"Could you conveniently inform me how long it is since he left?"

The tutor referred to his lists.

"He left three years ago. I remember him now—well."

"My friend would be extremely grateful for any information. He has lost sight of him since he was at Oxford."

"Well, the fact is Armstrong was not a particular success here. He was a fairly good scholar, and athlete too, I believe, but his course here ended abruptly."

"Dear, dear! Do you mean to say he was expelled?"

"Hardly so. But he left the place heavily in debt. At the end of his second year he wrote to the authorities to say that the source of supply on which he had depended for paying his college and other bills (which had accumulated to a very considerable extent) had suddenly ceased, and he was unable to meet his obligations. As he was in destitution, he could make no suggestion for meeting them, and requested us to accept an undertaking from him to discharge them if possible at a future time. Under the circumstances he was informed that he was not to come up again, and his name was struck off the books. I believe that since then a few of his debts have been reduced by small instalments."

"I am very grieved to hear what you tell me. Could you very kindly tell me the address from which he last wrote?"

"If I remember, it was from a coffee-house in London, and he mentioned that he was hoping to obtain employment as a private tutor in a family."

"Well, sir, although this is very disagreeable news for my friend. I am sure he will thank you all the same. I suppose you have no idea, beyond this address in London, what became of him?"

"None."

"Or where he lived before he came to Oxford?"

"I was looking for that. I see the address on the entrance form is 3, Blue Street, London."

Captain Oliphant made a note of the address, and after effusive thanks, said good-bye.

He spent two interesting days in Oxford looking about him and enjoying himself considerably. But although he met several men whose names he knew, and made several new acquaintances, he was unable to hear anything further of the defaulting undergraduate of —- College.

On his return to town, as he had still a day or two to spare, this industrious gentleman, with a good deal of trouble, found out Number 3, Blue Street. For a person of his refined tastes it was in a shockingly low neighbourhood near one of the docks, and Blue Street itself was one of the shadiest—metaphorically—of its streets.

It consisted mainly of slop shops, patronised by the shipping interest, and displaying wares of which one half at least might be safely counted upon as stolen property. Number Three, which for some unexplained reason was located half-way down the street, was an establishment of this sort, very offensive to the nose and not at all agreeable to the eye. Old clothes of every fashion and antiquity hung exposed in the dingy window, while within a still larger assortment lay piled up on the counter. Nor were the clothes all. Second-hand watches, marlinspikes, compasses, spoons, books, boxes, and curiosities crowded the narrow space, in the midst of which the shrivelled old lady who called herself proprietress was scarcely visible.

"Come in—don't be afraid," cried she, as the captain paused doubtfully at the door.

"Is this Number 3, my good woman?"

"Look over the door—'aint you got no eyes?"

"Number 3, Blue Street—this is Blue Street, is it not?"

"If yer doubts it, go and read the name at the end of the street. What do you want? Clothes or money?"

"Neither—I want information," replied the captain.

"Then yer've come to the wrong shop. Don't sell it 'ere, so clear out. Do you think I don't know what you're arter?"

"Very well," said the captain, "that will be so much saved. I shall have to get for nothing what I meant to pay for."

She looked at him doubtfully and growled.

"Why can't yer say what yer want instead of talking gibberish there?"

"If this is Number 3, Blue Street, and you are the same person who was here five years ago—"

"Go on."

"I may have something to give you from an old lodger; but not till I'm sure you have a right to it."

"What, him?"

"Very likely," said the captain, calmly lighting a cigarette. "I shall know if you're right, I dare say."

"Right? Do you suppose I'm made of lodgers! 'Aint you talking about the singing chap—Armstrong he called himself, but at the Hall they called him Signor something—Francisco or the likes of that."

The captain pricked his ears with a vengeance, and in his eagerness rattled the keys encouragingly in his trouser pocket.

"That won't do," said he. "I must have come to the wrong place after all. What sort of looking man was he, and where did he come from?"

"He'd got a pair of arms would knock you into the middle of next week, and when he went down to the Hall—"

"Which Hall?"

"The 'Dragon' Music-Hall—what, don't you know it! go on with you—when he went there he flashed it with an eye-glass. Lor', you should 'ave heard him sing! He'd a made your hair curl; it was lovely."

"Ah! he wore an eye-glass and sang, did he?" said the captain. "And where did he come from, and what became of him when he left you?"

"Come from? I don't know. The other end of the world, I fancy myself. Where he went to I don't know neither. I fancy myself he took up with a bad lot at the Hall, and turned me up. Howsomever, I got my dues out of him, so it's no concern of mine. There you are, mister. Now, what have you got for me?"

The captain looked doubtful and shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's not right after all," said he. "It doesn't correspond with the particulars I have. Had you no other lodgers?"

"What did I tell you," snarled the woman, perceiving she was to be done out of her reward after all. "Come, are you going to give me what you promised or not? If you 'aint, clear out of here, my beauty, or I'll break every bone of your ugly body."

And since, with a stick in her hand, she looked very like putting her threat into execution, the captain beat a hasty retreat, chuckling to himself at the thought of his own excellent cleverness.

"Upon my word," said he to himself as he strolled westward, "I am having a most interesting time. What a versatile genius my co-trustee appears to be—a tutor to an heir, a defaulting and rusticated undergraduate, a penniless music-hall cad. Dear, dear! what a curious settlement of scores we shall have, to be sure—or rather, should have had, had our poor dear Roger remained with us. Heigho! what a curious sensation it will be, to be sure, to own a fortune."

At the hotel the porter met him with a telegram. He expected as much. He could guess what was inside. It really seemed waste of energy to open it.

But he must go through with his melancholy functions, and he therefore took a seat in the hall and composed his face for the worst.

"Thankful to say good night; fever abated, all hopeful.

"Rosalind."

Captain Oliphant turned pale, crushed the pink paper viciously in his hands, and uttered an exclamation which called forth the sympathy of the hotel servants who loitered in the hall.

"Poor gentleman," said the lady manager to her clerk, "he's got some bad news in that telegram."

He had indeed.



CHAPTER TEN.

ROBERT RATMAN, ESQUIRE, GENTLEMAN.

The next morning, as Captain Oliphant, somewhat depressed by the good news of last might was, attempting to write to his dear cousin expression his thankfulness for the mercies vouchsafed to their precious boy, he was considerably disturbed to feel himself slapped on the shoulder and hear a voice behind him exclaim—

"Got you, my man. How are you, Teddy!"

The captain turned with, a startled face, and confronted a stylishly- dressed man of about thirty-five, who, but for the dissipated look of his eyes and the vulgarity of his ornaments, might have passed for a gentleman. He wore a light suit—diamonds and turquoises blazed from his fingers, a diamond stud flashed from his shirt front, and from his heavy watch chain hung a bunch of seals and charms enough to supply half a dozen, men of ordinary pretensions His light hat was tilted at an angle on his head, his brilliant kid boots sparkled beneath the snow- white "spats," and the lavender gloves he flourished in his hands were light enough for a ball-room.

Once he might have been a handsome man. There were still traces of determination about his mouth, his nose was finely cut, and his lustreless eyes still retained occasional flashes of their old spirit. There was a recklessness in his face and demeanour which once, when it belonged to an honest man, might been attractive; and when he took off his hat and you saw the well-shaped head with its crisp curly hair, you could not help feeling that you saw the ruin of a fine fellow.

It was when he began to talk that you would best understand what a ruin it was. He was chary of his oaths and loose expressions—but when he spoke the words came out vulgarly, with a sleepy, half-tipsy drawl, which jarred on the ear.

Any words from the lips of Robert Ratman, however, would have jarred on the ears of Captain Oliphant.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" said the new arrival, putting his hat cheerfully on the writing-table and helping himself to an easy-chair. "As usual, writing billets doux to the ladies! Ah, Teddy, my boy, at your time of life too! Now, for a youngster like me—"

"I thought you would not be able to leave Southampton till the end of the week?"

"Couldn't resist the temptation of giving you a pleasant surprise. Why, Teddy, you look exactly as if you thought it was the arm of the law on your shoulder and heard the rattle of the handcuffs. Never mind. They're all safe. I know where they keep them."

"Ratman," said the captain, "you have a very poor idea of humour. You have made me blot my letter, and I shall have to write it over again."

"Take your time, old boy. No hurry. I shall not be going away for six months or so."

Captain Oliphant came to the conclusion he had better finish the letter with the blot than attempt a new one. Having done so, he put it in his pocket, and turned with a good show of coolness to his guest.

"When do we run down to Maxfield?" inquired the latter.

"Not for some time. There is illness in the house. You must wait."

"Oh, I don't mind if you don't. Who is the invalid? Young Croesus?"

"Yes—dangerously ill. I expect every day to hear that it is all over."

Ratman laughed.

"Order two suits of black while you're about it. But, Teddy, my boy, doesn't it strike you you'd be more usefully employed down there than here? It seems unfeeling of a guardian to be enjoying himself in town while his ward is in extremis at home, doesn't it? Who is nursing him?"

"My daughter, chiefly."

Ratman laughed coarsely.

"Ho, ho, clever Teddy! You've left a deputy to look after your interests, have you? Poor boy—no wonder you expect news of him!"

Captain Oliphant, crimson and trembling, rose to his feet.

"Ratman!" muttered he between his teeth, "I may be all you take me for— but don't talk of my daughter. She—she,"—and he almost choked at the word—"she is as good as I—and you—are black. Talk about me if you like—but forget that I have children of my own."

"My dear boy, you are quite amusing. I will make a point of forgetting the interesting fact. So the boy is being well looked after?"

"Too well," replied the captain, pulling himself together after his last outbreak. "The doctor is daft about him; and besides him, as I told you, there is the tutor."

