"Of course you ought," he rejoined with decision. "Maud won't care. I'll bring you back to her before the play begins."

He drew her away through the crowd, and she went with him without further demur. Bunny was tall and bore himself with distinction. There was, moreover, something rather compelling about him just then, and Toby felt the attraction. She suffered the hand that grasped her own.

"Look here!" he said abruptly, as they drew apart from the throng. "I've got to see more of you somehow. Have you been dodging me all this time?"

"I?" said Toby.

She met his eyes with a funny little chuckle. There was spontaneous mischief in his own.

He gave her hand an admonitory squeeze. "I'm not laughing. You're not playing the game. What's the good of my coming to the house to see you if we never meet?"

"Don't understand," said Toby briefly.

"Yes, you do. Or you can if you try. You never seem to have any liberty now-a-days. Is it Maud's doing or your own?"

Toby laughed again lightly and bafflingly. "I can do anything I want to do," she said.

"Oh, can you?" Bunny pounced. "Then you've got to meet me sometimes away from the rest. See? Come! That's only fair."

Toby made a face at him. "Suppose I don't want to?" she said.

He laughed into her eyes. "Don't tell me that! When and where?"

She laughed back. He was hard to resist. "I don't know. I'm too busy."

"Rot!" said Bunny.

"You're very rude," she remarked.

"I'll be ruder when I get the chance," he laughed. "Listen, I want to see you alone very badly. You're not going to let me down."

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," said Toby.

But she could not look with severity into the handsome young face that was bent to hers. It was not in her to repulse a friendly influence. She had to respond.

"I'll tell you what you're going to do," said Bunny, marking her weakening with cheery assurance. "You'll take Chops for a walk to-morrow evening through the Burchester Woods. You know that gate by the larch copse? It's barely a mile across the down. Be there at seven, and perhaps—who knows?—perhaps—Chops may meet somebody he's rather fond of."

"And again perhaps he mayn't," said Toby, suppressing a dimple.

"Oh, I say, that's shabby! You'll give him the chance anyhow?"

The pleading note sounded in Bunny's voice. Toby suddenly dropped her eyes. She looked as if she were bracing herself to refuse.

Bunny saw and quickly grappled with the danger. "Give him the chance!" he urged softly into her ear. "You won't be sorry—afterwards."

She did not lift her eyes, but somehow the enchantment held. By a bold stroke he had entered her defences, and she could not for the moment drive him out. She was silent.

"You'll come?" whispered Bunny.

They were nearing a little group of ponies that were being held in readiness at the end of the field. Toby quickened her pace.

He kept beside her, but he did not speak again. And perhaps his silence moved her more than speech, for she gave a little impulsive turn towards him and threw him her sudden, boyish smile.

"All right. We'll come," she said.

"Hooray!" crowed Bunny softly.

"But I shan't stay long," she warned him. "And if I don't like it, I shall never come again."

"You will like it," said Bunny with confidence.

"I wonder," said Toby with her chin in the air.



CHAPTER III

L'OISEAU BLEU

Bunny surpassed himself that afternoon. Wherever he went, success seemed to follow, and shouts of applause reached him from all quarters.

"That young fellow is a positive genius," commented General Melrose, who had a keen eye for the game. "He ought to be in the Service. Why isn't he, Mrs. Bolton?"

"He wasn't considered strong enough," Maud said. "It was a great disappointment to him. You see, he spent the whole of his childhood on his back with spine trouble. And when that was put right he outgrew his strength."

"Ah! I remember now. You used to wheel the poor little beggar about in a long chair. Well, he's rather different now from what he was in those days. Not much the matter with him, is there?"

"Nothing now," Maud said.

"What does he do with himself?" asked the General, surveying the distant figure at that moment galloping in a far corner of the field.

"He is agent on Lord Saltash's estate at Burchester," his daughter said, suddenly entering the conversation. "He was telling me about it at luncheon. He and Lord Saltash are friends."

"Ah! To be sure!" General Melrose's look suddenly came to Maud and she felt herself colour a little.

"He is an old friend of the family," she said. "We live not far from the Castle. My husband owns the Graydown Stables."

"Oh, I know that," the General said courteously. "I know your husband, Mrs. Bolton, and I am proud to know him. What I did not know until to-day was that he was your husband. I never heard of your marriage."

"We have been married for eight years," she said with a smile.

"It must be at least ten since I saw you last," he said. "This girl of mine—Sheila—must have been at school in those days. You never met her?"

Maud turned to the girl. "I don't think we have ever met before," she said. "Is this your first visit to Fairharbour?"

"My first visit, yes." Sheila leaned forward. She was a pretty girl of two-and-twenty with a quantity of soft dark hair and grey eyes that held a friendly smile. "We don't go to the sea much in the summer as a rule. We get so much of it in the winter. Dad always winters in the South. It only seems a few weeks since we came back from Valrosa."

Maud was conscious of an abrupt jerk from Toby on her other side, and she laid a hand on her arm with the kindly intention of drawing her into the conversation. But the next instant feeling tension under her hand, she turned to look at her, and was surprised to see that Toby was staring out across the field with wide, strained eyes. She looked so white that Maud had a moment of sharp anxiety.

"Is anything the matter, dear?" she whispered.

An odd little tremor went through Toby. She spoke with an effort. "I thought he was off his pony that time, didn't you?"

She kept her eyes upon Bunny who was coming back triumphant.

Maud smiled. "Oh, I don't think there is much danger of that. Miss Melrose was talking about Valrosa. You were there too last winter, weren't you?"

The colour mounted in Toby's face. She turned almost defiantly. "Just for a day or two. I was at school at Geneva. I went there to join my father."

"I was at school at Geneva a few years ago," said Sheila Melrose. "You didn't go to Mademoiselle Denise, I suppose?"

"No," said Toby briefly. "Madame Beaumonde."

"I never heard of her," said Sheila. "It must have been after I left."

Toby nodded. "I wasn't there long. I've never been anywhere long. But I've left school now, and I'm going to do as I like."

"A very wise resolution!" commented a laughing voice behind her. "It's one of the guiding principles of my life."

All the party turned, Toby with a quick exclamation muffled at birth. Saltash, attired in a white yachting suit and looking more than usually distinguished in his own fantastic fashion, stood with his hand on the back of Toby's chair.

"Quite a gathering of old friends!" he declared, smiling impartially upon all.

General Melrose stretched a welcoming hand to him. "Hullo, Saltash! Where on earth have you sprung from? Or are you fallen straight out of the skies?"

"Like Lucifer, son of the morning!" laughed Saltash. "Well, I haven't sprung and I haven't fallen. I have simply arrived."

Toby was on her feet. "Come and sit down!" she said in a low voice.

He shook his head. "No, no, ma cherie. I will stand behind you. Miss Melrose, my humble regards to you. Is the black mark still against my name?"

Sheila looked at him with a touch of hauteur that somehow melted into a smile. She had learnt her lesson at Valrosa, and there was nothing to add thereto. This man was never in earnest, and he had never intended her to think him so.

"I banned you as bold and bad long ago," she said. "I don't remember that you have done anything to change the impression."

He laughed lightly, enigmatically. "Nothing in your presence, I fear. The Fates have always been sportive so far as I was concerned. But really I'm not such a bad sort now-a-days, am I, Mrs. Bolton?"

Maud smiled upon him. "Not so bad, I think. But please don't ask me to be your sponsor! I really couldn't play the part."

"Ask me!" said Toby suddenly, with flushed face up-raised. "He saved my life when The Night Moth went down, when most men would only have bothered to save their own."

"What a libel!" laughed Saltash. "Don't you know I only hung on to you because you had a life-belt on!"

"Oh, naturally!" said the General. "That would be your motive. I was sorry to hear about The Night Moth, but you had a lucky escape."

"I always escape somehow," remarked Saltash complacently. "The Night Moth wanted new engines too, that's one consolation. I've just bought another," he added, suddenly touching Toby's shoulder. "Your daddy is quite pleased with her. We've just come round from London in her."

"Oh, have you?" Eagerly Toby's eyes came up to his, "What is she like? What are you going to call her?"

"She isn't christened yet. I'm going to hold a reception on board, and Maud shall perform the ceremony. I'm calling her The Blue Moon—unless you can suggest something better." Saltash's restless look went to Maud. "I wanted to call her after you," he said lightly, "But I was afraid Jake might object."

"I think The Blue Moon is much more suitable," she answered. "Is she as rare as she sounds?"

"She's rather a fine article," he made answer. "You must come and see her—come and cruise in her if you will. She's only just off the slips. I was lucky to get her. She skims along like a bird."

"Why not call her The Blue Bird?" suggested Sheila.

He shook his head with his odd grimace. "That is a thing I can never hope to possess, Miss Melrose. The blue moon may occur once in my life if I am exceptionally virtuous, but the blue bird never. I have ceased to hope for it." His glance flashed beyond her. "Young Bunny is distinguishing himself to-day. That was a fine effort."

Everyone was clapping except Toby who was staring before her with her hands in her lap. Her blue eyes were very wide open, but they did not seem to be watching the game.

"It will fly to you, cherie," suddenly whispered a voice in her ear. "It is already upon the wing."

A little tremor went through her, but she did not turn her head. Only after a moment she slipped a hand behind her through the back of her chair.

Wiry fingers closed upon it, gripped it, let it go. "When it comes to you, hold it fast!" came the rapid whisper. "Il ne vient pas deux fois—l'oiseau bleu."

Toby's lip trembled. She bit it desperately. Her look was strained. She did not attempt to speak.

"It is the gift of the gods, cherie." The words came softly at her shoulder, but they pierced her. "We do not cast their gifts away. They come—too seldom."

She made a quick movement; it was almost convulsive, like the start of one suddenly awakened. A hard breath went through her, and then she was laughing, laughing and clapping with the rest, her eyes upon the boyish, triumphant figure in front of her. When the applause died away, Saltash had departed, abruptly as was his wont. And though they saw him in the distance several times, he did not return that afternoon.



