau!" he exclaimed with seemingly effusive warmth; "you here; whatever have you been doing—committing murder? Or have you married in haste, to repent of it at leisure?"

"Neither, my dear boy," answered the well-groomed young man—a captain in the "Household" Guards—one of the fastest and most generally liked fellows in town. "Neither, Vermont; but I have just come from the City."

"City of the Tombs!" drawled Jasper facetiously.

Captain Beaumont laughed, but rather mournfully.

"Yes," he said, "all my hopes are buried in that beastly place.' Really, the County Council ought to put a notice over the west side of Temple Bar monument instead of that heraldic beast: 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,'"

Mr. Vermont laughed, in his usual quiet way.

"How's that? The City is good enough in its way. What have they been doing to you; won't they lend you any more money?"

"Worse even than that," said the young spend-thrift; "they actually want me to repay all that I owe them already, on short notice, with the usual threats if I fail to comply within their time."

"Oh!" remarked Mr. Vermont simply; but his "oh" was full of meaning and apparent sympathy for the misfortunes of his friend.

"Yes, that hard-hearted old skinflint, Harker—what a mean brute he is! I should like to bury him, and would attend his funeral gladly to be certain I had seen the last of him. He holds a pretty little tot-up in the way of bills of mine; and I expected, naturally enough, when I call on the firm, that they would renew them at the usual Shylock rates, and I could try elsewhere for something to go on with."

"Yes," said Mr. Vermont, "of course, that's the way you have done for years."

Captain Beaumont nodded.

"Yes, that's so; but Harker only shook that long head of his, and refused me; and nothing I could say would change the old skinflint's mind either. You know that cock-and-bull story he always tells, about his not being the principal, but only the servant? Well, he says his principal has instructed him to call in my bills, and it is impossible for him to renew them; and that the usual steps will be taken if I am not able to meet them."

Jasper laughed, with gentle sarcasm.

"Of course, that's always the moneylender's excuse. I'm afraid he will sell you up, Beau."

Captain Beaumont whistled.

"My dear Vermont, it will be an awful shock for the guv'nor. He can only give us younger sons a small allowance, and he certainly won't be able to settle this matter; it would be altogether beyond him."

"What is the amount?" inquired Jasper. He was as well aware as was the young captain himself, of Lord Dunford's financial difficulties.

"Well, not much," replied Captain Beaumont. "Only seven thousand; but it's no good my going to the guv'nor for a penny piece, and how to clear it up is more than I can tell. But why do you ask?" he added, though with but faint eagerness. "Do you think you could find any one able to help me out of this beastly hole?"

"Well, I might," said Jasper, eyeing his cigar meditatively, as if seeking from its fumes some inspiration as to a method of aiding his friend.

"I only know one way to prevent Harker taking extreme measures," went on the troubled debtor; "that is, if I could get some one to back new bills. Now if, say, Adrien Leroy were to back some bills for me, Harker certainly would not refuse; but I am hardly in a position to ask Leroy."

"But I am," said Vermont, smiling with the consciousness of power; "and I will do it for you, for old friendship's sake."

"You will!" exclaimed the captain gratefully. "Jasper, you're a brick! I feel sure, somehow, he will do it for you. I should stand no chance. You are a good fellow to come to my rescue in this fashion."

"Ah," said Mr. Vermont, with a smile; "but can we be sure that Harker will accept Leroy's name of the bills?"

"Why, of course, Harker or anybody—who wouldn't?" asked the Guardsman, as the cloud dispelled from his face at hope coming so quickly from this unexpected quarter. "Why, it's as good as the Bank of England. Harker take it?—-he'll snap at it. Only try him and see his greedy eyes glisten. What could Harker get by selling me up?—absolutely nothing. Besides, it would do him harm by letting others know how harshly he served me. Oh, no, Harker will not sell me up if he can find such an easy, safe way out of the difficulty."

"True," said Jasper pleasantly. "Well, I'll interview Leroy and see if I can persuade him to assist you, as a friend of mine; I believe I can do it for you. Going to Lady Merivale's to-night? Yes? Then we shall meet again; till then, au revoir."