"Ah! I forgot about him. Is he a nice sort of chap?"

"He's your worst enemy as well as mine. While he is about the place there's no chance for either of us."

"Thanks—don't bring me into it. Say there's no chance for you. I can take care of myself. And how about mamma?"

"She is at present too ill and distracted by her son's danger to think of anything else. If the boy dies I shall not need to trouble her. If he gets well, I may find it my duty to become his stepfather."

"Charming man, and fortunate mamma! Meanwhile, what are you going to do for me?"

"My dear fellow, you must wait. I can put you up at Maxfield if you behave decently, but as to money, you will spoil all if you are impatient. I am not the only trustee, remember. I have to be careful."

"That's all very well. Sounds beautiful. But do you know, Teddy, I've not quite as much confidence in you as I should like to have. I can't enjoy my holiday without some pocket-money. The big lump might wait, if properly secured. But the interest would be very convenient to me just now. What shall I give you a receipt for?" added he, taking a seat at the table; "a hundred?"

"Don't be a fool, Ratman! I've nothing I can give you just now," said the captain angrily.

Ratman put down his pen, and whistled a stave, drubbing his fingers on the table. Then he took the pen again.

"A hundred, eh?" he repeated.

The captain ground his teeth in impotent fury.

"No. Fifty."

"Thanks very much. I'll make it seventy-five, if you don't mind."

Captain Oliphant, with black countenance, slowly counted the notes out onto the table, while his friend with many flourishes wrote out the receipt. Before signing it he counted the money.

"Quite right, perfectly right. Thanks very much, Teddy. Now let us go out and see the sights. You forget it's years since I was in town."

"Tell me first," said the captain, going to the window, was turning his back, "about that—you know—that affair in—"

"About your robbing the mess-funds?" supplied his friend cheerfully. "Certainly, my dear boy. Quite a simple matter. Shortly after you left, Deputy-Assistant something or other came with a long face. 'This is a bad job,' says he; 'your friend Oliphant's left the accounts in an awful mess. Doesn't look well at all. Where is he?' 'Nonsense, my dear Deputy-Assistant,' says I; 'must be a mistake. Oliphant's a man of his word. Besides, he's just come into a fortune. Bound to be right if you look into it.' 'Will you make it good if it's wrong?' asks he. 'Don't mind if I do,' says I, 'within reason. He's a young family.' 'Only way of hushing it up. Either that or bringing him back between a file of soldiers.' 'You don't mean that?' says I. 'What's the figure?' 'L750,' says he."

"Liar!" growled the captain, wheeling round. "It wasn't half that."

"They're bound to make something out of it—always happens. Well, as you'd told me you'd got the pickings of a cool half million, I felt I couldn't go wrong in covering you. So I came down with five hundred of needful. Got them to promise to let the rest stand till I had done myself the pleasure of a run over here just to remind you that they have you on their mind. You've disappointed me, Teddy, my boy, but I won't desert you. Don't say you've no friends. I'll stick by you, I rather fancy."

The captain was probably able to form a pretty clear estimate how much of this glib story was fact and how much fiction.

Whatever the proportion may have been, he had to acknowledge that this friend of his held him in an uncomfortable grip, and had better—for the present at least—be conciliated.

So the two went out arm in arm for a stroll—the first of many they took during their fortnight's sojourn in town.

The news from Maxfield became unpleasingly damping. Here, for instance, is a letter the doting father received from his son and heir a week after Ratman's arrival.

"Dear Pater,—Isn't it fizzing that old Roger is pretty nearly out of the wood? The fever's come down like anything, and he's getting quite chirpy. I can't fancy how a chap can hang on at all with nothing to eat but milk. It wouldn't fill up my chinks. If ever I get a fever, keep me going on beefsteak and mashed potatoes. It's been a great lark having no lessons. Armstrong's forgotten my existence, I think. He and Rosalind have regular rows about sitting up with him—I mean Roger, and Rosalind generally has to cave in. It does her good to cave in now and then. Armstrong's the only one can make her. I can't; nor can Brandram. Brandram's a stunner. I drive him in and out of Yeld every day, and he's up to no end of larks. And now Roger's pulling round, he's as festive as an owl. Jill's in jolly dumps because she's out of it all. Rosalind sits on her and tells her she's too much of a kid to be any good; and she doesn't get much change out of Armstrong. So she has to knock about with me all day, which is awful slow. I say, go and see Christy's Minstrels when you're in town, and get them to let Jockabilly do the break-down. It will make you split. If that French chap is hanging about, tip him a bob for me and be civil to him, because he was decent enough to me. Auntie Eva said something about your bringing a gentleman home with you. I hope he's a jolly sort of chap. Rosalind's temper is all anyhow. When I told her a visitor was coming, she shut me up with a regular flea in my ear. Never mind, she's been a brick to old Roger and Auntie Eva, so we must make allowances. Old Hodder calls up nearly every day to ask after us all. He's grown quite young since he was left alone in his cottage, and Armstrong came down like a sack of coals on that beast Pottinger. My dear father, if you would like to know what I most hope you'll bring home for me, it's a football—Rugby—for the coming winter. Armstrong's promised to coach me in the drop kick. Can you do it? I shall be glad to see you home, as I'm jolly low in pocket-money, besides the affection one feels for those who are absent. Jill joins in love.

"Your affectionate 'Tom.'

"P.S.—Auntie Eva is not nearly so down on her luck now that Roger's taken his turn. If he's well enough she's going to have a little kick- up on his birthday, which will be rare larks."

"A letter!" inquired Ratman, who had watched the not altogether delighted expression on his friend's face as he read it. "Good news? May I read it?"

"If you like," said the captain, tossing it across the table.

Ratman, who evidently had a better appreciation of juvenile vagaries than the father, read it with an amused smile on his face.

"Nice boy that," said he; "he and I will be friends."

"Remember," said the captain, "our bargain. Do and say what you like with me, but before my children—"

"Don't be afraid, Teddy, my boy. Depend on me for doing the high moral business. The innocent babes shall never guess that you owe me three years' pay, and that I could walk you off to the next police station for a sharper. It's amusing when you come to think of it, isn't it? But, I say, it looks as if you'll have to trouble mamma after all. The boy's getting well in spite of his nurses. I'm really impatient to see the happy family. When shall we go?"

"Next week. We must be decent, and wait till he's better now."

"Oh, all right. If we can't go to the funeral we'll go to the birthday party, eh? It's all one to me, Teddy, as long as you don't make a fool of me in the long run."

"You wait, and it'll be all right," said the captain, with a trace in his voice of something like desperation.

At the end of the following week these two nice gentlemen presented themselves at Maxfield. Captain Oliphant had written for the brougham to meet them, and as Tom and Jill were in it, Mr Ratman was spared the embarrassment of meeting the whole household at one time. Before the house was reached he had impressed Tom with the conviction that there was a considerable possibility of "larks" in his father's visitor. But Jill, who had acquired the habit of contrasting every gentleman she saw with her dear Mr Armstrong, was obdurate to his fascinations.

"I don't want to talk to you," said she shortly, when for the twentieth time he renewed his friendly overtures. "I don't like you, and hope you're not going to stay long."

Ratman took his rebuff as complacently as he could; and Jill, having exhausted her conversation with this outburst, put her hand apologetically into her father's, and remained silent the rest of the drive.

At Maxfield, the visitor, who appeared to experience no difficulty in making himself at home, received a polite welcome from the widow, whose style he generally approved, and considered a good deal better than his gallant comrade deserved. Then, as none of the rest of the household put in an appearance, he retired serenely to his comfortable apartment to dress for dinner.

Captain Oliphant's first anxiety was naturally for his dear young ward. He found him sitting up in an arm-chair, with Rosalind reading Shakespeare to him.

"Hullo, guardian!" said he, "you see the place hasn't got rid of me yet—thanks to my kind nurse here."

"I am indeed thankful, my dear boy, for your recovery. And how is my Rosalind?"

She came and kissed him.

"Very well, dear father. But Roger has to keep very quiet still, so you must only stay a minute or two, or I shall get into disgrace with the doctor. He has been so good. Have you seen cousin Eva?"

"Yes, my child. But come with me; I want to introduce you to Mr Ratman."

She looked inclined to rebel, but after a moment closed her book, and, having smoothed the invalid's cushions, followed her father from the room.

The captain felt decidedly nervous as she walked silently at his side. At her own door she paused abruptly and said—

"Won't you come in, father? I want to say something to you."

"A storm brewing," said the captain to himself. "I expected it."

He followed her into her studio and closed the door.

"What is it?"

"I am going to leave Maxfield, father. I cannot stay here any longer, living on other people. I am going to accept an engagement at the vicarage as governess."

"What!" exclaimed her father. "What freak is this, miss? I forbid you to do anything of the kind."

"I am very sorry you don't approve. I thought you would. It will enable me to support myself, and perhaps help to keep Jill. I shall get my board and lodging, and L30 a year, I am going on Monday. I wanted to tell you before any one else knew of it."

"I repeat you must abandon the idea at once. It is most derogatory in one of our family. In addition to which, I particularly desire to have you here during Mr Ratman's visit."

"It is chiefly on that account I have decided to go. It is not right, father, indeed it is not, to go on as we are."

She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, and looked into his eyes.

It was an ordeal on which Captain Edward Oliphant had not calculated. The sight of her there, the touch of her hands, the clear flash of her eyes, recalled to him all sorts of unpleasant memories. They reminded him of a day long ago, when the girl's mother had stood thus and pleaded with him for the sake of their children to be pure and honest and self- respecting. It reminded him of his own miserable schemings and follies, and how he had rejected that dear appeal, and ever since slipped and slipped out of reach of any love but the love of himself. It reminded him of the day when he heard that the one prop of his manhood had gone from him; and of how, even then, his sorrow was tempered by the thought that he was a free man to follow his own paths without question or reproof. Now, suddenly, the same hands seemed for a moment to lie on his shoulders, the same eyes to look into his, the same voice to fall on his ear, and he staggered under the illusion.