CHAPTER IV

THE TRAP

It was an evening of golden silence, and the larch copse in its stillness was like an enchanted wood. Now and then something moved in the undergrowth with a swift rustle or a blackbird raised a long ripple of alarm. But for the most part all was still. No breeze came up the hillside, and in the west a long black line of cloud lay like a barrier across the sun, so that great rays slanted out over land and sea, transforming all things with their radiance.

A soft low whistle broke the stillness or mingled with it. A snatch of melody came like the strains of a fairy pipe from the edge of the larch wood. Again there came a sharp movement in some long grass near the gate that led from the open down into the Burchester estate. It sounded as if some small imprisoned creature were fighting for freedom. Then in another moment there came the rush and snuffle of a questing dog, and old Chops the setter came bursting through the hedge that bordered the wood.

He flung himself through the long grass with an agility that belied his advancing years, and in an instant there arose a cry that seemed to thrill the whole wood with horror. The enchanted silence broke upon it like the shivering of a crystal ball, for as Chops pounced another cry rang clear and commanding from the other side of the hedge.

"Chops! Back! Back! Do you hear, Chops? Come back."

Chops did not come back, but he paused above his quarry, and looked round with open jaws and lolling tongue. If it had been his master who thus called him, he would have obeyed on the instant. But Toby was a different matter, and the frantic, struggling thing in front of him was a sore temptation.

His brief hesitation, however, lost him the game. Her light feet raced through the grass with the speed of wings, and she threw herself over the gate and upon him before he could make good his claim. He found himself thrust back, and the long habit of obedience had conquered instinct before it could reassert itself. She dropped upon her knees beside the thing in the grass and discovered a young hare caught in a snare.

It was a very ordinary poacher's contrivance fashioned of wire. The little animal was fairly caught round the body, and the cruel tension of the gin testified to his anguished and futile struggles for freedom. The wire had cut into his shoulder, and his bolting eyes were wild with terror. It was no easy task to loosen the trap, and there was blood on Toby's hands as she strove to release the straining, frenzied creature.

She was far too deeply engrossed in the matter to heed any sound of approaching feet, and when the thud of a horse's hoofs suddenly fell on the turf close to her she did not raise her head. But she did look up startled when two hands swooped down from above her and gripped the hare with a vice-like strength that stilled all struggling.

"He will claw you to pieces," said Bunny bluntly. "Shall I kill him? He's damaged. Or do you want to let him go?"

"Oh, let him go—of course!" cried Toby, dragging reckless at the wire. "See, it's coming now! Hold him tight while I slip it off!"

The wire slipped at last. She forced it loose, and the victim was free. Bunny turned to lay him in the grass, and Toby sprang upon Chops and held him fast. She was crying, fiercely, angrily.

"How dare they set that cruel thing? How dare they? He isn't dead, is he? Why doesn't he run away?"

"He's hurt," said Bunny. "Let me kill him! Let Chops finish him!"

"No, no, no, no!" Vehemently Toby flung her protest. "He may be hurt, but he'll get over it. Anyway, give him his chance! There! He's moving! It wouldn't be fair not to give him his chance."

"It would be kinder to kill him," said Bunny.

"I hate you!" she cried back, weeping over Chops who stood strained against her. "If—if—if you touch him—I'll never, never speak to you again!"

Bunny came to her, took Chops by the collar, and fastened him with his whip to the gate. Then he stooped over Toby, his young face sternly set.

"Stop crying!" he said. "Let me have your hands!"

They were a mass of scratches from the hare's pounding feet. He began to look at them, but Toby thrust them behind her back. She choked back her tears like a boy, and looked up at him with eyes of burning indignation, sitting back on her heels in the long grass.

"Bunny, it's a damn' shame to trap a thing like that. Did you do it?"

"I? No. I'm not a poacher." Grimly Bunny made reply. That flare of anger made her somehow beautiful, but he knew if he yielded to the temptation to take her in his arms at that moment she would never forgive him. "Don't be unreasonable!" he said. "You'll have to come and bathe your hands. They can't be left in that state."

"Oh, what does it matter?" she said impatiently. "I've had much worse things than that to bear. Bunny, you believe in God I know. Why does He let things be trapped? It isn't fair. It isn't right. It—it—it hurts so."

"Lots of things hurt," said Bunny.

"Yes, but there's nothing so mean and so horrible as a trap. I—I could kill the man who set it. I'm glad it wasn't you." Toby spoke passionately.

"So am I," said Bunny.

He crumpled the wire gin in his hand, and dragged it up from the ground.

Toby watched him still kneeling in the grass. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Destroy it," he said promptly.

She smiled at him, the tears still on her cheeks. "That's fine of you. Bunny, I haven't got a handkerchief."

He gave her his, still looking grim. She dried her eyes and got up. The hare, recovering somewhat, gave her a frightened stare and slipped away into the undergrowth. She looked up at Bunny.

"I'm sorry I was angry," she said. "Are you cross with me?"

He relaxed a little. "Not particularly."

"Don't be!" she said tremulously. "I couldn't help it. He suffered so horribly, and I know—I know so well what it felt like."

"How do you know?" said Bunny.

Her look fell before his. She made an odd movement of shrinking. He put his arm swiftly round her.

"Never mind the wretched hare! He's got away this time anyway. And I'm not at all sure you didn't have the worst of it. Feeling better now?"

She nodded. "Yes, much better. I like you, Bunny, but I can't help thinking you're rather cruel. You didn't want to kill the poor thing?"

"I think it was rather prolonging the agony to let him live," said Bunny. "Let me see your hands!"

She tried to hide them, but he was insistent, and at length impulsively she yielded.

"You must come down to old Bishop's and bathe them," he said.

She shook her head instantly. "No, Bunny, I'm not going to. I'll run down to the lake if you like. There's sure not to be anyone there."

"All right," said Bunny, but he lingered still with his arm about her. "Will you kiss me, Toby?" he said suddenly.

"No," she said, and swiftly averted her face.

His arm tightened for a second, then he felt her brace herself against him and let her go. "All right," he said again. "We'll go down to the lake."

She threw him a swift glance of surprise, but he turned away to release Chops and unfasten his horse without further discussion.

Their way lay along a grass ride that ran beside the larch wood. Bunny walked gravely along, leading his horse. Toby moved lightly beside him.

Behind them the silence closed like the soft folds of a curtain, but it was not a silence devoid of life. As they drew away from the place, a man stepped out from the larches and stood motionless, watching them. A whimsical smile that was not without bitterness hovered about his mouth. As they passed from sight, he turned back into the trees and walked swiftly and silently away.

It was nearly a mile across the park to the lake in the hollow, and the boy and girl tramped it steadily with scarcely a word. Chops walked sedately by Toby's side, occasionally poking his nose under her hand. Bunny's face was stern. He had the look of a man who moved with a definite goal in view.

They came to the beechwood that surrounded the lake. The Castle from its height looked down over the terraced gardens upon one end of the water. It was a spot in fairyland.

They came to a path that led steeply downwards, and Bunny stopped. "I'll leave my animal here," he said.

Toby did not wait. She plunged straight down the steep descent. When he rejoined her, she was at the water's edge. She knelt upon a bed of moss and thrust her hands into the clear water. He stood above her for a moment or two, then knelt beside her and took the wet wrists very gently into a firm hold. She made a faint resistance, but finally yielded. He looked down at the hands nervously clenched in his grasp. He was older in that moment, more manly, than she had ever seen him.

"What's the matter, little girl?" he said softly. "What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing," said Toby instantly, and threw up her chin in the old dauntless way.

He looked at her closely. "Sure?"

The blue eyes met his with defiance. "Of course I'm sure. That horrid trap upset me, that's all."

He continued to look at her steadily. "That isn't why you won't have anything to say to me," he said.

Her colour rose under his gaze, but she would not avoid it. "Does it matter why?" she said.

"It does when I want to know," he answered. Again his look went to her hands. "How the little brute scored you! So much for gratitude!"

"You don't expect gratitude from a creature wild with fright," said Toby.

She spoke rather breathlessly, and he saw that she was on the verge of tears again. He got up and drew her to her feet.

"Let's walk for a bit!" he said.

She stood as one in doubt and he felt that she was trembling.

"I say—don't!" he said suddenly and winningly. "I won't do anything you don't like, I swear. You shan't be bothered. Can't you trust me?"

She made a little movement towards him, and he put his arm round her shoulders. They turned along the greensward side by side.

"It was awfully nice of you to come," Bunny said in that new gentle voice of his. "I didn't mean you to get there first, but old Bishop is so long-winded I couldn't get away."

"It didn't matter," said Toby with a nervous little smile.

"It did to me," said Bunny. "It would have saved you that anyway."

"But you'd have killed the hare," she said.

"Not if he hadn't been damaged," he said. "I'm not a brute. I don't kill for the sake of killing."

She looked incredulous. "Most men do. Don't you hunt? Don't you shoot?"

"Oh, you're talking of sport!" said Bunny.

"Yes, it's called sport," said Toby, an odd little vibration in her voice. "It's just a name for killing things, isn't it?"

Bunny considered the matter. "No, that's not fair," he decided. "Sport is sport. But I prefer to walk up my game and I never countenance digging out a fox. That's sport."

"There are very few sportsmen in the world," said Toby.

"Oh, I don't know. Anyway, I hope I'm one of 'em. I try to be," said Bunny.

She gave him a quick look. "I think you are. And so is Jake."

"Oh, Jake! Jake's magnificent. He's taught me all I know in that line. I used to be a horrid little bounder before I met Jake. He simply made me—body and soul." Bunny spoke with a simple candour.

"P'raps he had good stuff to work on," suggested Toby.

Bunny's arm drew her almost imperceptibly. "I don't think he had. My father was a wild Irishman, and my mother—well, she's dead too—but she wasn't anything to be specially proud of."

"Oh, was your mother a rotter?" said Toby, with sudden interest.

He nodded. "We don't talk about her much, Maud and I. She married a second time—a brute of a man who used to run the Anchor Hotel. They went to Canada, and she died."

"The Anchor Hotel!" said Toby. "That place at Fairharbour down by the shore?"

"Yes, Maud and I were there too at first. I was a cripple in those days, couldn't even walk. We had a fiendish time there—till Jake came."