So, with a shake of his fat, smooth hand, the benevolent, unselfish Mr. Vermont took his departure, still smiling serenely, on the business which had brought him that day to London.

Nobody knew Jasper's private address. He was always to be found with Adrien Leroy, and all letters were addressed to his club; or to Jermyn Court; but of the locality of that place which Mr. Vermont would sanctify by the name of "home," every one was ignorant. Whenever questioned on this subject—he never obtruded the matter on anybody—it was his custom to answer lightly:

"Home! what does such a waif, such a jetsam and flotsam of the world's flowing tide, want with a home? Really, my dear boy"—or madam, if the speaker happened to be of the gentler sex—"if ever you have occasion to see me, I am sure to be at one of these three places: Leroy's chambers, my club—the Pallodeon, or Barminster Castle."

And accordingly, to one of these places his fashionable acquaintances directed their inquiries for him. Mr. Vermont, however, really possessed a home, small, it is true, but one quite suitable to his needs, and absolutely secluded from the possible knowledge of his friends in the gay world.

After leaving Captain Beaumont, he had himself driven to the City. Alighting in front of a large jeweller's shop, apparently with the intention of purchasing something, he dismissed his car; then when it had disappeared, walked quickly along the crowded thoroughfare for some distance. At last, looking round furtively—for he was ever cautious—he dived into one of the small entrances in Lawrence Lane, and mounting two flights of stairs, entered the front room. This was the home, or rather, perhaps, refuge from the conventions of society, that Mr. Vermont possessed. Here he could find shelter at any time of the night, for he possessed a private key; and by his orders the bed was kept constantly aired and ready by the housekeeper; who had her own rooms on the floor above. It was no unusual thing for her to leave the rooms tenantless late in the evening, and find them occupied when she rose in the morning, Jasper having arrived during the dead of night, silently as was his invariable custom.

The second morning after his sudden return to town, Mr. Vermont was in his sitting-room, which was very plainly furnished indeed, partaking of a breakfast so simple that his fashionable friends would scarcely have believed the evidence of their own eyes. When he had finished, and the table had been cleared, he went over to the roll-top desk which stood in an angle by the window, and opened it, disclosing piles of letters, sheets, of closely written foolscap and slips of memorandum forms. On the corner of the desk stood a telephone, which communicated with Harker's private room, downstairs in the offices; they were dignified by the name of Harker's "Bank," and were, of course, those of the moneylending business which was carried on by Vermont in that name. Taking up the receiver now, he asked Harker to come up to him as soon as possible.

Within the next few minutes, George Harker was standing before the master he both hated and feared. He was very tall, with a thin, lined face, from which all light and hope seemed to have fled. His whole being appeared wrapped up in attendance on Jasper Vermont. He watched him eagerly now, not speaking until he was spoken to, but simply waiting patiently, doggedly, till his master was ready to attend to him.

Vermont drew the heap of various papers towards him—with keen eyes and quick brain grasped the multitude of facts they set forth, checked the long column of figures, struck the balances; and, with a nod of satisfaction, looked up at the man before him.

"All right, Harker, as far as I can see—and, as you know, that's all the way and a little beyond. But we must do better than that. Where's the private account?"

"Here, sir," said Harker, in a dry, rasping voice, somewhat like the creaking of an old, rusty-hinged door.

"Where?—oh, yes, I see. Oh, Paxhorn has come to us, has he? Writing poetry is not a paying game, eh? Or is it the fine, grand company that runs away with the golden counters? Well, all fish—or idiots—that come to our net are welcomed, no matter what wind drives them. Thirty per cent. from Paxhorn. No more?"

"I could not get any more, sir," said Harker earnestly; "I tried—tried hard—indeed I did, I assure you. I would not give in until he threatened to go to another office."

"Hem! well, I suppose it's the truth; though, of course, all moneylenders are rogues—and you're only a moneylender, you know." He looked up for a moment to laugh at the logical joke. "Who backs his paper? Lord Standon. Oh, my lord is pretty deep in our books already, isn't he? Where are his statistics?"