For a moment at least hope was within his reach. But the sound of a man's voice in the passage without recalled him, with a shiver, to himself.

It was Ratman's voice—the voice of the man to whom he owed money, who held the secret of his crime, who claimed his villainy and—who could say?—might even have to be pacified with a human sacrifice.

He shook her off rudely and said in dry, hard tones—

"Rosalind, I am disappointed in you. I will not discuss the matter with you. You know my wish; I expect you to obey me."

And he left the room.

She remained standing where she was till the bell rang for dinner. Then with a shiver she went down-stairs.

On the stairs she met Mr Armstrong.

"Your father has returned," said he.

"Yes, with a friend. Are you going down, or shall you stay with Roger?"

"May I?" he asked.

"You know how glad he will be."

So the tutor turned back, and thought to himself that Miss Rosalind was evidently anxious that he should not be a witness to her introduction to her father's friend.

Mr Ratman, brilliantly arranged in evening dress, and evidently already very much at home, was comfortably leaning against the mantelpiece in the hall as she descended. He did not wait for an introduction.

"I could tell Miss Oliphant anywhere," said he, advancing, "by her likeness to her father. May I offer you my arm?"

"I am not at all like father," said she quietly, scanning him as she spoke in a way which made even him uncomfortable, and then putting her hand on her father's arm.

Thus repulsed, the visitor cheerfully offered his arm to Mrs Ingleton, congratulating her as he did so on the recovery of her son.

During the meal he was aware that the young lady's eyes were completing their scrutiny, and although, being a bashful man, he did not venture too often to meet them with his own, he was conscious that the result was not altogether satisfactory to himself. His few attempts to talk to her fell flat, and in spite of the captain's almost nervous attempts to improve the festivity of the occasion, the meal was an uncomfortable one.

"Where's old Armstrong?" demanded Tom.

"With Roger," replied Rosalind.

"Have you seen Armstrong?" inquired the boy of the visitor; "he's a stunner, I can tell you. He can bend a poker double across his knee. You'll like him awfully; and he plays the piano like one o'clock. He's our tutor, you know—no end of a chap."

Mr Ratman was fain to express a longing desire to make the acquaintance of so redoubtable a hero.

"Does he lick you?" he inquired.

"Sometimes, when it's wanted; but, bless you, he could take the lot of us left-handed; couldn't he, Jill?"

"Oh, yes," said Jill enthusiastically; "and he saved Roger's life, and prevented Hodder being turned out, and won such a lot of prizes at Oxford."

"He must be a fine fellow," said Ratman, with a disagreeable laugh. "You admire him too, of course, Miss Oliphant?"

"Yes, he's honest," said she.

"Teddy, my boy," said the visitor, when he and his friend had been left alone at the table, "that girl of yours is a treasure. She don't fancy me, but she'll get over that. I like her, Teddy; I like her."

That evening, on his way to say good night to his dear ward, Captain Oliphant stopped at his daughter's door.

She was hard at work over a picture.

"Rosalind," said he, "you have disappointed me. But if your mind is made up, I know it is no use my setting up my authority against your self-will. Therefore, to relieve you of the sin of disobedience to your father's wishes, I withdraw my refusal to your proposal. You may do as you like. Good night!"



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

AWKWARD QUESTIONS.

The sun, when it peeped through the blinds next morning, found Mr Robert Ratman wide awake. His was one of those active minds which do not waste unnecessary time in sluggish repose, but, on the contrary, do a principal part of their most effective brain-work while other people are asleep.

"Snug enough so far," said he to himself, turning over on his side. "The place will suit me after all. Capital table, easy-going hostess, charming young Bohemian to amuse me, money going about, and all that. Teddy wants stirring up. I shall have to flick him a bit. He'll go well enough when he's once started, but he's wasting his time here disgracefully. Eight months since he came, and absolutely nothing done! The boy's not buried, the mother's not married, and the tutor's not had his month's notice, (Like to see this precious tutor, by the way.) Upon my honour, it's about time I came and opened shop here."

And with a grunt he got out of bed, and began to array himself preparatory to a stroll round the park before breakfast.

It was a delicious September morning. The birds, hardly convinced that the summer was over, were singing merrily in the trees. The hum of the not distant ocean droned solemnly in the air. The sunlight played fitfully with the gold of the harvest fields, and the lowing cattle in the meadows added their music to nature's peaceful morning anthem.

Mr Ratman was only half alive to the beauties of nature. He was considerably more impressed with the substantial masonry of the manor house, with the size of the timber, the appointments of the stables, and the acreage of the park. They all spelt money to him—suggesting a good deal more behind.

"Teddy's certainly a man to be looked after," said he to himself. "He's wasting his time scandalously. Yet he's clever in his way, is Edward. He has tucked his family into the big bed snugly, and made the most of his chance that way. Why—"

He had reached this pleasant stage in his reflections when something darted round from a side-walk and collided with him suddenly.

It was Miss Jill, taking an early scamper with her dog, and little dreaming that she was not, as usual, the sole occupant of the grounds.

"Hullo! my little lady," said Mr Ratman, recognising his enemy of yesterday; "you nearly did for me that time. Come, you'll have to tell me you are sorry, and beg my pardon very prettily."

"No, I won't!" exclaimed Jill, and proceeded to run.

Mr Ratman was not beyond a bit of fun himself; besides, he did not quite like to be thus set down by a child of twelve. Therefore, although his running days had passed their prime, he gave chase, and a very exciting race ensued.

Jill, as fleet as the wind, darted forward with little to fear from her pursuer; while the dog, naturally regarding the whole affair as an entertainment got up for his benefit, barked jubilantly, and did his best to force the pace. After a minute or two Mr Ratman began to wonder if the game was worth the candle, and was turning over in his mind the awkward possibility of owning himself beaten, when he perceived that the little fugitive was, by some error of judgment on her part, leading the way into what looked uncommonly like a cul de sac. Therefore, although painfully aware of the stitch in his side, he bravely held on, and had the gratification in a minute more of running his little victim to earth after all.

"Aha!" said he, laughing and panting; "you can't get away from me, you see. Now, my little beauty, I'm going to take you back in custody to the place where you started from, and make you beg my pardon very prettily for nearly knocking me over."

In vain Jill protested and struggled; he held her by the wrist as with a vice, and, rather enjoying her wild efforts to escape, literally proceeded to carry his threat into execution.

He had nearly brought her back to the starting-place, and she, having fought and struggled all the way, was beginning with humiliation to feel her eyes growing dim with tears, when a gentleman dressed in boating flannels, with one arm in a sling and an eye-glass in his eye, stepped abruptly across the path.

A moment later Mr Robert Ratman lay on the grass half a dozen yards away, on the flat of his back, blinking up at the sky.

Several curious reflections passed through his mind as he occupied this not very exhilarating position. Jill had escaped after all. That was annoying. He should have a black eye for a week. That was very annoying. This left-handed individual with the eye-glass must be the tutor. That was most excessively annoying.

And the injured gentleman, neither looking nor feeling at all well, pulled himself together and sprang to his feet.

Jill was there, clinging to her champion. "Run away, Jill!" said Armstrong.

"But you have only one arm," said she. "Go, Jill!" said he, so decisively that the little maid, darting only one look behind her, fled towards the house.

All she saw was the two men facing one another—one flurried, vicious, and noisy; the other curious, silent, disgusted.

"You dog!" hissed Ratman, with an oath, "what do you mean by that?"

"My meaning should have been clear—it was intended to be."

Ratman tried hard to copy his adversary's composure, but failed miserably.

With many imprecations, and, heedless of the tutor's maimed condition, he threw himself upon him.

But Robert Ratman's boxing, like his running, was a trifle out of date, and once more he found himself on his back regarding the clouds as they flitted by overhead.

This time the tutor assumed the initiative.

"Get up," said he, advancing to his prostrate antagonist.

Ratman was surprised at himself when, after a moment's doubt, he obeyed.

"What's your name?" demanded Mr Armstrong, surveying him from head to foot.

Again, by some curious mental process, Mr Ratman obeyed.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I am Captain Oliphant's guest," growled Ratman.

The tutor looked him up and down in a manner which was clearly not calculated to imply admiration of Captain Oliphant's choice of friends.

"Allow me to tell you, sir, that in this part of the world we call men like you blackguards."

And the tutor, whose eye-glass had become uncomfortably deranged during this brief interview, screwed it in with a wrench, and turned on his heel.

"Where's jolly old Ratman?" inquired Tom, when the family presently assembled for breakfast.

"Tired with his journey, no doubt," said Mrs Ingleton.

As no one disputed this theory, and Jill's exchange of glances with her champion passed unheeded, there seemed every prospect of the meal passing off peaceably. But Tom, as usual, contrived to improve the occasion in the wrong direction.

"You'll like him, Armstrong, when you see him. He's no end of a chap— all larks. He'll make you roar with his rummy stories."

"I have met him already," said the tutor shortly.

"Then he is up. Jill, my child," said the captain, "go and knock at Mr Ratman's door, and tell him breakfast is ready."

"I won't go near him," said Jill, flushing up. "He's a horrid, hateful man. Isn't he, Mr Armstrong?"

Mr Armstrong, thus appealed to, looked a little uncomfortable, and nodded.

"Yes," blurted the girl; "and if it hadn't been for Mr Armstrong, father, he might have hurt me very much."

"Explain yourself," said the fond father, becoming interested.