"Ah!" Toby's blue eyes suddenly gleamed. "Did Maud marry Jake to get away?" she asked.

Bunny nodded again and began to smile. "Yes. We were in a beastly hole, she and I. Something had to be done."

"She didn't love him then?" questioned Toby, almost with eagerness.

"Oh no, not then. Not till long after. Jake and I were the pals. He was always keen enough on her, poor chap. But Charlie complicated matters rather in those days. You see, Charlie came first—before she ever met Jake."

"Charlie?" said Toby quickly.

"Lord Saltash. You knew he was an old friend, didn't you?"

"I didn't know—that he—and Maud—ever loved each other." Toby halted over the words as if they were somehow difficult to utter.

Bunny enlightened her with a boy's careless assurance. "Oh, that's a very old story. They were very fond of each other in their youth. In fact they were practically engaged. Then Charlie, who has always been a bit giddy, went a bit too far with Lady Cressady who was also a somewhat gay young person, and Sir Philip Cressady, who was a brute, tried to divorce her. He didn't succeed. The case fell through. But it set everyone by the ears, and Maud threw Charlie over. He pretends he didn't care, but he did—pretty badly, and he's never married in consequence."

"Oh, is that why?" said Toby.

"That's why. He's gone the pace fairly rapidly ever since. But he's a good chap at heart. Even Jake acknowledges that now, and he knows him as well as anyone."

"And—Maud?" said Toby, in a low voice. She was not looking at Bunny, but staring out over the still waters of the lake with a rather piteous intentness.

"Maud has always kept a soft place in her heart for him. She couldn't help it. Women can't."

"I see," said Toby. "And doesn't—Jake—mind?"

"Jake? No, not a bit. He's sure of her now. She thinks there's no one like him in the world. And she's quite right. There's not." Bunny spoke with warm enthusiasm.

Toby's brows were drawn a little. "Then—she isn't in love with Lord Saltash?" she said.

"No, not now. She just takes a motherly interest in him, tries to persuade him to settle down and be good—that sort of thing. I believe she feels rather responsible for him. He certainly bolted very thoroughly after she gave him up. It's all years ago of course. But he's never settled—never will."

"I see," said Toby.

A slight shiver went through her, and she looked up at Bunny with a small, pinched smile. "Fancy—Maud—giving him up!" she said.

"Well, she always had her share of pride, and he certainly didn't treat her with great consideration. He might have known she'd never stand it," said Bunny. "He only had himself to thank."

Toby's look was puzzled, oddly pathetic. "But he's such a king," she said. "I don't suppose he'd ever think of that."

Again Bunny's arm tightened about the narrow shoulders. There was something about her that appealed to him very deeply, something he sensed rather than saw.

"Haven't we talked about other people's affairs long enough now?" he suggested. "Don't you think we might turn our attention to our own?"

She coloured up to her blue-veined forehead. "If you like," she said rather faintly.

"Don't you think I deserve that kiss?" urged Bunny softly. "I've been awfully patient."

She lifted her lips with a gesture of submission, saying no word.

"Oh, not like that!" he said gently. "Not if you'd rather not, dear."

She caught her breath sharply; it was almost a sob. Then she opened her eyes wide and laughed.

"Oh, you great big silly!" she said. "You're easier to draw than anyone I ever met!"

His arms clasped her. He drew her close. "My own little butterfly girl!" he said, and kissed her very tenderly. "I've caught you at last—at last."

She laid her head against his neck, and stood so, quivering a little and silent.

"You're tired," he said. "I'll give you a lift towards home. Folly will carry you all right."

She uttered a tremulous laugh, and lifting her face she kissed him of her own accord.

"You're—awful good to me, Bunny dear," she said. "P'raps—p'raps I'll be engaged to you soon."

"You darling!" said Bunny fervently.



CHAPTER V

THE CONFIDENCE

A letter with the crest of a fox's head and the motto, Sans Vertu, upon the back lay beside Maud's plate on the following morning. She took it up with a smile at Jake who had just entered the room.

"From Charlie—probably about the new yacht. He told me the other day that he wanted me to perform the christening ceremony."

"You have my permission," said Jake. "What does he propose to call her?"

"The Blue Moon, I believe. But he was in a freakish mood. He may have changed his mind by this time."

Jake glanced round. "Where's the kid?"

"Who? Toby? I thought she went out early. Hasn't she been riding with you?"

"No, she dodged me," said Jake. "Went off on her own on one of those raw colts. I shall have to talk to her when she comes in."

"I hope she's all right," said Maud, with a touch of anxiety.

"She's all right," said Jake.

"But why did she dodge you? Have you been quarrelling?" Maud paused in the act of opening her letter and looked at him with a grave questioning that brought a gleam of humour into Jake's eyes.

"We have not," he said. "I've scarcely seen her since yesterday morning. I can't tell you why she dodged me. I only know she did it."

"How odd of her!" said Maud.

He sat down and took up the paper; his face was grim. "I shall know why presently. Read your letter. I'm in no hurry."

Maud opened the letter from Saltash and there fell a brief silence.

It was broken by the sound of light feet outside the door, and Toby, still wearing riding-dress, her face flushed and laughing, swung into the room. "I'm so sorry I'm late," she said. "The little fiend ran away with us, and we had a gigantic tussle. Do you mind if I sit down in these things?"

She went round to Maud to kiss her, and stopped as Maud's arm came about her.

"Do you mind?" she said again.

"My dear," Maud said very gently, "Jake is going to scold you for riding that half-broken colt by yourself. It was very risky. Why did you do it?"

"Oh, is Jake cross?" said Toby. She looked across at him with an imp of mischief in her eyes. Then, as he still studied his paper, abruptly she left Maud and went round to him.

"Cheer up, Jake!" she said. "Don't throw a cloud on the proceedings!"

Her voice was half impudent, half wheedling. Jake looked up, his eyes very direct and somewhat stern.

"You sit down and have some breakfast!" he said. "I'll talk to you afterwards."

She obeyed him with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "P'raps I shan't stay to be talked to," she remarked, as she did so. "I've promised to take Eileen and Molly out as soon as I've had my tub, so if it's going to be a lengthy wigging, you'd better begin now."

Jake did not begin. He turned deliberately from the bravado of her look, and began to take the covers off the breakfast dishes.

Toby leaned back provocatively in her chair, and whistled under her breath. She was plainly in a dare-devil mood, but it was not her custom to dare Jake.

"What have you done to your hands?" he said, as she reached out for the plate he offered her.

She coloured deeply. "Nothing—I mean—nothing serious. I often get my hands scratched."

"Why don't you tell me the truth?" said Jake.

Maud looked up from her letter. "It is as I thought. Charlie wants us to go down to Fairharbour to-morrow. He is getting together a luncheon party on board the yacht. The Melroses will be there and some of the polo people staying at The Anchor. Jake, you will come and support me, won't you?"

Jake shook his head. "Bunny can do that job, my girl. I've got to get ready for Goodwood. Forest Fire is going to make his mark there."

"Oh, bother Forest Fire!" said Maud. "I want you."

"What for?" said Jake.

"Well, General Melrose knows you. He was talking of you down at the Club the other afternoon. And I want him to meet you—with me. Please come, Jake!" Maud spoke persuasively.

"All right," said Jake.

"You will?"

"I will," he said, smiling a little. "You don't often interfere with my liberty. I remember old Melrose, met him years ago at Doncaster. He's always been keen on the Turf, and he stood by me once when—someone—was trying to queer my pitch."

"Oh!" said Maud. "You mean the time that Charlie let you down! Poor Charlie! He was horribly ashamed of himself afterwards."

Toby looked up sharply, and again the colour came into her face, mounting swiftly to her forehead. She appeared to be on the verge of hot speech, but no words came.

It was Jake who spoke in his soft, easy drawl. "Oh, I guess he's grown a bit since then. Anyway, whatever his intentions, he never managed to do me any harm. And I rather think his malice is dead now."

"It died long ago," said Maud quietly. "He owes you a great deal, Jake. You've taught him to be a man."

"I?" said Jake. "My dear, your partiality runs away with your judgment. Have some ham!"

He dismissed the matter in his own calm fashion, and began to talk of his animals. Breakfast proceeded, but Toby scarcely spoke and ate very little.

"It's so hot to-day," she said when presently Maud remonstrated with her. "I can't eat when it's hot—really." She pushed her plate away and rose from the table. "Do you mind if I go?"

"Yes, I mind," said Jake. "Go and sit in that arm-chair and smoke a cigarette! I shall be ready when you've finished."

He held out his case to her, and, though she made a face at him, she yielded. She threw herself down in the chair he indicated and smoked in silence.

Chops came and laid his head upon her knee, and she fondled his silken ears with an understanding touch. But her eyes were fixed before her with something of hardness in their look.

Maud finished her breakfast and got up. "I am going up to the nursery," she said. "Don't hurry, Toby dear! The children can run in the garden till you are ready."

"I shan't keep her long," Jake said.

Toby turned in her chair with a sudden flare of defiance. "I'd like to see any man who would keep me anywhere against my will!" she said.

Jake nodded. "All right. You can see him now if you want to. Why did you go and ride that little devil Knuckle-Duster when I told you not?"

"I don't take orders from you!" said Toby hotly.

"Oh yes, you do—sometimes." The door closed softly behind Maud and Jake turned squarely to face the girl on his hearth. "Say now," he said in his slow direct way, "it was a fool thing to do. You may as well admit it as not."

Toby was on her feet. She stood stiffly braced, but the colour had gone out of her face. It was white and strained.

"All right," she said, speaking quickly and nervously. "But what of it? I brought him back quite sound and none the worse."

"I wasn't thinking of the horse," said Jake. "He's a savage brute and I doubt if we ever do much with him. He'll certainly never be fit for a lady to ride. But that's not the point either. The point is, you did it against my orders. And you dodged me to do it. Isn't that so?"

"I didn't dodge you for that reason," said Toby. "I'd have done it whether you'd been there or not."

"I think not," Jake said. "Anyway, you'll give me your word of honour that you'll never ride that animal again."