"Here, sir," said Harker, taking one of the papers from the heap.

Jasper Vermont glanced at it, and laid it down again with an evil smile on his face.

"Oh, he's good for more than that, Harker; but be cautious. We'll lend him another ten thousand; but put on five per cent. Lords must pay, to set the fashion to commoner folk. By the way, Captain Beaumont——"

"Whose bills you instructed me to call in, sir."

"Yes; well, I met him yesterday and promised to intercede for him you." He laughed harshly. "What fun it is, poor idiot! He shook my hand with profuse expressions of gratitude. Mr. Leroy will back the renewal and you can let it run. Beaumont's the second son, Lord Dunford is on his last legs, and the heir won't live another year, we can come down like kites when the gallant captain has the title and estates. Till then we'll wait; but stick out for another two-and-a-half per cent. Make the calves bleed, Harker; it will do them and me good."

About that small matter of the young artist, Wilson, sir?"

"Eh! Wilson? Oh, yes. You got instructions to proceed in the usual way to sell him up."

"Yes, sir, that was your order. He called yesterday, and pleaded for another week. His wife is dying, and they are starving. He begs hard for another week——"

Stuff, another week! the dog means another year. He should have thought of the time for repaying when he was borrowing. Another week—not another day. Start proceedings at once. Mind, I say it. Didn't I hear him call me a 'parasite from the pavement' one night at a ball? Screens have ears, Mr. Wilson, and parasites have memories. Sell him up—do you hear, Harker?"

"I do sir; it shall be done," replied his servant meekly.

"And now for Leroy's account." With a gleam of fiendish delight in his eyes, he scrutinized the figures and statements. "Ah! you are getting them in fast."

"All Mr. Leroy's bills we are getting in—buying up wherever they are met with, sir, according to your instructions."

"Right, get him into your hands—you know how. Be prepared for—you know!"

Mr. Harker inclined his head.

"Now for the women. Ah, those dear butterfly creatures will come to the nasty sticky papers that were meant to catch bluebottles only; well, then, they must take the consequences. What! Lady Merivale—the fair Eveline. Does she want to borrow money?"

"She dabbles in the Stock Exchange. I know her business man; he owes us money, sir, and we know some of his secrets. She has been losing lately, and has deposited her diamonds, sir—"

"Her diamonds? The famous Merivale diamonds? Where are they?"

"Here, sir." Mr. Harker produced from his long pocket a shallow morocco case which he tendered mechanically to his employer.

Jasper Vermont opened the case, and gazed on its contents with twinkling eyes; then, shutting it with a laugh, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his smooth fat hands over his chin.

"What will her ladyship do for them, and when were those left? I saw her last night and—by Heaven! she wore—"

"Paste imitations, sir. I had them made up for her. Did you think the counterfeit good?"

"Capital. Oh, isn't it rich! that old idiot must have eyed her proudly, gloating over his famous diamonds on his wife's fair bosom, little guessing they were Mr. Harker's tawdry glass mockeries. Capital, Harker, but take care, take care. Remember the duchess who brought her jewels to pledge, and discovered that they were paste already, and that the duke had done the transmutation before her. Beware!"

"I am careful, sir, I am careful, very; I do not think—I trust—there have been no losses, not even small ones. I do my best to secure your interests."

"Well, I believe you. You keep up the appearances, I hope? Never forget to tell people that you are only a subordinate, that you are acting for others and strictly on the instructions given to you by them. The more you assert it the more they'll think it a falsehood. Keep it up, Harker, and then, well, you know I keep my promises. By the way, how is the little Lucy?"

As he spoke the name, half scornfully, half indifferently, a visible change came over his tool and puppet. His face became paler, if that were possible, his head seemed to drop, his whole figure was expressive of deepest dejection, fear, supplication.

"Well, sir, quite well, and deeply grateful for your kindness," he said, wetting his dry lips.