"I don't want to talk about him," said Jill.

"What does all this mean, Armstrong?"

"As far as I am concerned, it means that I took the liberty of knocking Mr Ratman down for insulting your daughter. I am sorry you were not present to do it yourself."

Captain Oliphant turned white, and red, and black in succession.

"You knocked a visitor of mine—"

"Down twice," said the tutor, helping himself to sugar.

"Oh, what a lark!" exclaimed Tom. "Oh, I wish I'd been up too. Was it a good mill, I say? How many rounds? Six? Why ever didn't you come and tell me, Jill?"

"Be quiet, Tom," said Jill.

"Did you get him clean on the jaw, I say?" persisted Tom, "like the one—"

"Hold your tongue, sir," said his father peremptorily. "Mr Armstrong, I must ask you to explain this matter later; this is not the place for such talk."

"Quite so. I regret the matter was referred to. Tom, be good enough to pass Miss Oliphant the toast."

Tom could scarcely be induced to take the hint, and talked at large on the science of boxing during the remainder of the meal with an access of high spirits which, on any other occasion, would have been amusing.

Mr Ratman, later in the day, appeared with a decidedly marred visage, and announced with the best grace he could that an important business letter that morning necessitated his return to London.

In private he explained himself more fully to his host.

"If this is what you call making me comfortable," growled he, with an unusual number of oaths interspersed in his sentence, "you've a pretty notion of your own interests."

"My dear fellow, how could I help it?"

"You can help it now, and you'll have to. I may be only a creditor, but I'll let you see I am not going to be treated in this house like a dog, for all that."

"The awkward thing is that if you had behaved—"

"Shut up about how I behaved," snarled the other. "You'll have to clear that cad out of the way here. I'll not come back till you do; and till I do come back you're sitting on a volcano."

"My dear fellow, you will spoil everything if you take such an absurd view of the matter—really you will. Of course I'll put you right. You are my guest. But remember my difficult position here."

"It will be a precious deal more difficult for you soon. I can promise you," said Mr Ratman, lifting his hand to his swollen eye with an oath. "Now then, I'll give you a month. If you're not rid of this fellow by then, and aren't a good deal nearer than you are now to squaring up with me, you'll be sorry you ever heard my name."

"I'm that already," said the captain. "I can promise nothing; but I'll do what I can."

"You'll have to do more, if you're to get rid of me. How about money?"

This abrupt question fairly staggered the captain, who broke out—

"Money! Didn't you drain me of every penny I had in London?"

The fellow laughed coarsely.

"What did you drain the regimental mess of, I should like to know? You needn't think you're out of that wood. Now, I shall want L200 for my month in town. I mean to enjoy myself."

The captain laughed dismally. "Where are you going to get it from?"

"You. Look sharp!"

"I tell you, Ratman, I haven't any money. You can't get blood out of a stone."

"Then you must give me a bill—at a month."

"No, no! I won't begin that," said the captain, who had fibre enough left in him to know that a bill was the first plunge into an unknown region of financial difficulty. "If you're bent on ruining me in any case, for heaven's sake do it at once and have done with it. Remember, you bring down more than me. Whatever I may be, they don't deserve it."

"For their sake, then, give me the bill. Bless you, any one can put his hand to paper. Consider yourself lucky I don't insist on taking it out in hard cash."

It was no use arguing or protesting with a man like this. The captain flung himself miserably into a chair and scrawled out the ill-omened document.

Ratman snatched it up with a grunt of triumph.

"That's more like," said he. "What's the use of all that fuss? Plenty of things can happen in a month. Order the dogcart in half an hour."

The abrupt departure of Captain Oliphant's guest might have excited more remark than it did, had not another departure from Maxfield that same day thrown it somewhat into the shade.

True to her promise, or rather threat, Miss Rosalind had packed up her things and had them transported to the Vicarage.

It was not without a pang that she uprooted herself from her surroundings in Maxfield, or bore the protests of Roger, the tears of Jill, and the chaff of Tom for her desertion.

"It's not that you're not all awfully kind," said she to the first that afternoon, when the party was assembled in his room. "You are too kind—that's why I'm going."

"If a little of the opposite treatment would induce you to stay," said Roger, "I'd gladly try it. Don't you think it's a little unkind of her to go when we all want her to stay—eh, Armstrong?"

"That depends," said Mr Armstrong diplomatically. "I should be inclined to say no, myself."

"Thank you, Mr Armstrong, I'm glad I've got one person to back me up. Every one else is down on me—auntie, father, Roger, Jill, Tom—"

"I'm not down on you," put in Tom. "I think it's rather larks your going to the Vicarage. No more of that beastly art class for us. But if you want to know who's down on you, it's jolly old Ratman. I've just been to see him off in the tantrums to London. I asked him to be sure and be back for Roger's birthday, and he said he'd try, if his black eye was well enough. That must have been a ripping clean shot of yours, Armstrong. He'll get over it all right, you bet. He was grinning about it already, and said he'd have a return some day. I asked him if he didn't think Rosalind was a stunner (one's got to be civil to fellows, you know), and he said 'Rather,' and envied the kids at the Vicarage. I don't. You always make yourself jolly civil to other people, but I don't come in for much of it, nor does Jill."

"I can't bear your going away," said Jill, with tears in her eyes; "I'll be so lonely. But it would be far worse if Mr Armstrong were to go away too. You'll stay, won't you, dear Mr Armstrong?"

Dear Mr Armstrong jerked his eye-glass by way of assent, and said he was sure everybody would miss Miss Oliphant and— and he would say good- bye now, as he had some letters to get off by the post.

Miss Rosalind, who had just been thinking a little kindly of the tutor, stiffened somewhat at this abrupt exit, and thought Mr Armstrong might at least have offered to escort her over to her new quarters.

To tell the truth, that poor gentleman would have given a finger off his hand for the chance, and retired to his room very dejected about the whole business—so dejected that he fidgeted about his room a good while before he noticed a note addressed to himself, in Captain Oliphant's hand, lying on the table. He opened it and read—

"Mr Frank Armstrong is informed that his services as tutor to Roger Ingleton will not be required after this day month, the 25th prox. Mr Armstrong is at liberty to remain at Maxfield until that date, or may leave at once on accepting a month's wages in lieu of notice.—For the Executors of Roger Ingleton,—

"Edward Oliphant."

The tutor's lips curled into a grim smile as he perused this pleasing document, and then tossed it into the waste-paper basket. He relieved his feelings with a few chords on the piano, and then, after a few more uneasy turns in his room, went off to call on his co-trustee.

On his way down-stairs he met Rosalind and her escort about to take their departure.

"Come along with us, do!" said Tom. "We're just going to trot Rosalind over to her diggings, and then we can have a high old lark in the paddock on our way back."

"The programme is not attractive, Thomas," said the tutor. "Good-bye again, Miss Oliphant."

Captain Oliphant had already bidden his daughter a tender farewell, and was enjoying a cigar in the library.

"Oh," said he, as the tutor entered, "you got my note, did you, sir?"

"I did, thanks."

"Well, sir?"

"That was the question I was about to ask you. Excuse my saying it, but it was a very foolish note for a man in your position to write. Did Mrs Ingleton—"

"Mrs Ingleton has decided, on my advice, to send her son to Oxford. I have recently been there, and made inquiries."

"Indeed! I'll join you in your smoke, if you don't mind," and the tutor drew a chair up to the table and filled his pipe.

Captain Oliphant was considerably disconcerted at this cool reception of his piece of news; but, warned by previous experiences, he forbore to bluster.

"I think the life will suit him. He is wasting his time here."

"If his health improves sufficiently," said the tutor, "there is a good deal to be said in favour of the University."

"You think so, do you?" said his co-guardian drily. "You are an Oxford man yourself, I understand."

"Yes; I was at —- College."

"So I heard from a friend of mine there, who remembered your name."

Mr Armstrong twitched his glass a little and puffed away.

"Yes," said the captain, encouraged by this slight symptom of uneasiness; "I heard a good deal about you up there, as it happened."

"Kind of you to take so much interest in me. You ascertained, of course, that I left Oxford in debt and without a degree?"

This was check again for the captain, who had counted upon this discovery as an effective bombshell for his side.

"As regards Roger, however," proceeded the tutor, reaching across for the captain's ash-tray, "I would advise Balliol in preference to—"

"We shall not need to trouble you for your advice."

"But I shall most certainly give it."

By this time Captain Oliphant's self-control was rapidly evaporating. He was beginning to feel himself a little small, and that always annoyed him.

"Look here, Mr Frank Armstrong," said he, leaning back in his chair, and trying hard to look superior, "it is just as well for you and me to understand one another. I have heard what sort of figure you cut at Oxford, and the disgrace in which you left the University. Allow me to say, sir, that it reflects little credit on your honour that you should have imposed on your late employer, and taken advantage of his weak health and faculties to foist yourself upon his family under false colours."

"Will you oblige me with a light?" interposed Mr Armstrong.

"You are under a delusion if you think I am not perfectly well acquainted with your disreputable antecedents. Let me tell you, sir, that a music-hall cad is not a fitting companion for a lad of Roger's rank and expectations."

"I perfectly agree with you. But really this has very little to do with our arrangements for Roger's future."

"Do you mean to deny, sir, that you were a music-hall singer?"

"By no means. I was. On the whole, I rather enjoyed the vocation at the time. I look upon that and the year (about which you apparently have not been fortunate enough to learn anything) during which I was tutor and private secretary in the family of the Hon. James Welcher— the most notorious blackleg in the kingdom—as two of the most interesting episodes in my career."

"I can believe it. And, before you devoted your energies to singing disreputable songs to the blackguards of the East End—"

"Pardon me. I was particular. My songs were for the most part of the classical order; but what were you saying?"