"My what?" said Toby, and suddenly she broke into a laugh. "Oh, don't be funny, Jake! Bunny rides him. Why shouldn't I?"

"That's quite a different thing," Jake said. "Bunny has a man's strength. You haven't. It's too dangerous a game for you, see? And I won't have it."

"All right," said Toby, picking up her riding-whip and turning to go.

He stretched out a hand to detain her. "You'll give me that promise," he said.

She paused for a second, and met the unswerving determination of his eyes. Then a sudden gleam of blue fire lit her own. She made a swift movement, and struck the outstretched hand lightly with the switch she carried.

It was a gesture of supreme insolence, but there was conscious daring in her look. Jake's hand leapt like an angry dog upon the switch and gripped it.

"That was a mistake," he said, and the words, though slow, had a cutting quality that was somehow more imposing than open wrath.

Toby faced him with unabated courage, but she had begun to quiver. She spoke no word.

Jake's hand fell. He turned from her, and pulled out his pipe. There was dignity in the action—the dignity of strength that refuses to assert itself.

And Toby suddenly crumpled. She sprang after him like a contrite child, and caught his arm. "Oh, Jake, forgive me! Do please forgive me! I'm a beast—a beast!" she cried tremulously.

Jake looked at her, the hint of a smile about his rugged mouth. "I guess not," he said. "You're just—young."

She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not! It wasn't that, Jake! I didn't—hurt you?"

"Shucks, no!" he said.

She clung to his arm still. "I'll never disobey you again. I won't do anything you don't like. Jake, I mean it! Why are you laughing?"

"I'm not," said Jake. He put his pipe away again, and patted her shoulder. "All right. Don't say any more!" he said.

Toby gulped down some obstruction in the throat. "I must. I've got to ask you something. You're so awfully decent. I can't—I won't—do things you don't like."

"What do you want to know?" said Jake.

Her other hand came up and fastened tightly upon his arm. "I don't know how to tell you," she said. "I—I had a rotten night last night. That's why I went out alone this morning. And I took Knuckle-Duster because the devil tempted me."

"I see," said Jake. His red-brown eyes were very kindly in their directness. "What did you have a bad night about?"

Her hold upon him tightened. Something of entreaty made itself felt in her grasp. There was fear in the wide blue eyes so resolutely lifted to his.

"I don't know how to tell you," she said again.

"Maybe I can guess," said Jake.

"Ah!" she said, and laid her face down quickly on his sleeve.

He laid his free hand on her head. "It's Bunny, is it?" he said.

She answered him quiveringly. "Yes, it's—it's Bunny."

"Well?" said Jake gently.

She spoke with her face still hidden. "You don't want me to marry him, do you? I won't do it either—without your permission."

"Mine!" said Jake.

"Yes." Her words came rapidly. "You love Bunny. You know what's best for him. You want him to have the best."

Jake's hand caressed her bent head. "Well," he said, after a moment. "I guess that's so. But—I've come to love you in the same way. I'd like you to have the best too."

She lifted her head and looked at him. "You'd like me to have Bunny? Do you mean that?"

"If it's going to make you both happy," said Jake.

"Ah!" she caught her breath sharply. "But no one can be sure of that, can they? I mean, marriage is such a speculation, isn't it? I expect Bunny will soon get tired of me."

"Why do you say that?" said Jake.

A little quiver went through her. "I don't know. Men are like that, aren't they? Not men like you of course, but you're the big exception to almost every rule."

Jake was frowning a little. "I guess I'm as human as the rest of 'em," he said. "But what makes you think Bunny isn't a stayer?"

"He's so young," said Toby.

"That all?" said Jake, beginning to smile.

She looked at him rather wistfully. "Yes, but it counts, Jake. He'll be a man some day, but he isn't yet—at least only in streaks."

"Well, there's no hurry, is there?" said Jake. "People shouldn't marry in haste."

Toby's eyes flashed sudden accusation. "You did!"

"I!" Jake looked momentarily disconcerted. "Well, I had some excuse. What do you know about it anyway?"

"I know what Bunny told me. Maud didn't love you when she married you. It didn't come on till afterwards. She loved Lord Saltash, and he loved her." Toby spoke with a certain hardness, as if challenging contradiction. "She'd have married him—but for you."

Jake met the challenge squarely. "Quite possibly she would. Think she'd have been any happier?"

Toby shook her head. "No. I think you were always meant to be her man. But it—it was rather hard on him." Her voice trembled a little. "Bunny says that was why he never married."

"He's not the marrying sort," said Jake. "I don't mind your marrying Bunny, but nothing on this earth would persuade me to let you marry him."

An odd little smile twitched the corners of Toby's mouth. "No? Well, I shouldn't consult you about that," she said. "Sure you don't mind my marrying Bunny?"

Jake looked at her. "Not if you're sure you want to," he said.

Her eyes grew bright and baffling. She drew away from him, but in a moment with a boyish gesture, she held out her hand to him. "Thank you, Jake. You're a brick. Whatever I do, I'll do it—straight, and you'll stand by?"

"Sure!" said Jake, and gave her a close grip.



CHAPTER VI

THE SACRED FIRE

The party that gathered on the quay at Fairharbour on the hot July day when Saltash's new yacht, The Blue Moon lay awaiting her christening was of a very gay description. The yacht herself was decked with flags, and the hotel facing the quay, The Anchor, was also decorated with bunting. All the visitors in the town were congregated about the shore, or were rowing in pleasure boats near the centre of attraction.

The yacht lay moored to the quay on which by Saltash's orders a long strip of red carpet had been laid leading to the gangway which was decorated with trails of flowers. The day was glorious and cloudless, the sea of that intense blue that melts to the horizon without any dividing line—like the blue of a smoked pearl.

Saltash's idea was to take his guests for a cruise across the bay after the ceremony, and he planned to complete the celebrations with a fete on the water at night. Everything was in readiness, and by two o'clock he was already receiving his guests.

Maud and Jake stood with him, and little Eileen, very intent and serious, held Toby's hand and looked on from the background. Captain Larpent was on the bridge, looking very forbidding, even contemptuous. He had never had any liking for the gay crowds with which it was Saltash's pleasure to surround himself. He had the air of a magnificent Viking, above the frivolities with which he was surrounded. There was nothing of the ornamental about his rugged exterior, but his very aloofness made him imposing. He looked straight over the heads of the buzzing throng that poured on to the deck.

General Melrose and his daughter were among the last to arrive, and with them came Bunny, very merry and handsome, his dark eyes singling out Toby in a flash as she stood with her small charge. She had just lifted the child to stand on a ledge where she might overlook the proceedings when he joined them.

"Hullo!" he said eagerly. "I'm later than I meant to be. I've been lunching with General Melrose. Ye gods, what a crush! Where do they all come from? Well, sweetheart!" He bent to the child. "Enjoying your precious little self?"

The soft violet eyes met his with a deep contentment as she lifted her face for his kiss. "I think it's lovely," she said earnestly.

He stood up and looked again with swift appreciation at Toby. The girl was dressed very simply in white, her vivid face shadowed by a broad straw hat. She met his look with a grimace of boyish dissatisfaction.

"Bunny! What a ghastly gathering! For goodness' sake, don't look at me like that! I feel like a painted marionette!"

"Are you painted?" said Bunny. "You don't look it."

She made a vehement gesture of disgust. "As soon as this show it over, I shall get into riding things and go like the—like the—"

"Like the dish when it ran away with the spoon," suggested Bunny with a grin, as she paused. "Well, if you'll be the spoon, I'll be the dish, and we'll show 'em all a clean pair of heels. Shall we?"

"I certainly won't be the spoon," said Toby with decision. "You can find someone else to play that part. Try Miss Melrose! She doesn't look as if she'd object."

"She's a very pretty girl," said Bunny rather aggressively.

"Of course she's a pretty girl. It's what she's for." Toby's chin went up. "She couldn't be anything else."

Bunny laughed. "Well, cheer up! She's not the only one on board. Do you know any of these people?"

Toby shook her head promptly. "And don't want! Aren't they awful? Oh, here's Jake! Wonder how much he's enjoying himself."

Whether Jake were enjoying himself or not was not apparent in his manner as he came up and shook hands with Bunny, then turned to lift his little girl on to his shoulder.

"Hold tight, Innocence! What do you think of it all?"

"I think it's lovely, Daddy," she answered, clasping him closely. "Does Mummy like it too?"

He smiled at the anxiety in her question. "Guess she'll come through it all right. She's not exactly keen on this sort of thing. But we're here, eh, Innocence? That ought to make a difference."

Old General Melrose turned sharply at the sound of the soft voice. He had not noticed Jake until that moment.

"Why, Bolton!" he said. "What are you doing here?"

Jake moved forward deliberately. "Well," he said, "I guess I'm here in support of my wife who has undertaken the chief part in the ceremony about to take place."

The old soldier looked at him from under beetling brows. "Ah! Your wife! That's Maud Brian, isn't it? Somehow I always think of her as Maud Brian. So she still keeps up the old friendship with Saltash! I wonder you allow that."

Jake's red-brown eyes held a smile. "She pleases herself, sir," he said, "and—she pleases me."

"That a child of yours?" asked the General abruptly. "But I needn't ask. She's got Maud's eyes. Sheila, come and see this kiddie of Maud's!"

He spoke imperiously over his shoulder, and Sheila turned in answer. Her soft eyes kindled.

"Oh, what a darling! How do you do, Mr. Bolton? I know you well by name. And this is your little girl? What is her name?"

"Eileen," whispered the child, clinging rather nervously to Jake's shoulder.

"Innocence!" said Jake.

"Ah! How sweet!" the girl said. "I must get your mummy to bring you to see me. Would you like to, I wonder?"

"I think so," said Eileen shyly.

"Maybe you'll come and see her first," said Jake. "I should like you to see the stud, sir. We've got some stock that I think would interest you."

"That would be delightful," Sheila said, in her gracious way. "We are here for another fortnight. I had no idea it was such a lovely place."

"Have you seen Burchester?" asked Bunny.

She turned to him. "Never. I want to see it. Lord Saltash said something about it the other day, so I am hoping there is a chance of doing so. You are very fond of it, Sir Bernard?"

