“That is what I came to ask you about.  We shall all meet there at dinner this evening, and I wanted to secure as many allies as possible.”

“You may count on me, Lord Steepleton, at all events.  There is nothing I should enjoy better than such a fortnight’s holiday, in such good company.”

“All right,” said Lord Steepleton, rising, “I must be off now to Peterhof.  It is an organised movement on Mr. Ghyrkins this evening, then.  Is it understood?” He took his bearskin from the table, and prepared to go, pulling his straps and belts into place, and dusting a particle of ash from his sleeve.

“Perfectly,” I answered.  “We will drag him forth into the arena before three days are past.”  We shook hands, and he went out.

I was glad he had come, though I had been waked from a pleasant nap to reeeive him.  He was so perfectly gay, and natural, and healthy, that one could not help liking him.  You felt at once that he was honest and would do the right thing in spite of any one, according to his light; that he would stand by a friend in danger, and face any odds in fight, with as much honest determination to play fair and win, as he would bring to a cricket match or a steeple-chase.  His Irish blood gave him a somewhat less formal manner than belongs to the Englishman; more enthusiasm and less regard for “form,” while his good heart and natural courtesy would lead him right in the long-run.  He seemed all sunshine, with his bright blue eyes and great fair moustache and brown face; the closely fitting uniform showed off his erect figure and; elastic gait, and the whole impression was fresh and exhilarating in the extreme.  I was sorry he had gone.  I would have liked to talk with him about boating and fishing and shooting; about athletics and horses and tandem-driving, and many things I used, to like years ago at college, before I began my wandering life; I watched him as he swung himself:  into the military saddle, and he threw up his hand in a parting salute as he rode away.  Poor fellow! was he, too, going to be food for powder and Afghan knives in the avenging army on its way to Kabul?  I went back to my books and remained reading until the afternoon sun slanted in through the open door, and falling across my book warned me it was time to keep my appointment with Isaacs.

As we passed the church the people were coming out from the evening service, and I saw Kildare, once more in the garb of a civilian, standing near the door, apparently watching for some one to appear.  I knew that, with his strict observance of Catholic rules—­often depending more on pride of family than on religious conviction, in the house of Kildare—­he would not have entered the English Church at such a time, and I was sure he was lying in wait for Miss Westonhaugh, probably intending to surprise her and join her on her homeward ride.  The road winds down below the Church, so that for some minutes after passing the building you may get