"I was saying," said the captain, now fairly dropping the dignified, and falling back on the abusive, "what were you before that?"

"Really, Captain Oliphant, you have been so acute and successful so far, I would not on any account deprive you of the satisfaction of discovering what little more remains to complete my humble biography by your own exertions. Meanwhile, as to Roger's college; had you leisure when at Oxford to make any inquiries as to that rather important question?"

"Oblige me by addressing your conversation to some one else, sir. I am not disposed to be asked questions by an adventurer and sharper, who—"

The tutor's face blackened, the glass fell from his eye, and he rose to his feet so suddenly that the chair on which he had been sitting fell back violently.

Captain Oliphant turned pale and started to his feet too in an attitude of self-defence and retreat. But the tutor only walked over to the fireplace to knock out his ashes into the fender, and then, resuming his glass, said quietly—

"I beg your pardon; I interrupted you." Captain Oliphant did not pursue the subject, and presently retired, leaving his co-trustee master of the situation.

"Strange," said the latter to himself when the enemy had gone, "what a look he has of his daughter. The resemblance was distinctly fortunate for him five minutes ago."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A WINDFALL FOR THE CAPTAIN.

The impending birthday festivities at Maxfield were a topic of interest to others than merely the residents at the manor-house. There, indeed, the prospect was considerably damped by the failing health of Mrs Ingleton and the absence of Rosalind from the scene of action. The burden of the arrangements fell upon the tutor, who only half relished the duties of major domo, and heartily wished the uncomfortable date was past. Mrs Ingleton, however, ill as she was, was intent on celebrating the occasion in a manner becoming the hospitable traditions of the house of which her son was now the head, and accordingly, a large party of the neighbouring gentry was invited for the occasion.

Among the uninvited guests one individual was anticipating the event with considerable interest. This was Robert Ratman, Esquire, as he lounged comfortably on a sofa at the "Grand Hotel" in London, and perused a letter which had just reached him by the post.

"I shall have to get you to take another bill in place of the one I gave you, due on the 26th. The fact is, I forgot that was the day of my ward's twentieth birthday, when there are to be celebrations at Maxfield," ("What on earth has that to do with it?" grunted the reader). "If you will take my advice you will postpone your return here till after that date. In any case, please understand I am unable to attend to money matters at present. It may interest you to know that the tutor is under notice to leave," (here the reader uttered a not very complimentary expletive), "also that I am on the best of terms with the fair widow.

"E.O."

"Thinks I'm a fool, does he?" grunted Mr Ratman; "I shall have to undeceive him there."

So he laid down his cigar and wrote—

"Dear Teddy,—It sounds very nice, but it's not good enough. You've mistaken your man, my boy. You'll have to stump up L100 on the day, and I'll wait a month for the rest and interest. I shall be on the spot to receive it and join in the festivities. If you are not lying, you deserve credit for getting rid of the tutor. See he is packed off before I come; and see I get no more impertinence from those brats of yours, unless you wish trouble to their father.

"Yours,—

"R.R."

The receipt of this genial epistle considerably marred the pleasure with which Captain Oliphant looked forward to the approaching festivities at Maxfield.

It had been bad enough to have the Oxford scheme and all it involved fall through. Roger had explained in his pleasant manner that he was not disposed to accept his guardian's advice as to a University course at present; and as his decision was backed up by both Mrs Ingleton and Mr Armstrong, the poor man found himself in a minority, and no nearer a solution to his difficulties than before.

In addition to this, Roger was every day recovering health, and, in Rosalind's absence, devoting himself more loyally than ever to his tutor's direction and instruction.

Altogether Captain Oliphant had a dismal consciousness of being out in the cold. His carefully thought cut plans seemed to advance no further. Mrs Ingleton's ill-health was an unlooked-for difficulty. He even began to suspect that when he did screw himself up to the point of proposing he should make by no means as easy a conquest of the fair widow as he had flattered himself. She, good lady, liked him as her boy's guardian, but in his own personal capacity was disappointingly indifferent to his attentions.

With all these worries upon him it was little wonder if Mr Ratman's letters hurt his feelings.

He was very much inclined to throw up the sponge and vanish from the Maxfield horizon, and might have attempted the feat had not a letter which arrived on the following day suggested another way out of his difficulties. It came from America, addressed to the late Squire, and read thus—

"Dear Ingleton,—I guess you've forgotten the scape-grace brother-in- law who, thirty-six years ago, on the day you married his sister Ruth, borrowed a hundred pounds of you without the slightest intention of paying you back. He has not forgotten you. Your hundred pounds started me in life right away here, where I am now a boss and mayor of my city. I've put off being honest as long as I can, but can't well manage it any longer. I send you back the money in English bank- notes, and another hundred for interest. It won't do you much good, but I reckon I'll sleep better at night to have got rid of it. I saw in the papers the death of my sister, and her son, my nephew. Such is life! I got more good from that marriage than she did. I take for granted you are still in the old place, and, like all the Ingletons I ever met, alive and kicking.

"Yours out of debt,—

"Ralph Headland."

Captain Oliphant read and re-read this curious letter, and hummed a tune to himself. He gave a professional twitch to each of the hundred-pound notes, and held them up one after the other to the light. Then he examined the post-mark on the envelope, and failed to decipher the name of the town.

"Very singular," said he to himself, tapping his fingers on the envelope. "Quite like a chapter in a story. Really it restores one's faith in one's fellow-man to find honesty asserting itself in this way after thirty-six years' suppression. Our dear one must have forgotten this debt years ago; or written it off as a gift. I'm sure he would not have liked to accept it now. Very singular indeed!"

Then he hummed on for five minutes, and tried to recall what he had been thinking about before the letter came. He fancied it was about Ratman. Yes, Ratman was a bad man, and must be got rid of, not so much on the captain's account as for the sake of the innocent darlings whose happiness he threatened.

And as if there were some connection between the two ideas, captain Oliphant abstractedly put the two notes into his own pocket, and proceeded thoughtfully to tear up the letter and envelope of the American mayor.

He had hardly completed this function when the door opened and Rosalind sailed in, looking particularly charming after a breezy walk across the park.

She had rarely seen her father in better and more amiable spirits.

"Ah, my dear child," said he; "it does one good to see you again. A week's absence is a long time. And how are you getting on at the Vicarage?"

"They are awfully kind to me," said Rosalind, "and I like my little pupils. I half wish it was harder work. As it is, I get time for a little art in between lessons. I've come over to-day to finish my picture of the old tower for Roger's birthday."

"Ah, to be sure. The dear boy's birthday is getting near. We shall depend on you to help us here on the day, Rosalind. So they make you happy, do they? I am very glad to hear it. Have you all you want?"

"Everything, dear father; and it makes all the difference to me to feel I am supporting myself."

"Brave little puss. See now," added the fond parent, taking out a couple of sovereigns from his purse.

"I want you to take these to get any little trifle which may add to your comfort. I have not been very lavish with pocket-money, but I think just now you may find this useful. Take it, my dear child, and bless you."

"Really, I have all I—"

"You must not refuse me, daughter; it will please me if you take it."

So Rosalind kissed her father gratefully, and said she should be sure to find the money useful, if he could really spare it. And he, good man, only wished it were twice as much.

"I have just had a note," said he, "from Mr Ratman, who announces his return on the 25th. During the few days he remains, my dear Rosalind, I think you should try, even if it cost you an effort, to be friendly. After all, he is an old comrade, and I have reasons for desiring not to offend him."

"Oh, why ever do you let him come back after the unkind way he behaved to Jill? I'm sure he is a bad man, father. Indeed, I wonder at his thinking of coming at all after what has happened."

"I dare say his manner may have been rough; but it was meant only in good-natured fun. Let us think no more about that. I was annoyed at the whole affair; but I must ask you, Rosalind, not to give him unnecessary offence when he comes again."

"I can't pretend to like people I detest," said she; "but if he conducts himself like a gentleman, and goes away soon, there needn't be any trouble about it." And she went off to rejoice Roger with a visit.

During the week that followed, Captain Oliphant impressed the whole family with his chastened good-humour.

He paid a friendly call at the Vicarage, and expressed his obligations to the vicar and his wife for their consideration, and trusted his daughter, who (though he said so who should not), he was sure was a conscientious girl—would do her work well and requite them for their kindness.

He bought Tom his longed-for football, and ordered from town a handsome dressing-case for his dear ward. He delighted Miss Jill by allowing her to drive him in his rounds among the tenantry, when he had a friendly word for everybody.

Jill, in charge of the reins, was as happy as a queen, and quite captivated by her father's cheerful good-humour.

"I wonder what makes you so jolly," she said, as they spanked along the country lanes to Yeld, "dear, dear old daddy? I shall always drive you now, for you see I can manage the pony, can't I? Mr Armstrong taught me. He says I shall make a first-rate whip. I'm sure I was very stupid when I first tried; but he is ever so patient. He scolds sometimes, but he always lets me know when he's pleased; so I don't mind. Do you know, father, I'd give my head for Mr Armstrong any day, I like him so?"

Captain Oliphant shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't equal to coping with a case of sheer infatuation.

"I'm sure," persisted Jill, flicking the pony into a trot, "he's fifty million times as nice as that horrible Mr Ratman."

"Mr Ratman is a friend of mine," said her father, "and I fear he must think you a very silly little girl to object to a bit of fun as you did."

"I don't mind what he thinks. It wasn't fun at all. He hurt me very much. Ugh!"

"Well, he was very much annoyed, and so was I, at what happened; and when he comes here again next week—"

"Is he coming again next week?"

"Yes."

"All right. I shall run away then—or if I can't do that, I shall keep a knife in my pocket. Please, father, don't let him come!"