"Yes. It's my job just now. I'm head keeper," laughed Bunny. "Miss Larpent thinks I'm very inefficient, but I do my best."

"I never said so," said Toby.

She flushed at his obvious intention of drawing her into the group; but Sheila Melrose at once held out a welcoming hand.

"Miss Larpent, do you know I can't help feeling that I've seen you somewhere before. Yet I can't quite remember where. Could it have been at Valrosa?"

"Oh, no," said Toby. "It couldn't possibly have been there."

"And yet I can't help thinking it must have been," said Sheila, looking at her with knitted brows. "Were you at that fancy-dress affair at the Casino Hotel? I have a feeling I have seen you—somewhere—in fancy dress."

"Never!" said Toby with decision. "You must be thinking of someone else."

Sheila still looked at her with puzzled eyes. "Wait!" she said. "I shall remember in a moment. It was someone exactly like you. I know—someone dressed as a boy."

Toby made a sudden sharp movement and clapped her hands excitedly. "Look! Look! There goes the bottle! I hope she'll manage to break it!"

Sheila's attention was instantly diverted. The crowd surged forward. Maud, with Saltash on her right and Larpent on her left, stood by the rail. She held up a bottle that gleamed golden in the sun.

Saltash was laughing. He stood bareheaded, his dark face alight. Toby's eyes went to him in a single flashing glance and remained fixed. Bunny, looking at her, was for the moment curiously moved. It was as if he looked from afar upon some sacred fire that had suddenly sprung into ardent flame before a distant shrine. Then came Maud's voice, sweet and clear, speaking the name of the yacht, and like a golden flame the bottle curved through the pearl-like ether and crashed upon the bows.

A murmur went up and then a shout. The bottle had broken and the wine rushed in a sparkling cascade to the water.

Something impelled Bunny. He gripped Toby by the elbow. He almost shook her. "Hooray!" he yelled. "It's done! She's off!"

Toby looked at him with the eyes of a dreamer—eyes in which a latent fear underlay the reverence. Then, meeting his eyes, she seemed to awake. Her features contracted for a moment, but she controlled them swiftly, and laughed. Laughing, she drew him away.

The yacht had throbbed into movement. The ropes were being flung aboard. They were steaming away, and a great blast went up from the siren as they drew from the quay.

Everywhere was tumult, rejoicing. People were shouting, talking, laughing, waving hats and handkerchiefs. The whole world seemed a buzz of merriment, and out of the very thick of it, Toby's voice, small and tense, spoke into Bunny's ear.

"Let's get away! Let's go to Lord Saltash, and—and—and congratulate."

Her hand was on his arm. She pulled at it urgently, insistently. And Bunny went with her, moved again—he knew not wherefore—by that feeling that something had frightened her.

He grasped her hand and made a way for her through the crowd. They went to the laughing group in the bows. Saltash was standing close to Maud. He was making some careless jest to her, when suddenly he turned and found the boy and girl hand in hand behind him.

His swift look flashed over them, and then in his sudden way he put a hand on the shoulder of each. It was a lightning touch, and he laughed oddly as he did it, as a man laughs who covers some hidden hurt.

"We came to congratulate," said Bunny. "Good luck to her!"

And Saltash, with his royal air of graciousness, made light reply.

"I thank you for your congratulations, my children; but may the luck be yours! I see it coming."

And with that lightly he moved away among his guests, leaving a trail of merriment wherever he went, save where the boy and girl stood together in the bows in a silence that neither seemed able to break.



CHAPTER VII

SURRENDER

That night Fairharbour Bay looked like a velvet bed on which glittered many jewels. The Blue Moon, lighted from bows to stern lay in the centre, and from her deck there went up showers of coloured rockets that fell like burning rain upon the sea. There was a string band on board, and the strains floated across the water as echoes from another world—a wonder-world of soft melodies and laughing voices and lightly splashing oars.

Toby sat in the stern of a boat with a single rower in front of her, and trailed her fingers through the magic water. She was bare-headed, and the breeze of the summer night stirred tenderly the golden ringlets that clustered about her bow. Her face, seen now and then in the flare of the rockets, had a strange look, almost a look of dread. Her blue eyes were very wide open, like the eyes of a startled child.

She spoke scarcely at all, and Bunny did not urge her. Only as he rowed, he watched her with grave determination on his boyish face. He had claimed her as his partner early in the evening, and she had made no attempt to thwart him; but something in that half scared silence of hers moved him very deeply. His own was protective, resolutely reassuring.

Once, when she started nervously at an unexpectedly loud report from one of the rockets, he spoke to her as he would have spoken to a small, frightened animal.

"It's all right. I'll pull out a bit, shall I? These things make such a beastly row."

She thanked him in an undertone, and he began to row steadily away from the yacht and the thronging boats.

"You tell me when I've gone far enough!" he said.

But she did not tell him, and he rowed on and on through the dark water with only the rhythmic splashing of the oars to fill the silence between them.

They left the laughter and the noise behind, and began to draw towards the far corner of the bay. The shore rose steeply from the water here, and there came to them the soft breaking of the waves against the cliff as they neared it.

Toby came out of her silence with a jerk. "Bunny, do you really think it would answer?"

"Sure!" said Bunny promptly.

He drew in his oars with the words, and they drifted on the summer tide.

Toby was looking at him in the starlight with a dumb and piteous irresolution in her eyes.

Bunny leaned to her as he sat, with outstretched hands. "You poor little frightened mouse!" he said. "What is it that's troubling you? Do you think I wouldn't make you happy?"

"I think you'd try," she said dubiously.

For a few seconds she hung back, hesitating; then swiftly, almost with the gesture of one who casts aside a burden, she threw out her trembling hands and thrust them into his. He took them and held them fast, drawing them gently to him till he had them against his heart. "I would try, sweetheart," he said softly.

"Would you?" whispered Toby. "Would you?"

She went nearer to him; he could feel her trembling from head to foot.

"You think I wouldn't succeed?" he asked her tenderly. "You think I'd make you sorry?"

"I don't know," she answered quiveringly. "I—I'm thinking most of you."

"Wondering whether it would be good for me to have my heart's desire?" jested Bunny softly. "Think it would be too much for me; what, darling?"

"No,—no!" said Toby. "Not that! Only wondering if you are wanting the right thing—wondering if the thing you call your heart's desire will bring you happiness. It—it doesn't always, you know, Bunny. Life is like that."

Her voice sank a little.

"What do you know about life?" he said.

She shook her head, her face downcast. "Oh, too much—too much!" she said.

Bunny sat motionless for a moment or two, but his hold was strong and comforting. At length very gently he began to draw her nearer.

He almost expected her to resist him, but she did not. As he drew her, she yielded, till with a sob she suffered herself to be drawn close into his arms. He had her on the thwart beside him, her face hidden against his shoulder. He laid his cheek down upon her hair and sat silent.

Toby was sobbing a little, and he patted her shoulder soothingly, but he did not speak until with a quivering sigh she relaxed against him and was still.

Then, in a whisper, "Toby mavourneen," he said, "I'm going to tell you something that's come to me lately—something I've guessed. You needn't answer me. I don't want you to answer me—only to know that I know. There's another fellow in your heart, and he's got a bigger place than I have—at present. No, don't tremble, darling! It's all right. I know—I know. He's the sort that women simply can't keep out. He's a fine chap too, and I'm fond of him—always have been. But look here, mavourneen, you're not going to break your precious little heart over him; you know quite well it's no use, don't you? You know—well, anyhow to a certain extent—you know what he is, don't you?"

He paused for an answer, but Toby quivered in his arms and was silent.

He put up a hand and pressed her head closer to his breast. "He'll never marry," he said. "He doesn't mean to. He almost told me so the other day. But—Toby—he takes a friendly interest in you and me. He'd like us to have each other. Don't you think"—his voice had a hint of humour—"don't you think we might fix it up just to please him? P'raps—someday—we may find that we're pleased ourselves as well."

"Oh, my dear!" Toby whispered.

Her arm crept round his neck, but she did not lift her head. He clasped her more closely and went on very softly. "I love you enough to think of your happiness first, my darling. You're not happy now. I know that all right. But you will be—I swear you shall be—if you will marry me. You like me just a bit, don't you? And you wouldn't be afraid to trust yourself to me?"

"No," murmured Toby, with an effort. "I wouldn't be—afraid."

"Then you'll give me my chance?" he urged gently. "You'll put your dear little hand into mine and trust me? Will you darling? Will you?"

But Toby was silent.

"Won't you?" he said in a whisper.

Her arm tightened about his neck. She was breathing quickly, nervously. From across the water came the sounds of laughter and cheering, the softened strains of the band that played on the deck of The Blue Moon. Close at hand was only the low wash of the waves as they lapped against the cliff. They floated quite alone over the dark depths, rising and falling with the slow heave of the tide, but making no headway.

"Won't you?" Bunny said again, after a long silence.

And suddenly Toby raised her head and spoke. "I will do—whatever you wish," she said.

There was a slight break in her voice, but it held no indecision. Her eyes looked straight into his in the starlight. He saw them shining and knew that they were big with tears. But she did not flinch from his look or start as his lips came to hers. She slipped her other arm about his neck and clasped him close.

"You'll be good to me, Bunny?" she said in a whisper.

And he answered her deeply, his lips against her own. "I will be good to you, my darling, so help me, God!"



CHAPTER VIII

THE MAGICIAN'S WAND

"I can't think where I have seen that girl before," said Sheila thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the white rail, her soft eyes fixed upon the jewelled bay. "She has an arresting face."

"You have never seen her," said Saltash carelessly, flicking cigarette-ash overboard. "She has the sort of face that the old Italians worshipped and some of the moderns too. You have seen it in their pictures."

Sheila's brows were drawn. "I have seen her—somehow—dressed as a boy," she said. "Could it have been a picture?"

"Yes. One of Spentoli's. I've got a print somewhere. It's called, 'The Victim'—a lad with a face like Larpent's daughter, fighting a leopard."