"Ah! and so she should be, young hussey. A fine thing for her. Married and respectable. If that soft-hearted, simple little husband of hers knew all I know! Strange that I should have dropped on to her and that first lover of hers down in that quiet place. Strange, wasn't it? Now I daresay they thought they were as safe as at the bottom of the sea. Didn't think that Mr. Jasper Vermont, a friend of the family, could be staying at the same hotel. He ought to have married her, of course. Better that he didn't, eh? Yet that weak, amiable grocer, innocent and unsuspecting, lets her have it all her own way, and believes her just a little purer and whiter than the angels. Clever little thing, Lucy. Makes him think she loves him, I daresay."

"My poor child loves her husband better than her own life, sir," breathed the father. "She is so happy, they love each other so, and she is my own flesh and blood. Forget that accursed night and the devil that led her astray. Forget that she is anything but the wife of an honest man. Have mercy on her, sir."

"Well, Harker, I will; I am all mercy. Do your duty by me and I won't go down to tell the story of that night to Lucy's good, trusting husband. But don't ask me to forget, my good fellow, for that's folly. I never forget!"

"Thank you, sir, thank you," Harker said, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "I will do my duty and work day and night in your interests, if you will only spare my child and keep others from knowing of that one false step."

Mr. Jasper Vermont leaned back in his chair, and regarded his servant's agitation with quiet amusement for a few minutes; then he gathered all the papers together, put them away in his desk, and dismissed Mr. Harker with a nod, saying:

"You can go now. Don't forget the Leroy paper, renew Beaumont, but sell up that artist scamp to the last stick and stone. Parasites can bite as well as cling, Mr. Wilson."



CHAPTER XIV

The afternoon following the race the Castle guests returned to town, Lord Standon amongst them, and as that light-hearted gentleman departed without making any formal proposal for the hand of his young ward, Lord Barminster was greatly puzzled.

All that day he had watched Lady Constance with an unceasing vigilance, of which, fortunately, she was unaware; but he could detect no traces of affection in her intercourse with Lord Standon, nor could he find any reason for his son's despair. Like a wise man, however, he made no reference whatever to the conversation of the preceding night, for which Adrien was exceedingly grateful, as he felt ashamed of having exposed his real feelings, even to his father.

Instead, therefore, Lord Barminster endeavoured to find out the true state of the case from his sister Penelope.

That lady, disturbed from her afternoon slumber, was inclined to be testy. As far as she was concerned, she was very much against the idea of Constance marrying any one, for the girl's presence saved her a great deal of trouble in many ways; the consultations with the housekeeper, the choosing of books, the writing of invitations, these and a hundred other trifles which in the event of Constance's marriage would be shifted back on to her own shoulders.

Naturally, therefore, she considered the suitor who would be less likely to inconvenience her; and he, of course, was Adrien. For if he married Constance, there would be, at least, some time during the year in which she would be at Barminster, and leave Miss Penelope free to resume the novel reading of which she was so inordinately fond. She scoffed, therefore, at any likelihood of Lord Standon's suit, and flatly refused to believe a word of it.

Meanwhile, Adrien was in a state of restless excitement, for which he himself could scarcely account, and accordingly he determined to return to London next day.

That night they were a family party of four, and Lady Constance noticed that her guardian's manner was considerably more cheerful than was its wont, and that during dinner he glanced with even more affection than usual at the handsome face of his only son. Afterwards, when the old man had returned to his own apartments, Adrien found his cousin in the silver drawing-room, with Miss Penelope. The latter had taken up her latest novel, and was devouring it with rapt attention.

Lady Constance, with a smile, beckoned to her cousin and made room for him beside her on the Chesterfield. He sank down with a sigh of content.

"You leave us to-morrow then?" she began, in a tone of calm inquiry.

He was filled with an insane longing to seize her in his arms, and cover her face with kisses; but he restrained himself, though he bent nearer to her as he said in a low voice:

"Yes, I am going back to try and put my affairs in better order. My father has been pulling me up—quite rightly, of course. I ought to have seen to these things before. I am afraid I have not been a good son to him."

"You do not see him very often, do you?" said Lady Constance, who knew to a day how often Adrien had visited the Castle during the last twelve months, during which she herself had sighed for his absence.