And the child nearly cried in her eagerness.

"Listen to me, Jill," said her father sternly. "Unless you can behave yourself sensibly I shall be very angry indeed. I expect you to be polite to Mr Ratman while he is here."

"He'd better be polite to young ladies," said the irrepressible Jill. "If he doesn't, I know somebody who will make him."

"Be silent, miss, and bear in mind my wishes."

That afternoon Captain Oliphant sent a polite message to his co-trustee requesting the favour of an interview.

Mr Armstrong found him in an unusually balmy frame of mind, anxious to go into the executorship accounts.

Everything was square and exact. The rents and other receipts were all in order, and the amount duly paid into the bank. The tutor quite admired his colleague's aptitude for figures, and the lucid manner in which he accounted for every farthing which had passed through his hands. He was hardly prepared for such precision, and there and then modified the previous bad impression he had formed.

"It is necessary to be particular in money matters," said the captain, "especially where the money of others is involved. Perhaps you will check my figures, sir, and let me know if you agree in the result."

Mr Armstrong spent an afternoon painfully going over the agent's and banker's accounts, and satisfying himself that all was absolutely correct and in order. He countersigned the balance-sheet, and went out of his way to thank Captain Oliphant for taking so much of the labour as to save both him and Mrs Ingleton a great deal of time.

"Thank you," said the captain drily; "a compliment from Signor Francisco is worth receiving. But it is uncalled-for. Good afternoon, sir."

Mr Armstrong flushed, and screwed his glass violently in his eye.

"A civil, pleasant-spoken gentleman," said he to himself as he returned to his room.

A few days later, the day before the birthday, Captain Oliphant received a telegram couched in the following lordly terms—

"Arrive 5.30. Send trap to meet me.—Ratman."

He frowned to himself as he read it. The tone did not betoken peace. It rather called to mind a good many unpleasant reflections, the chief of which was that Mr Ratman would find matters no further advanced as regarded the widow, the heir, or the tutor. The only comfort was that he could hardly make himself disagreeable about the bill.

The coachman was sent down with the dogcart; but if Mr Ratman expected any further demonstration of welcome, he was disappointed. Mrs Ingleton was in bed; Jill was dining at the Rectory; Roger and Armstrong were taking a long ride; Tom was poaching on the Maxfield preserves. Only Captain Oliphant was at home.

"Oh, you're here to receive me, are you?" snarled the visitor. "How long has it taken you to organise this flattering reception, I should like to know?"

"I really have nothing to do with other persons' arrangements," said the captain. "If they happen to be out, it's not my concern."

"But it's mine. You ought to have sent the heir down to meet me—I've not seen him yet—and had those girls of yours here to give me afternoon tea. Where are they?"

The captain attempted to explain.

"That won't do for me," said the visitor, "not by any means. They should have been on the spot. When did the tutor leave?"

"He is still here."

"Still here!" said Ratman, with a curse. "Didn't I tell you he was to be packed off before I came?"

"You said a good many things, Ratman. I expected he would have gone a fortnight ago; but he can't be moved."

Ratman growled out a string of oaths.

"Get me some tea," said he, "and tell them to take my traps upstairs. What time do we dine?"

"I was going to propose that we should dine together in my room at seven," said the captain.

"Not good enough. I'll dine with the lot of you at the big table. And now, about my bill."

Now was the captain's turn.

"What about it?" said he.

"What about it? I want the money for it—that's what's about it."

"All right, keep your temper. You shall have the hundred to-morrow when it's due."

Ratman glanced up at his host with a leer.

"Whose till have you been robbing now?" he said.

Captain Oliphant frowned.

"You haven't a very genial way about you, Ratman. Try a cigar."

"Oh, bless you," said he, "I ask no questions. It's all one to me, so long as it's solid pounds, shillings and pence."

"You wait till to-morrow, and it will be all right," said the Captain; "and meanwhile, my dear fellow, try to make yourself agreeable, and don't spoil sport by being unreasonably exacting. Ah, here's the tea!"

At dinner that evening, Mr Ratman found his only companions Captain Oliphant, Roger, and Mr Armstrong. The talk was difficult, the captain working hard to give his guest a friendly lead; Mr Armstrong trying to appear oblivious of the fact that he had knocked the fellow down twice for a cad; and Roger as head of the house, trying to be affable to a person whom he had expected to find detestable, and who quite came up to expectations.

As the meal went on Mr Ratman showed alarming symptoms of requiring no friendly lead to encourage his powers of conversation. Despite his host's deprecatory signals, he began to tell stories of an offensive character, and joke about matters not generally held to be amusing in a company of gentlemen. Captain Oliphant grew hot and nervous. Mr Armstrong leant back coolly in his chair, and kept his eye curiously on the speaker, an apparently interested listener. Roger, after the first surprise, flushed wrathfully and fidgeted ominously with his napkin ring.

He was nearly at the end of his tether, and an awkward scene might have ensued, had not Tom opportunely broken in upon the party, very hungry and flushed with a good afternoon's sport.

"Hullo, Ratman!" said he, greeting the visitor; "turned up again? Got over your black eye all right? I've told Armstrong to let me know when the next mill comes off, and I'll hold the sponge? Been telling them some of your rummy stories? I roared over that you told me about the—"

"Be quiet, Tom, and go and wash yourself before dinner," said his father.

"All right. But I say, Ratman, you'd better steer clear of my young sister Jill. She's got a downer on you, and so has—"

"Do you hear, sir?" shouted the father.

Somehow this genial interruption robbed Mr Ratman of his ideas, and stopped the flow of his discourse, much to the relief of the remainder of the party.

"Well?" said Mr Armstrong, when he and his ward met afterwards in the room of the latter, "how do you like our new visitor?"

"So badly that I am thankful for once that Rosalind has gone."

Mr Armstrong looked hard at his ward for a moment. Then he twitched his glass uncomfortably, and replied in an absent sort of way—

"Quite so—quite so."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A VOICE FROM THE DEAD.

Roger Ingleton's reflections, as he lay awake on the morning of his twentieth birthday, were not altogether self-congratulatory. He was painfully aware that he was what he himself would have styled a poor creature. He was as weak, physically, as a girl; he was not particularly clever; he was given to a melancholy which made him pass for dull in society. Ill-health dogged him whenever he tried to achieve anything out of the commonplace. His tenantry regarded him still as a boy, and very few of his few friends set much store by him for his own sake apart from his fortune.

"A poor show altogether," said he to himself. "That boy on the wall there would have made a much better thing of it. There's some go in him, especially the copy that Rosalind—"

Here he pulled up. In addition to his other misfortunes, it occurred to him now definitely for the first time that he was in love.

"She doesn't care two straws about me," said he ungratefully; "that is, except in a sisterly way. Why should she? I know nothing about art, which she loves. I'm saddled with pots of money, which she hates. The only way I can interest her is by being ill. I'm not even scape-grace enough to make it worth her while to take me in hand to reform me. Heigho! It's a pity that brother of mine had not lived. Yes, you," he added, shaking his head at the portrait, "with your wild harum-scarum face and mocking laugh. You'd have suited her, and been able to make her like you—I can't. I believe she thinks more of Armstrong than me. Not much wonder either. Only, wouldn't he be horrified if any one suggested such a thing!"

And the somewhat dismal soliloquy ended in a some what dismal laugh, as the heir of Maxfield assumed the perpendicular and pulled up his blind.

Mr Armstrong, fresh from his dip in the sea, came in before he had finished dressing.

"Well, old fellow," said he, "many happy returns! How are you—pretty fit?"

"I'm not sorry there's a year between each," said the boy.

"What's wrong?" said the tutor.

"Oh, nothing; only I don't feel particularly festive. I've been lying awake a long time."

"Pity you didn't get up. Shocking habit to lie in bed after you're awake."

"At that rate I should often be up at two in the morning," said Roger.

"I doubt it—but what's wrong?"

Roger put down his brush, and flung himself on a chair.

"I don't know—yes, I do. Can't you guess?"

"Cheese for supper," suggested the tutor seriously.

"Don't be a fool, Armstrong, and don't laugh at me; I'm not in the mood for a joke. You know what it is well enough."

The tutor's glass dropped from his eye, and he walked over to the window.

"Quite so. I overtook her in the park a quarter of an hour ago, and she is already in the house, wondering why you are so late down on your birthday."

Roger sprang up and resumed his toilet.

"Has she really come? Armstrong, I say, I wish I knew how to make her care for me."

"I'm not an expert in these matters, but it occurs to me that the sort of thing you want is not made."

"You mean that if she doesn't care for me for what I am, it's no use trying to get her to care for me by being what I am not."

"Roger, you have a brilliant way occasionally of putting things exactly as they should be put."

"That's not much consolation," pursued the boy.

"Possibly," said the tutor; "but, as I say, I am not an expert in these delicate affairs. Much as I would like to prescribe, I rather advise your taking a second opinion—your mother's, say. I was engaged to teach you classics and the sciences, but the art of love was not included among the subjects to be treated of."

Mr Armstrong was late for breakfast that morning. For some reason of his own he wasted ten minutes at his piano before he obeyed the summons of the gong, and the chords he played were mostly minor. But when he did appear his glass was fixed as jauntily as ever, and his pursed lips looked impervious to any impression from within or without.

To his surprise, he found Miss Jill waiting outside the door.

"I didn't mean to go in," said she, "where that horrid man is, till you came. I don't mind a bit now. Come along, dear Mr Armstrong."

Dear Mr Armstrong came along, feeling decidedly compromised, but yet a little grateful to his loyal adherent.

As usual he dropped into his seat at the foot of the table after a bow to Miss Oliphant, and a friendly nod to Tom.