Saltash spoke with easy conviction, his restless eyes flashing to and fro, often glancing but never resting upon the girl beside him. "That's what you're thinking of. It's an unsatisfactory sort of picture. One wonders which is 'The Victim.' But that is Spentoli all over. He always leaves one wondering."

"I know the thing you mean." Sheila nodded meditatively. "Yes, she is—rather like that. The boy was 'The Victim' of course." She turned towards him suddenly with the words. "You can't possibly doubt that. The brute's teeth are almost in his throat. I think it's a horrible picture myself."

Saltash laughed. "A deliverer arrives sometimes," he remarked, "even in the last, most awful moment of all. Have you never said to yourself how seldom the thing we really expect comes to pass?"

Sheila's lips parted with a touch of scorn. "Perhaps it is safer not to expect," she said.

"Perhaps," agreed Saltash, with his quick grimace. "I learnt that lesson a long time ago. There are so many slips—especially when the cup is full." He added inconsequently, "And even if it gets there, the wine is sour as often as not when you come to drink."

"I can quite believe it," said the girl, and looked out once more over the wreathing flowers to the rippling waters of the bay.

Her mouth took a firm line, and Saltash, glancing at her, began to laugh. "Do you know, Miss Melrose, it's rather curious, but you remind me of Spentoli too in some ways? I don't know if you and Miss Larpent possess the same characteristics, but I imagine you might develop them, given the same conditions."

Sheila stiffened at the words. "I am sure you are quite wrong," she said coldly. "Captain Larpent's daughter is quite obviously a child of impulse. I—am not."

"I think you would be impulsive enough to fight the leopard if he came your way," contended Saltash with idle insistence. "Or perhaps you would charm him. I imagine that might be more in your line."

Again the girl's lip curled. She said nothing for a moment, then deliberately, for the first time in her life, she snubbed him. "No, I should never try to charm—a beast, Lord Saltash."

"You prefer them savage?" countered Saltash.

She made a careless gesture with one hand, without replying. She did not even look towards him. "I think Miss Larpent might be quite clever in that respect," she said. "She is—a born charmer."

"By Jove!" he said. "What a cruel compliment!"

Sheila said nothing. She was watching a small boat rowing steadily towards them through the dark water, with eyes that were grave and fixed.

Saltash's look followed hers, and he grimaced to himself, oddly, wryly, as a man who accomplishes a task for which he has no liking. Then in a moment he turned the conversation. "Did you ever meet Rozelle Daubeni, the enchantress?"

Sheila's soft eyes came to him at the sudden question. "No. I have heard of her. I have never met her. I don't want to meet her. Why?"

He threw her a daring glance. "It would do you good to meet her. She is a born charmer if you like. She charms women as well as men—and beasts."

"An adventuress!" said Sheila.

"Yes, an adventuress. One of the most wonderful, I should say, who ever lived. She is in Paris just now. When she comes to England—" again his look dared her—"I will take you to see her. It will be—an education for you."

"Thank you," Sheila said.

He laughed aloud, and suddenly stretched his hand to her with a movement of good fellowship. "I'm only teasing. Don't be cross! I wouldn't take you to see her for all the gold of Ophir. She is rotten—too rotten even for me, which is saying much."

Sheila hesitated momentarily before she gave her hand.

"Why did you speak of her? What brought her to your mind?"

He glanced again towards the little boat now drawing near to the yacht, but he did not answer her question till her hand met his.

"I have—a somewhat elastic mind," he said then, and smiled his most baffling smile. "It was your talk of charmers that did it. I was trying to think of all I had met."

"All the Rozelles and the Tobies!" said Sheila, with a hard little laugh.

He gripped her hand and released it. "I have never met more than one of each," he said. "Which may be the secret of their charm. Don't class them together in your mind for a moment! Larpent's daughter may be a born charmer. Young Bunny Brian seems to think so at any rate. But she is not—and never will be—an adventuress."

"Is Bunny Brian fond of her—really fond of her?" asked Sheila.

Saltash nodded. "Sure thing—as Jake would say! And he's a sound chap too. I hope he'll get her."

"She is not very likely to refuse," said Sheila, turning from the rail.

The little boat had passed out of sight under the lee of the yacht. A great rocket whistled skywards, and broke in a violet flare that lighted sea and shore. The fete was over, and people were crowding on board. The band was playing a selection from a comic opera, and a few voices were singing the careless, sentimental words.

Saltash turned with his companion. "And now we are going to supper at The Anchor. I must get Mrs. Bolton to lead the way. Poor Jake is bored to the soul, but he's facing it like a man. Fine fellow—Jake."

"Oh, is he a friend of yours?" Sheila asked. "A very particular friend, I mean?"

Saltash grimaced to the stars. "No, I don't think so. Ask Jake! He knows me better than some, that's all. And I know him."

They left the yacht's rail and joined the on-coming throng. It was like a scene out of a fairy tale—the gaudy Chinese lanterns bobbing to and fro, the gaily-coloured crowd, the shining white yacht rocking gently on the noiseless swell. Everyone was laughing. Some were singing. There was not a serious face to be seen in all the crowd that poured over the red-carpeted gangway from the quay.

"Where is Toby?" said Maud.

She was standing with Jake in the many-hued glow of the lanterns, and she asked the question with a momentary anxiety, for she had looked in vain for Toby for some time.

"She's with Bunny. She's safe enough," said Jake.

"But they haven't come on board yet, and they've been gone so long," Maud said. "It's curious how little Captain Larpent seems to interest himself in her doings."

"Mighty curious," agreed Jake.

For Larpent had kept to the bridge morosely, almost throughout the evening. He was standing there now, looking down upon the shifting, chattering crowd. He had no idea how long it would be before Saltash tired of the game and gave orders to set sail. He waited in dumb endurance—as he would wait from day to day until the longed-for moment arrived. It had happened often before, Saltash's caprice had sometimes driven him to the verge of rebellion, but no one—not even Saltash himself—ever suspected it. Silent, phlegmatic, inexpressive, Larpent held on his undeviating course.

Maud's attention did not linger upon him. No one—save perhaps Saltash—ever paid much attention to Larpent. She turned back to watch the now empty gangway, and in a moment she gave an exclamation of relief.

"Ah! Here they come at last!"

A laughing voice spoke behind her. "Enter Cinderella and the Prince!"

She started and saw Saltash's swarthy face close to her. His odd eyes looked into hers with a flash of mischief.

"See how all my plans bear fruit!" he said. "I wave my wand, and you behold the result."

She turned from him to look again upon the advancing couple. They were crossing the gangway alone. Toby, slim, girlish, her wide blue eyes shining like the eyes of an awakened child, Bunny close behind her, touching her, his hand actually on her shoulder, possession and protection in every line of him. He was murmuring into her ear as they came, and his face was alight with the glory which no earthly lamp can kindle.

"Behold!" Saltash said again, and moved forward in his sudden fashion to receive them.

He met them as they stepped on board, and in a moment they were the centre of observation. The buzz of talk died down as the general attention focussed upon them. Maud was aware of Jake standing squarely behind her, and she put out a hand to him which he grasped and held.

Saltash was laughing, but they could not hear what he said. Only in a moment he had taken a hand of Bunny's and a hand of Toby's and joined them together. Toby's eyes were lifted to his face. She was smiling with lips that trembled, and Maud's heart gave a great throb of pity, she could not have said wherefore. She had a deep longing to go and gather the child into her arms and comfort her.

Then Toby too was laughing, and she heard Saltash's voice. "These things only happen properly once in a blue moon, ma chere. I give you both my blessing for the second time to-day. I wish you better luck than has ever come my way."

He threw a gay malicious glance towards the bridge, where Larpent stood like a grim Viking looking down upon the scene.

"Come!" he said. "We had better go and tell your daddy next!"

He led them lightly forward, and the crowd opened out with jests and laughter to let them pass.

Toby walked between the two men, very pale but still smiling—a smile that was curiously like the smile of a child that is trying not to cry.

"Oh, poor little thing!" Maud whispered suddenly and drew back beside Jake as if she could not bear to look.

"She'll be all right," said Jake stoutly. "Don't you fret any! Bunny's sound."

"Oh, yes, I know—I know! But she's so young." All the yearning of motherhood was in Maud's voice. "Does she love him? Does she?"

Jake's hand gripped hers more closely. He looked into her face with a smile in his red-brown eyes. "Maybe not as we know love," he said. "It doesn't come all at once—that sort."

She smiled back at him, for she could not help it, even as she shook her head in misgiving. "Sometimes—it doesn't come at all!" she said.



CHAPTER IX

THE WARNING

It seemed to Maud that in the days that followed her engagement Toby developed with the swiftness of an opening flower. There was no talk of her leaving them. She fitted into the establishment as though she had always been a part of it, and she took upon herself responsibilities which Maud would never have laid upon her.

Watching her anxiously, it seemed to her that Toby was becoming more settled, more at rest, than she had ever been before. The look of fear was dormant in her eyes now, and her sudden flares of anger had wholly ceased. She made no attempt to probe below the surface, realizing the inadvisability of such a course, realizing that the first days of an engagement are seldom days of expansion, being full of emotions too varied for analysis. That Toby should turn to her or to Jake if she needed a confident she did not for a moment doubt, but unless the need arose she resolved to leave the girl undisturbed. She had, moreover, great faith in Bunny's powers. As Jake had said, Bunny was sound, and she knew him well enough to be convinced that he would find a means of calming any misgivings that might exist in Toby's mind.

It appeared as if he had already done so in fact, for Toby was never nervous in his presence. She greeted him with pleasure and went with him gladly whenever he came to seek her. They met every day, usually in the evening when Bunny was free, and the children gone to bed. Maud would watch them wander out together into the summer solitudes, Chops walking sedately behind, and would smile to herself very tenderly at the sight. She believed that Toby was winning to happiness and she prayed with all her soul that it might last.

Saltash came no more during these summer days. He had departed in his abrupt way for his first pleasure cruise in The Blue Moon, taking no friend, save the ever-present Larpent, to relieve the monotony. No one knew whither they were bound, or if the voyage were to be long or short. He dropped out of his circle as a monkey drops from a tree, and beyond a passing wonder at his movements no one questioned either motive or intention. Probably he had neither in any appreciable degree. It was only the caprice of the moment that ever moved him. So his friends said. He evidently found his new toy attractive, and he would not return until he wearied of it.