"No," he admitted. "I always seem to have so many engagements; but now I am going to try a new mode of life—thanks to your words."

"My words?" echoed Lady Constance, in genuine surprise. "I thought you said uncle had been speaking to you."

"Yes," he agreed. "But it was what you said to me during our ride that decided me really—about the tenants, and all that."

"You must not listen to all my complaints," she said, smilingly. "I am proud of the Barminster estates, naturally; and I cannot bear that they should be inferior to those of our neighbour——"

"Who is that?" he inquired quickly.

"Why, Lord Standon, of course," was the calm reply.

He started at the sound of the name of one he deemed his rival. The jealous blood rushed to his face and his heart beat fast.

"Naturally," he said, in tones as quiet as he could make them, "you would compare all estates with his—now!"

With womanly intuition she saw his meaning, but did not choose to dispel his suspicions just then. Not that she was a coquette or flirt, for she loved this man with all the strength of her being; but, on the other hand, she knew, or thought she knew, his disposition only too well, and she feared to yield to her natural inclinations, which were to allow him to see that he had only to speak, and she was ready and willing to listen. Instead, therefore, she merely said lightly:

"Yes, he makes a good landlord, for all he declares to the contrary. Then, too, he has a capable agent."

"Like Jasper," put in her companion, trying to keep his eyes away from her pretty, vivacious face.

Lady Constance was silent. However much she might dislike and distrust Vermont, she never expressed her opinion of him to Adrien. She therefore turned the subject quickly by inquiring after the next race.

"'The Brigades'—in two months' time," he replied.

"The 'King' will run, I suppose?" she asked.

"Yes, and I shall ride him," said Adrien quietly. "After an accident such as has occurred, none shall ride him save myself; then if anything should happen——"

"Ah! no! no!" cried Lady Constance, her face paling, and her blue eyes full of alarm; "you mustn't!—you shan't!" She stopped short. "I mean," she went on, speaking more quietly, "you must think what it would be—to your father—and auntie——"

"And you," he said eagerly, catching at her hands. "Would you care, too?"

She gently drew her fingers from his grasp.

"Of course I should," she replied, in her usual quiet tones. "Am I not a sort of cousin?"

"Constance," he broke in passionately, "I have no right to speak to you, I know; but tell me just this, if—if——"

Alas! for Adrien. Alas! for poor Lady Constance. The book in Miss Penelope's hand had slid quickly from her grasp, as she sat dozing near the fire-place. At this, the most critical moment, it came with a sudden crash to the floor, and Miss Penelope opened her eyes, and sat up briskly.

Nothing more could be said under the circumstances, and Adrien was perforce obliged to spend the evening as best he might, turning over the pages of his cousin's music, and watching her with longing, ardent eyes; while Miss Penelope sat near by, tactlessly wide awake.

Presently she glanced up.

"Adrien, did you ask your father about the ball?" she asked.

Her nephew looked abashed. Truth to tell, he had completely forgotten it.

"No," he admitted candidly, "I did not. But forgive me, this time; I will ask him to-night."

A little later the ladies rose to retire.

"Good-night, my dear boy," said Miss Penelope, gathering up her precious book and chocolates. "You go to town to-morrow? Oh, then, I shall not see you again. Good-bye; and don't forget about the ball."

Adrien held the door open for her, and she passed out; then he closed it again.

"Good-night, Constance," he said, gazing longingly into his cousin's face.

"Good-night," she said, giving him her hand. "Good-night, and a pleasant journey."

"Will you not wish me a speedy return?"

"That might be an ill wish," she answered lightly—"if you did not care to come."

"You know I do," he whispered, and he raised her fingers to his lips.

With a vivid blush, Lady Constance withdrew her hand from his grasp, and left the room. Going straight up to her own apartment, she flung herself on her knees. The kiss he had impressed on her fingers seemed to burn them; the sound of his voice rang in her ears; yet, with a strength of mind extraordinary in a girl so young, she put away the sweetness of his half-formed declaration, hoping that his journey to town meant the cutting free of all entanglements, and the settling of his affairs.