Jill, to her consternation, found a seat carefully reserved for her next to Mr Ratman. Her impulse on making the discovery was to run; but a glance at Mr Armstrong, who sat watching her in a friendly way, reassured her. To gain time she went round the table and kissed every one (including the tutor), and especially the hero of the day, whom she artfully tried to persuade, in honour of the occasion, to make room for her next to himself. But when that transparent little artifice failed, she bridled up and marched boldly to the inevitable.

"Well, little puss," said Mr Ratman, "haven't you got a kiss for me?"

"No," she replied. "Father says I'm to be civil to you, so I'll say good-morning; but I don't mean it a bit; and I still think you're a horrid, bad man, though I don't say so. I'm not a bit afraid of you, either, because Mr Armstrong is here to punish you if you behave wickedly."

Tom, as usual, improved matters with a loud laugh.

"Good old Jilly!" cried he; "let him have it! Sit on his head! He's got no friends! Never you mind, Ratman—she doesn't—"

"Silence, sir?" thundered his father, "or leave the table instantly."

Tom subsided promptly.

"And you, Jill," continued her father, "do not speak till you're spoken to."

Jill looked down at Mr Armstrong to see if he counselled further resistance; but as he was studiously busy with the ham, she capitulated, and said—

"Then I hope no one will speak to me, because I don't want to talk."

Mr Ratman made an effort to turn the incident off with a laugh, and addressed his further remarks to his host. But as that gentleman found some difficulty in being cordial, and as the rest of the party continued to enjoy the meal without paying much attention to him, he was on the whole relieved when the performance came to an end.

On his way to the captain's room, afterwards, he encountered Mr Armstrong.

The two men glared at one another in a hostile manner for a moment, and then the tutor observed casually that it was a cold day.

"It will be hotter before it's much older," growled the late owner of a certain black eye.

"I can well believe that," said the tutor drily.

"Yes, sir, I shall have something to say to you."

"Delighted, I'm sure, at any time that suits you."

"You and I had better understand one another at once," said Mr Ratman.

"Why not? I flatter myself I understand you perfectly already."

"Do you? Now, look here, my fine fellow. It's easy for you to give yourself airs, but I know a good deal more about you than I dare say you would care to own yourself. If you'll take my advice, the sooner you clear out of here the better. You may think you've a snug berth here, and flatter yourself you pass for a saint with your pupil and his mamma, but, let me tell you, I could open their eyes to a thing or two which would alter their opinion, as well as the opinion of certain young lady friends who—"

"Who do not require the assistance of Robert Ratman to keep them out of bad company," retorted the tutor, hotly for him.

"No, but they may require the assistance of Robert Ratman to keep them from being ashamed of their own father, Mr Armstrong."

The tutor glared through his glass. He understood this threat.

"What of that?" said he.

"Merely," said Mr Ratman, "that it depends pretty much on you whether they are to continue to believe themselves the children of an officer and a gentleman, or of a—a fugitive from justice. That's the position, Mr Tutor. The responsibility rests with you. If you choose to go, I shall not undeceive them; if you don't—well, it may suit me to open their eyes; there!"

The tutor inspected his man from top to toe in a dangerous way, which made the recipient of the stare decidedly uncomfortable. Then, pulling himself together with an effort, Mr Armstrong coolly inquired, "Have you anything more to say?"

"That's about enough, isn't it? I give you a week."

"Thanks, very much," said Mr Armstrong, as he turned on his heel.

Roger, after a long ramble in the park with his fair tormentor, returned about noon, flushed and excited.

"Armstrong, old man," said he, "what's to be done? She's kind to me— horribly kind; but whenever I get near the subject she laughs me off it, and holds me at arm's length. What's the use of my name and my money and my prospects, if they can't win her? If I jest, she's serious, and if I'm serious, she jests—we can't hit it. What's to be done, I say?"

"Patience," said the tutor; "it took several years to capture Troy."

"All very well for an old bachelor like you. I expected you'd say something like that. I know I could make her happy if she'd let me try. But she won't even let me tell her I love her. What should you do yourself?"

Mr Armstrong coloured up at the bare notion of such a dilemma.

"I think I might come to you and ask your advice," said he.

Roger laughed rather sadly.

"I know," said he. "Of course it's a thing one has to play off one's own bat, but I sometimes wish I were anything but the heir of Maxfield. She might care for me then."

"You can disinherit yourself by becoming a criminal, or marrying under age—"

"Or dying—thank you," said the boy. "You are something like a consoler. I know it's a shame to bore you about it, but I've no one else to talk to."

"I'd give my right hand to help you, old fellow," said the tutor; "but, as you say, I'm absolutely no use in a case like this."

"I know. Come upstairs and play something."

"By the way," said the tutor, as they reached the study, "I've something to give you. You may as well have it now."

And he went to his desk and took out an envelope.

"It will explain itself," said he, handing it to the boy.

He sat down at the piano, and wandered over the keys, while Roger, too full of his own cares to give much heed to the missive in his hands, walked over to the window and looked out across the park. The afternoon sun was glancing across the woods, and gleaming far away on the sea. "If only she would share it with me," thought he to himself, "how proud I should be of the dear old place. But what good is it all to me if she condemns me to possess it all myself?"

Then with a sigh he turned his back on the scene, and let his eyes fall on the letter.

He started as he recognised the dead hand of his father in the inscription—

"To be given unopened into the hands of Roger Ingleton junior, on his twentieth birthday."

His breath came fast as he broke the seal and looked within. The envelope contained two enclosures, a document and a letter. The latter, which he examined first, was dated scarcely a fortnight before the old man's death, written in the same trembling hand as the words on the envelope.

"My dear son," it said, "this will reach you long after the hand that writes it is still and cold. My days are numbered, and for better or worse are rapidly flying to their account. But before I go, I have something to say to you. Read this, and the paper I enclose herewith. If, after reading them, you choose to destroy them, no one will blame you; no one will know—you will do no one an injury. You are free to act as you choose. What follows is not a request from me, still less a command. It is a confidence—no more."

Roger put down the letter. His head was in a whirl. He only half heard the notes of the tutor's sonata as they rose and fell on his ear. Presently, with beating heart, he read on—

"You had a brother once—a namesake—whom you never saw, and perhaps never heard of. You never mourned his loss, for he was gone before you were born. Twenty-two years ago he was a boy of 16—a fine, high- spirited Ingleton. Like a fool, I thought I could bring him up to be a fine man. But I failed—I only spoiled him. He grew up wild, self- willed, obstinate—a sorrow to his mother, an enemy to his father. The day came when we quarrelled. I accused him unjustly of fraud. He retorted insolently. In my passion I struck him, and he struck back. I fought my own boy and beat him; but my victory was the evil crisis of my life, for he left home vowing he would die sooner than return. His mother died of a broken heart. I had to live with mine; too proud to repent or admit my fault. Then came a rumour that the boy was dead. I never believed it; yet wrote him off as dead. Now, as I near my end, I still discredit the story; I am convinced he still lives. In that conviction, I have made a new will, which is the paper enclosed. As you will see, it provides that if he should return before you attain your majority, he becomes sole heir to the property; if not found before that time, the will under which you inherit all remains valid. You are at liberty to keep or destroy this new will as you choose. Nor, if you keep it, are you bound to do anything towards finding your lost brother. But should you desire to make inquiries, I am able to give you this feeble clue—that, after leaving home, he went to the bad in London in company with a companion named Fastnet, but where they lived I know not. Also, that the rumour of his death came to me from India. I can say no more, only that I am his and your loving father,—

"Roger Ingleton."

Towards the end the writing became very weak and straggling, and what to the boy was the most important passage was well-nigh illegible. When, after reading it a second time, he looked up, it was hard to believe he was the same Roger Ingleton who, a few minutes since, had broken the seal of that mysterious letter. The tutor, lost in his music, played on; the sun still flashed on the distant sea, the park still stretched away below him—but all seemed part of another world to the heir of Maxfield.

His brother—that wild-eyed, fascinating, defiant boy in the picture— lived still, and all this place was his. Till that moment Roger had never imagined what it would be to be anything but the heir of Maxfield.

Every dream of his for the future had Maxfield painted into the background. He loved the place as his own, as his sphere in life, as his destiny. Was that a dream after all? Were all his castles in the air to vanish, and leave him a mere dependant in a house not his own?

He took up the document and read it over. It was brief and abrupt. Referring to the former will, it enjoined that all its provisions should remain strictly in force as if no codicil or later will had been executed until the 26th of October, 1886, on which day Roger Ingleton the younger should attain his majority. But if on or before that day the elder son, whom the testator still believed to be living, should be found and identified, the former will on that day was to become null and void, and the elder son was to become sole possessor of the entire property. If, on the contrary, he should not be found or have proved his identity by that day, then the former will was to hold good absolutely, and the codicil became null and void.

Such, shorn of its legal verbiage, was the document which Roger, by the same hand that executed it, was invited, if he wished, to destroy. Perhaps for a moment, as his eyes glanced once more across the park, and a vision of Rosalind flitted across his mind, he was tempted to avail himself of his liberty. But if the idea endured a moment it had vanished a moment after.

He went up to the piano, where Mr Armstrong, still in the clouds, was roaming at will over the chords, and laid his father's letter on the keyboard.

"Read that, please, Armstrong."

The tutor wheeled round on his stool, and put up his glass. Something in the boy's voice arrested him.

He glanced first at his pupil, then at the paper.

"A private letter?" said he.

"I want your help; please read it."

The tutor's inscrutable face, as he perused the letter carefully from beginning to end, afforded very little direction to the boy who sat and watched him anxiously. Having read it once, Mr Armstrong turned back to the first page and read it again; and then with equal care perused the codicil. When all was done, he returned them slowly to the envelope and handed it back.