Meantime, the summer crowds came and went at Fairharbour. The Anchor Hotel was crowded with visitors, and Sheila and her father began to talk of departure for Scotland.

Jake had gone to an important race-meeting in the North, and it seemed that Bunny's suggestion to show them the stud had been forgotten. But on an afternoon in late August, after a hotly-contested polo match, as he stood with a fizzling drink in his hand, talking to Sheila, she abruptly reminded him of it.

"It's quite a fortnight since you promised to show me the horses," she said.

He started. "Is it? I'm awfully sorry. I hadn't forgotten, but somehow I've had a lot to think about lately. You must come and have tea with Maud. When will you come?"

Sheila laughed a little. "Hadn't you better ask Maud first?"

"Good gracious, no!" said Bunny. "That'll be all right. She and Toby are always at home just now, and of course she will be pleased to see you any time. When can you come?"

"Well, we are leaving the day after to-morrow," Sheila said.

"To-morrow then!" said Bunny promptly.

"Your sister may not want us at such short notice," she said, hesitating.

"Oh, rats!" said Bunny, with a grin. "Of course she will! Have you seen the Castle yet?"

"Yes. We lunched there with Lord Saltash before he left. It's a horribly grim place. I didn't like it much."

"It's a magnificent place!" said Bunny stoutly. "It's completely thrown away on Charlie of course, but I love every stone of it."

"What a pity it doesn't belong to you!" commented Sheila. "I wonder where you will live when you are married."

Bunny flushed a little. "We're not marrying at present, but I'm hoping to stick to my job when we do."

"Oh, are you? Does Miss Larpent like that idea?" Faint surprise sounded in Sheila's tone.

"I don't know why she shouldn't," said Bunny, quick to detect it. "She's keen on the country, keen on riding and so on. She'd hate to live in town."

"Would she?" said Sheila, with a hint of incredulity.

Bunny turned on her. "Why do you say that? She's very young, hardly more than a kid. She doesn't care for people and towns. Why should she?"

He put the question almost indignantly, and Sheila smiled at him pacifically. "I don't know in the least why she should. I only had a sort of idea that she might. She is very pretty, isn't she? And pretty girls don't generally care to be buried before they have had their fling—not always then."

"Oh, you think she doesn't get any fun!" said Bunny, still somewhat resentful.

"No—no, of course I don't! You know best what she likes. I only wonder that Maud didn't think of giving her just one season in town. It would be rather good for her, don't you think?"

"I don't know," said Bunny rather shortly. "Maud isn't keen on town. I think she's better where she is."

Sheila laughed. "You're afraid she'd slip through your fingers if she saw too much of the world?"

"No, I'm not!" declared Bunny, frowning. "I hadn't thought about it. But I'd hate her to get old and sophisticated. Her great charm is in being—just what she is."

"Oh, she has plenty of charm," Sheila admitted, and her own brows drew a little in thought. "I wish I could remember who it is she reminds me of. That is the worst of having such a large circle."

"She isn't like anyone I've ever met," declared Bunny, and gulped down his drink abruptly. "Well, I must be going. You'll come up to-morrow then, you and the General. I shall be there, and I'll tell Maud you're coming."

"You are sure we had better come?" Sheila said, as she gave him her hand.

He gripped it. "Of course! Maud will be delighted. I'm sorry you weren't asked before. About three then—if that suits you! Good-bye!"

He smiled his pleasant, boyish smile, and departed.

But as he raced back from Fairharbour in his little two-seater car to meet his young fiancee on the downs, the memory of Sheila's word came back to him and he frowned again. It was true that they were not thinking of marriage for the next few months, and their plans were still somewhat vague, but the idea of waiting while Toby had her fling for a whole season in town revolted him. He could not have said definitely wherefore, save that he wanted to keep her just as she was in his eyes—fresh and young and innocent. He was angry with Sheila for having suggested it, and he wanted to thrust the matter from his mind.

Yet when he found himself alone with Toby, walking along the brow of the furze-strewn down, he attacked the subject with characteristic directness.

"Sheila Melrose thinks you ought to have a season in town before we get married. Would you like to do that?"

Toby looked up at him with her clear eyes wide with surprise. "What the—blazes has it to do with Sheila Melrose?" she said.

He laughed briefly. "Nothing, of course. Less than nothing. It's just a point of view. She thinks you're too pretty to be buried before you've had your fling—rot of that sort."

"My—fling!" said Toby, and with a sudden gesture that was almost of shrinking drew his arm more closely round her shoulders. "I should loathe it and you know it," she said with simplicity.

He held her to him. "Of course you would. I should myself. I hate the smart set. But, you know, you are—awfully pretty; I don't want to do anything unfair."

"Rats!" said Toby.

He bent his face to hers. "Are you beginning to care for me—just a little—by any chance?"

She laughed and flushed, twining her fingers in his without replying.

Bunny pursued his point. "You'd sooner marry me out of hand than go hunting London for someone more to your liking? Would you?"

"Oh, much," said Toby. "But, you see, I hate London."

"And you don't hate me?" persisted Bunny, his dark eyes very persuasive.

She dropped her own before them, and was silent.

"Say it, sweetheart!" he urged.

She shook her head. "Let's talk about something else!" she said.

"All right," said Bunny boldly. "Let's talk of getting married! It's high time we began."

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" said Toby quickly.

He laughed at her softly. "Of course you didn't! But you were thinking about it all the same. Do you know old Bishop is going to clear out and go and live in Fairharbour? I shall be left alone then. It's rather beastly living alone, you know, darling."

"You haven't tried it yet," said Toby.

"No. But I know what it'll feel like. I shall hate it." Bunny spoke with gloomy conviction.

Toby suddenly laughed. "No one to grouse to! It would be rather dull certainly. Why didn't you fall in love with Sheila Melrose?"

"Sheila Melrose! Why on earth should I?" Bunny spoke with some sharpness.

Toby lifted mischievous eyes. "She's pretty and graceful and accomplished. She'd make a charming Lady Brian, and she has an estate of her own for you to manage. It—it would be—a highly suitable arrangement for you both."

"Don't talk rot!" broke in Bunny with sudden heat.

His hold tightened upon her, and she made a quick, instinctive movement as though to free herself. "I'm not! You know I'm not! You know—quite well—that if—if—if it hadn't been for me—because you chanced to meet me first—you certainly would have—have fallen in love with her!"

Toby spoke breathlessly, stammering a little as her habit was when agitated. Her face was averted, and she was trying very, very hard to resist the closer drawing of his arms.

But there were times when Bunny would not endure resistance, and this was one of them. He simply ignored it, till abruptly she yielded to his mastery. And then in a moment he was tender again.

"Why did you say that?" he said, bending low to look into her downcast face. "Tell me why you said it! Are you—jealous—by any chance?"

"Oh, no!" declared Toby with vehemence. "No—no—no!"

"Then why?" he persisted. Then with sudden intuition: "You don't like her, do you?"

Toby's face was burning. "It—it's she that doesn't like me," she said.

"Oh, that's a mistake," said Bunny, decidedly. "Everyone likes you."

She shook her head. "She doesn't. She thinks I'm bad form, and I daresay she's right. She also thinks—" she lifted her face suddenly, challenging him—"she also thinks that I set out to catch you—and succeeded."

"She doesn't!" declared Bunny. "That's rot—damn' rot! You are not to say it. She's a very nice girl and ready to be friendly with you if you'll let her."

Toby made a rude face. "I knew you were getting fond of her! She's pretty and stylish and—and much more in your line than I am. Why don't you go and ask her to marry you? She wouldn't say No."

She flung the words with a little quivering laugh. She was trembling in his hold.

Bunny's eyes had flashed to sudden anger. He had taken her by the shoulders almost as if he would shake her.

"Toby, be quiet!" he commanded. "Do you hear? You're going too far! What do you mean by talking in this strain? What has she done to you?"

"Nothing!" gasped back Toby, backing away from him in a vain effort to escape. "She hardly knows me even. It's just instinct with her and she can't help it. But she likes you well enough not to want you to marry me. You don't suppose—you don't suppose—" the words came breathlessly, jerkily—"you—you really don't suppose, do you, that—that she made that suggestion about a season in town for my sake?"

"What other reason could she have had?" demanded Bunny sternly.

Toby was laughing, but her laughter had a desperate sound. "How green you are! Must I really tell you that?"

"Yes. Go on! Tell me!" His voice was hard. Hard also was the grip of his hands. He knew that in the moment he released her she would turn and flee like a fleeing hare.

There was fear in the blue eyes that looked up to his, but they held a glare of defiance as well. Her small white teeth showed clenched between her laughing lips.

"Go on! Tell me!" he reiterated. "You shan't go—I swear—until you tell me."

"Think I'm—think I'm afraid of you?" challenged Toby, with boyish bravado.

"I think you'll answer me," he said, and abruptly his tone fell level, dead level. He looked her straight in the eyes without anger, without mercy. "And you'll answer me now, too. What other reason could Miss Melrose have for making that suggestion if it was not intended for your benefit? Now answer me!"

His face was pale, but he was master of himself. Perhaps he had learned from Jake that fundamental lesson that those who would control others must first control themselves. He still held her before him, but there was no violence in his hold. Neither was there any tenderness. It was rather of a judicial nature.

And oddly at that moment a sudden gleam of appreciation shot up in Toby's eyes. She stood up very straight and faced him unflinching.

"I don't mind answering you," she said. "Why should I? Someone will tell you sooner or later if I don't. She said that because she knew—and she wanted you to know—that I am not the sort of girl that men want to—marry."

She was quite white as she spoke the words, but she maintained her tense erectness. Her eyes never stirred from his.

Bunny stood motionless, staring at her. He looked as if he had been struck a blinding blow.

"What—on earth—do you mean?" he asked slowly at last.

The tension went out of Toby. She broke into her funny little laugh. "Oh, I won't tell you any more! I won't! She thinks I'm too attractive, that's all. I can't imagine why; can you? You never found me so, did you, Bunny?"