Early the following morning, the sound of a motor, and the barking of dogs, brought Lady Constance to her window; below her was Adrien, followed by a servant with the travelling case, which was placed beside the chauffeur.

Adrien had already entered the car, and was about to have it set in motion, when a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he glanced up at Lady Constance's window. Seeing this, she opened the casement and stood framed by the surrounding greenery.

Adrien waved his hand to her; then, hastily scribbling something in a note-book, he tore the page out, and evidently despatched it by one of the waiting servants.

She watched every movement, with eyes shining with eagerness, and could have cried bitterly at the thought of his absence. She knew, too, that she was playing a dangerous game, when she allowed him to return to town, his passion still undeclared; yet she felt that this was the only means of holding his affections; for she was a firm believer in the adage—"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." She sighed deeply, however, as with a parting wave of his hand, and bareheaded, Adrien was rapidly driven away.

A few minutes later the servant brought her the hastily written note. It was only a scrap of paper, and unfolding it, she read the two lines:

"My father grants us the ball. We will make it an eventful one.—ADRIEN."

Her face glowed. "We will, indeed," she murmured. "It is a high stake I play for; but it is worth the struggle. Heaven grant me his whole heart! I ask nothing else."

Carefully locking the scrap of paper away, she descended into the morning-room, where Lord Barminster was already seated at the breakfast-table. His grim face softened at the entry of the girl he had always looked upon as a daughter, and loved even more intensely—if that were possible—now that he meant to win her for his son's bride.

"So Adrien has left us again?" he began, as she poured out his coffee.

She flushed slightly at his significant tones.

"Yes," she replied. "Uncle, thank you so much for letting us have the ball——"

"Nonsense, my dear" he returned. "Adrien told me you wanted it, and that was sufficient. Why didn't you ask me yourself? Have I been such a cruel guardian?"

"No, no," she cried, and coming round to him impulsively, she pressed her lips to his forehead. "You've been the dearest uncle in the world. Indeed, no father could have been better."

He smiled at her earnestness.

"I've done my best, my dear, though I admit I'd like you for my very own daughter-in-law."

Lady Constance blushed scarlet. This was carrying the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance.

"'Nobody axed me, sir, she said,'" she sang gaily.

"Ah, but whose fault is that?" asked Lord Barminster, pleased that she had not refused to discuss the question.

"Please, Uncle Philip," she said, with a sudden quiver in her voice, "I'd rather not talk about it—if you don't mind."

"Quite right, my dear," replied Lord Barminster, patting her hand reassuringly.

For a few minutes there was silence. His lordship drank his coffee, while his companion stared dreamily through the window at the magnificent view of park and woods. The old man was the first to speak.

"We shall miss Lord Standon," he said, with a meaning glance at her.

Lady Constance looked up with a start; then, as she realised the significance of this simple statement, she smiled. She knew she could trust her uncle not to betray her woman's secret; and, though she had no scruple in using Lord Standon as a means to spur on Adrien, she would not allow the old man to be worried unnecessarily by doubts of her fidelity to his beloved son.

"Yes," she answered, quietly. "But he only came down for the race; and I daresay he was anxious to rejoin his fiancee."

It was her uncle's turn to start, and his intense surprise told Lady Constance only too well that her speculations were correct. Adrien had believed her in love with Lord Standon, and his father had undertaken to find out the truth. She was not afraid of Adrien's being undeceived now; for, even if Lord Barminster wrote—which was very unlikely—the spur would have done its work.

"I did not know he was engaged," the old man exclaimed.

"No, the news has not been made public; but he told me in confidence," Lady Constance returned calmly, as she rose from the breakfast-table. Then, having seen her companion installed with his newspaper, she passed out to the terrace.

To the astonishment of every one in Barminster Castle, some few hours later, Mr. Vermont reappeared.

In his turn he seemed quite as surprised when he learned that Leroy had already returned to London.

"Gone," he echoed, "just a few hours ago? Dear! dear! I must have missed him by telling my chauffeur to take the road across the moor."