"Well?" said Roger, rather impatiently.

"It is a strange birthday greeting," said Mr Armstrong, "and comes, I fear, from a mind unhinged. Your father had more than one delusion near the end. But on the night before he died he told me this elder son of his was dead. This was written before that."

"Tell me exactly what he said."

The tutor repeated as nearly as he could the conversation of that memorable night.

"Is it not more probable that a fortnight earlier his mind might be clearer than at the very moment of his death?"

"It is possible, of course; but the letter does not seem to show it. Besides, the inscription at the back of the portrait (which you have forgotten) is a distinct record of the boy's death. I wish you had not shown me the letter, because the only advice I have to give you is that you do with it what he invites you to do."

"Look here, Armstrong!" said Roger, getting up and walking restlessly up and down the room; "you mean kindly, I know—you always do—but you don't seem to realise that you are tempting me to be a cad and a coward!"

The tutor looked up, and his eyebrow twitched uncomfortably. Roger had never spoken like this before, and the heat of the words took even him aback.

"You asked my advice, unfortunately, and I gave it," said he, rather drily.

"Do you think I should have an hour's peace if I didn't do everything in my power to find my brother now?" retorted the boy. "You're not obliged to help me, I know."

"I am—I am bound to help you; not because I am your tutor or your guardian, but because I love you."

"Then help me in this. My father, I feel sure, was right. Whether he was or not, and whether I have to do it single-handed or not, I mean to find my brother."

"Certainly you may count on me, old fellow," said the tutor; "but be quite sure first that you know what you are undertaking. If it is not a wild-goose chase it is something uncommonly like it. You resolve to waste a whole year. You are not strong, your future is all in Maxfield; the happiness of your mother, your hopes of winning the object of your affections, are involved in the step you take. Even if this brother of yours be living (of which the chances seem to be a hundred to one he is not), he is, as your father says, a man who has gone to the bad; not the boy of the picture, but a man twice your age, of the Ratman order, let us say, probably the worst possible companion for yourself, and a bad friend to the people who already count you as their master. Had he been living with any desire or intention of claiming his title, he would certainly have come forward months ago—"

"I know all that, Armstrong," said the boy; "I know perfectly well you are bringing up all these points as a friend, to prevent my taking a rash step of which I shall afterwards be sorry. I don't care how bad he is, or what it costs, I mean to find him; and if you help me, I'm confident I shall. Only," said he regretfully, "I certainly wish it was the boy in the picture, and not a middle-aged person, who is to be looked for."

Here Tom broke in upon the conference.

"Hullo, Roger, here you are! What are you up to? You and Armstrong look as blue as if you'd swallowed live eels. I say, you're a nice chap. Rosalind has been waiting half an hour, she says, for that ride you were to go with her, and if you don't look sharp she'll give Ratman the mount and jockey you, my boy. Poor old Ratty! didn't Jill drop on him like a sack of coals at breakfast? Jolly rough on the governor having to stroke him down after it. I say, mind you're in in time to receive the deputation. They're all going to turn up, and old Hodder's to make a speech. I wouldn't miss it for a half sov! All I know is I'm jolly glad I'm not an heir. It's far jollier to be an ordinary chap; isn't it, Mr Armstrong?"

"Decidedly," said the tutor demurely; "but we can't all be what we like."

"Tell Rosalind I'll be down in a second; I'm awfully sorry to have kept her," said Roger.

"By the way," said the tutor, when Tom had gone; "about this letter. The communication is evidently made to you by your father as a secret. I am sorry, on that account, you showed it to me, because I object to secrets not meant for me. But if you take my advice you will not let it go further. It would be clearly contrary to the wishes of your father."

"I see that. Lock the will up in your desk again; I'll take care of the letter. Nobody but you and I shall know of their existence. And now I must go to Rosalind."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WHAT A HORSEWHIP DISCOVERED.

Mr Ratman's business interview with his friend was short and stormy.

When Captain Oliphant produced the hundred-pound note, and requested his creditor to accept a fresh bill for the balance, that injured gentleman broke out into very emphatic abuse.

"Likely, is it not?" laughed he. "You, a common thief, bring me, who've saved you from a convict's cell, here to be insulted and made a fool of by your miserable brats and servants, and then have the calmness to ask me to lend you a hundred pounds? I admire your impudence, sir, and that's all I admire about you."

"My dear fellow, how can you blame me—"

"Blame you! You don't suppose I'm going to take the trouble to do that! Come, hand over the other hundred, sharp. I've nothing to say to you till that's done."

And Mr Ratman, digging his hands in his pockets, got up and walked to the fireplace.

Captain Oliphant's face fell. He knew his man by this time, and had sense enough at least to know that this was no time for argument. Yet he could not help snarling—

"I can only do part."

"The whole—in five minutes—or there'll be interest to add!" retorted Mr Ratman.

With a groan Captain Oliphant flung down the second bank-note on the table.

"Take it, you coward! and may it help you to perdition!"

"Thanks, very much," said Ratman, carefully putting away the money. "I'm not going to ask you where the money came from. That would be painful. Ah, Teddy, my boy, what a nice, respectable family man you are, to be sure!"

With which acknowledgment Mr Ratman, in capital spirits, returned to his room. On the way he encountered Tom, who, being of a forgiving disposition, owed him no grudge for the trouble that had occurred at breakfast-time.

"Hullo, Mr Ratty!" said the boy; "going out? Aren't you looking forward to the party to-night? I am. Only I'm afraid they'll make a mess of it among them. Auntie's ill and in bed, Rosalind and Roger are spooning about in the grounds, Armstrong's got the dismals, and the governor's not to be disturbed. I've got to look after everything. The spread will be good enough—only I think they ought to have roasted an ox whole in the hall; don't you? That's the proper way to do things, instead of kickshaws and things with French names that one can swallow at a gulp. I say, there's to be a dance first. I'll introduce you to some of the old girls if you like. It won't be much fun for me, for Jill has made me promise to dance every dance with her, for fear you should want one. But I know a chap or two that will take her off my hands. I say, would you like to see my den?" added he, as they passed the door in question.

Mr Ratman being of an inquiring turn of mind, accepted the invitation, and gave a cursory glance at the chaos which formed the leading feature of the apartment.

"It's not such a swagger crib as Roger's," said Tom; "but it's snug enough. That's Roger's opposite. Like to look?"

Once more Mr Ratman allowed himself to be escorted on a tour of discovery.

"Who is that a portrait of?" asked he, looking at the lost Roger's picture.

"Oh, that's what's his name, the fellow who would have been heir if he hadn't died. He looks rather a tough customer, doesn't he? That's the picture Rosalind painted for Roger's birthday—a view of the park from her window, with the sea beyond. Not so bad, is it? Rosalind thinks she's no end of an artist, but I—"

"When did he die?" inquired Mr Ratman, still examining the picture.

"Oh, ever so long ago—before the old Squire married Auntie. I say, come and have a punt about with my new football, will you?"

"Go and get it. I'll be down presently. I like pictures, and shall just take a look at these first!"

Tom bustled off, wondering what Mr Ratman could see in the pictures to allure him from the joys of football.

To tell the truth, Mr Ratman was not a great artist. But the portrait of the lost Roger appeared to interest him, as did also the sight of an open letter, hastily laid down by the owner on the writing-table.

Something in the handwriting of the letter particularly aroused the curiosity of the trespasser, who, being, as has been said, of an inquiring disposition, ventured to look at it more closely.

"To be given unopened into the hands of Roger Ingleton, junior, on his twentieth birthday."

The coast was conveniently clear for Mr Ratman, as, fired with a zeal for information, he slipped the letter from the envelope and, with half an eye on the door, hastily read it. As he did so, he flushed a little, and having read the letter once, read it again. Then he quickly replaced it in its cover, and laying it where he had discovered it, beat a rapid retreat.

He played football badly that afternoon, so that his young companion's opinion of him lowered considerably. Nor was either sorry when the ceremony was over, and the bell warned them to return to their quarters and prepare for the evening's festivities.

Mr Ratman dressed with special care, spending some time before the mirror in an endeavour to set off his person to the best advantage. As the reader has already been told, Mr Ratman retained some of the traces of a handsome youth. The fires of honour and sobriety were extinguished, but his well-shaped head and clear-cut features still weathered the storm, and suggested that if their owner was not good- looking now, he might once have been.

Perhaps it was a lingering impression of the lost Roger's portrait which made this vain gentleman adjust his curly locks and pose his head before the glass in a style not unlike his model. Whether that was so or not, the result appeared to satisfy him, and in due time, and not till after several of the guests had already arrived, he descended in state to the drawing-room.

It was the first festive gathering at Maxfield since the death of the late Squire, and a good deal of curiosity was manifest on the part of some of the guests both as to the heir and his new guardian.

Roger, nerved up to the occasion by his own spirit and the encouragement of his tutor, bore his inspection well, and won golden opinions from his future comrades and neighbours.

Captain Oliphant also acquitted himself well; and anything lacking in him was amply forgiven for the sake of his charming daughters, the elder of whom fairly took the "county" by storm.

Quite unconscious of the broken hearts which strewed her way, Rosalind, with the duties of hostess unexpectedly cast upon her by Mrs Ingleton's illness, exerted herself for the general happiness, and enjoyed herself in the task.

Despite Tom's forebodings, the evening went off brilliantly. The music was excellent, the amateur theatricals highly appreciated, and the dance all that could be desired. The loyal youth found no difficulty in palming his young sister off on half a dozen partners delighted to have the opportunity, and his head was fairly turned by the sudden popularity in which he found himself with visitors anxious for an introduction to the fair Rosalind.