The old provocative sweetness flashed back into her face. She went within the circle of his arms with a quick nestling movement as of a small animal that takes refuge after strenuous flight. She was still panting a little as she leaned against him.

And Bunny relaxed, conscious of a vast relief that outweighed every other consideration. "You—monkey!" he said, folding her close. "You're playing with me! How dare you torment me like this? You shall pay for it to the last least farthing. I will never have any mercy on you again."

He kissed her with all the renewed extravagance of love momentarily denied, and the colour flooded back into Toby's face as the dread receded from her heart. She gave him more that day than she had ever given him before, and in the rapture of possession he forgot the ordeal that she had made him face.

Only later did he remember it—her strange reticence, her odd stumbling words of warning, her curious attitude of self-defence. And he felt as if—in spite of his utmost resolution—she had somehow succeeded in baffling him after all.



CHAPTER X

THE MYSTERY

It was late that evening that Bunny strolled forth alone to smoke a reminiscent pipe along his favourite glade of larches in Burchester Park. He went slowly through the summer dusk, his hands behind him, his eyes fixed ahead. He had had his way with Toby. She had promised to marry him as soon as old Bishop's retirement left the house in the hollow at his disposal. But somehow, though he had gained his end, he was not conscious of elation. Sheila Melrose's words had disturbed him no less than Toby's own peculiar interpretation of them. There was a very strong instinct of fair play in Bunny Brian, and, now that he had won his point, he was assailed by a grave doubt as to whether he were acting fairly towards the girl. She was young, but then many girls marry young. It was not really her youth that mattered; neither, when he came to sift the matter, was it the fact that she had had so little opportunity of seeing the world. But it was something in Toby's eyes, something in Sheila's manner, that gave him pause. He asked himself, scarcely knowing why, if it would not be fairer after all to wait.

He wished that he could have consulted Jake, but yet it would have been difficult to put his misgivings into definite words. Jake was a brick and understood most things, but he was away for another week at least.

The thought of the girl's father crossed his mind, only to be instantly dismissed. Even if he had been within reach, Captain Larpent's sternly unapproachable exterior would have held him back. He was inclined to like the man, but he could not feel that Toby's welfare was, or ever had been, of paramount importance to him. He had thoughts only for his yacht.

Bunny began to reflect moodily that life was a more complicated affair than he had ever before imagined, and, reaching this point, he also reached the gate by the copse and became aware of cigar-smoke dominating the atmosphere above the scent of his own now burnt-out pipe.

He removed the pipe from his mouth and looked around him.

"Hullo!" said a voice he knew. "Do I intrude?"

Saltash stepped suddenly out of the shadow of the larches and met him with outstretched hand.

"Hullo!" said Bunny, with a start.

A quick smile of welcome lighted his face, and Saltash's eyes flashed in answer. He gripped the boy's hand with fingers that closed like springs.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"Just what I was going to ask you," said Bunny. "I often come here in the evening. It's my favourite look-out. But you—"

"I do the same for the same reason," said Saltash.

"I thought you were far away on the high seas," said Bunny.

Saltash laughed. "Well, I was. But I don't stay there, my good Bunny. The Blue Moon developed engine trouble—nothing very serious, but we brought her back to recuperate. You can never tell what you may be in for on a first voyage. Also, I was curious to see how affairs here were progressing. How goes it, mon ami? Is all well?"

"Well enough," said Bunny.

Saltash linked a friendly hand in his arm. "Have you and Nonette settled when to get married yet?"

Bunny stiffened momentarily, as if his instinct were to resent the kindly enquiry. But the next instant he relaxed again with impulsive confidence. "Well, it is more or less settled," he said. "But I'm wondering—you know, Charlie, she's rather young to be married, isn't she? She hasn't seen much of the world so far. You don't think it's shabby, do you, to marry her before she's had the same sort of chances as other girls?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Saltash. He gave Bunny an odd look from under brows that were slightly twisted. "What made you think of that?" he asked.

Bunny's face was red. He leaned his arms on the gate and looked out across the valley. "Sheila Melrose put it to me this afternoon," he said, "though I must admit it had crossed my mind before. She hasn't met many people, you know, Charlie. And—as I said—she's young. I don't want to take an unfair advantage."

"Life is too short to think of these things," said Saltash abruptly. "Marry her while you can get her and don't be an ass about it! If I had done the same thing in my youth, I should have been better off than I am at present."

Bunny smiled a little. "You would probably have been wishing you'd done the other thing by this time."

"Much you know about it!" returned Saltash with a whimsical frown. "Now look here! What I've really come back for is to see you married. All this preliminary messing about is nothing but a weariness to the flesh. Get it over, man! There's nothing on earth to wait for. Larpent's willing enough. In fact, he agrees with me—the sooner the better."

"He would!" said Bunny with a touch of bitterness.

"Well, you can't ask for anything better," maintained Saltash. "He's got his job, and he's not what you could call a family man. He's not a waster either, so you needn't put on any damned airs, mon vieux."

"I didn't!" said Bunny hotly.

Saltash laughed, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Look here! I'm talking for the good of your soul. Don't take any more advice—certainly not Sheila Melrose's! You go straight ahead and marry her! You've got money, I know, but I hope you won't chuck your job on that account. Stick to it, and you shall have the Dower House to live in while I yet cumber the ground, and Burchester Castle as soon as I'm under it!"

"What?" said Bunny. He turned almost fiercely. "Charlie! Stop it! You're talking rot. You always do. I don't want your beastly castle. You've got to marry and get an heir of your own. I'm damned if I'm going to be adopted by you!"

Saltash was laughing carelessly, mockingly, yet there was about him at the moment a certain royal self-assurance that made itself felt. "You'll do as you're told, mon ami. And you'll take what the gods send without any cavilling. As for me, I go my own way. I shall never marry. I shall never have an heir of my own blood. Burchester means more to you than it does to me. Therefore Burchester will pass to you at my death. Think you and Toby will be happy here?"

"Damn it!" said Bunny, still fiercely disconcerted. "You talk as if you were going to die to-morrow."

"Oh, probably not," said Saltash airily. "But I doubt if I live to a rakish old age. I'm a man that likes taking chances, and those who dice with the high gods are bound to throw a blank some day." For a moment the mockery died down in his eyes, and he looked more nearly serious than Bunny had ever seen him. He patted the shoulder under his hand. "Life is rather a rotten old show when you've tried everything and come to the end," he said. "And you know for a damn' certainty that you'll never taste any good fruit again. But you will never know what that feels like, mon ami. You've had the sense to play a straight game, and you'll find it pays in the long run. Jake taught you that, eh? You may thank your own particular lucky star that you had him for a brother-in-law instead of me."

"Don't talk rot!" said Bunny gruffly.

Saltash stretched up his arms with a laugh. "No, we'll talk sense—good square sense. I take it you'll continue to manage the estate for the present? If you get bored, we'll find an agent, but I'm satisfied with things as they are. We'll go round and have a look at the old Dower House to-morrow. It has a fairly decent position, you know,—overlooks Graydown. That ought to please you both."

Bunny turned upon him. "Oh, confound it, Charlie!" he said. "I can't talk about this. I couldn't possibly take it. You're too damned generous. I've never done anything to deserve it."

"Oh yes, you have!" said Saltash unexpectedly, "you've done a good many things for me. You have always been the bon ami whatever I did—from your childhood upwards." His dark face laughed with friendly warmth into the boy's troubled eyes. "Always stuck up for me, haven't you, Bunny?" he said.

"Oh, but that's rot," objected Bunny. "A man is bound to stick up for his pals."

"Even though he knows they're not worth it?" laughed Saltash. "Yes, that's just what I like about you. It's the one point on which we touch. But I'm not sure that even you would stick up for me if you knew precisely what sort of rotter you were sticking up for."

"Oh, shut up!" said Bunny.

"Bien, mon cher! We return to your affairs. Have you put up the banns yet? I presume you will allow me to be best man? Get it over soon, I beseech you! I can't stay here indefinitely. As a matter of fact, I'm due in Scotland at the present moment. Can't you fix it up immediately? And you can have the little car and leave of absence till you've got over it. Old Bishop can run this show till the winter. Maud can fit up the Dower House for you. And I shall feel at liberty to roam the desert once more—unencumbered."

"You're jolly decent to me!" said Bunny.

"Think so?" Saltash's brows twitched humorously. "I seem to be developing a taste for worthy deeds. But there's no reason on earth why you two shouldn't get married and done for as soon as possible. I'll see Larpent to-night and tell him, and you can go and see the parson about it to-morrow. You'll find Nonette won't put any obstacles in the way. She's a good child and does as she's told."

"No, Toby won't mind," Bunny said, with a sudden memory of her quick surrender flooding his soul. "By Jove, Charlie! You are a good sort to help me like this. There's no one else that can get things moving as you can."

"Oh, you can count on me for that," laughed Saltash. "I never was a drifter. Life is too short. We'll meet again to-morrow then. Come and dine if you like, and tell me what you've arranged! Good night!" He turned in his sudden fashion. "Good luck to you!"

He was gone upon the words, vanishing into the larches almost noiselessly as he had come, and Bunny was left alone.

He stood motionless at the gate for some time longer gazing out over the quiet, night-wrapt down. There was no elation in his attitude, only a deep thoughtfulness. He had never understood Charlie though oddly enough he had always believed in him. But to-night for the first time a curious doubt pierced his mind—a doubt that recurred again and again, banishing all sense of exultation. Why had Charlie returned like this? Why was he so eager to meddle in this affair? Why so recklessly generous? He had a strong feeling that there was something behind it all, some motive unrealized, some spur goading him, of which he, Bunny, might not approve if he came to know of it. He wished he could fathom the matter. It was unlike Saltash to take so much trouble over anything. He felt as if in some inexplicable fashion he were being tricked.

He put the thought from him, but he could not drive it away. Just as he had felt himself baffled a little earlier by Toby, so now he felt the same inability to comprehend Saltash. He seemed to be groping at a locked door, feeling and feeling for a key, that always eluded him. And again he wished that Jake was within reach.