The upper terrace was the one part of the old Elizabethan garden left entirely unaltered.  On either side rose up a giant wall of yew, shaped like a castle bastion, at least ten feet thick; and between the two ran a broad gravel path up to the sun-dial, bordered on either side by huge herbaceous beds, blazing with the color of late summer.  In two or three places grass paths crossed these, leading by a few yards of turf to windows cut in the hedge to give a view of the long, dazzling lake below, and there was one gravel path, parallel to these, that led to the little yew-framed square built out on the slope of the hill.

Two very silent persons now came out from the house by the garden door on the south side, turned along the path, went up a dozen broad steps, passed up the yew walk and finally turned again down the short gravel way and stood abashed.

His lordship was indeed here!

A long wicker chair was set in one angle, facing them, in such a position that the movement of the sun would not affect the delightful shade in which the chair stood.  A small table stood beside it, with the Times newspaper tumbled on to it, a box of cigars, a spirit-bottle of iridescent glass, a syphon, and a tall tumbler in which a little ice lay crumbled at the bottom.  And in the wicker chair, with his mouth wide open, slept Lord Talgarth.

“Good gracious!” whispered Jenny.

There was a silence, and then like far-off thunder a slow meditative snore.  It was not an object of beauty or dignity that they looked upon.

“In one second I shall laugh,” asserted Jenny, still in a cautious whisper.

“I think we’d better—­” began Jack; and stopped petrified, to see one vindictive-looking eye opened and regarding him, it seemed, with an expression of extraordinary malignity.  Then the other eye opened, the mouth abruptly closed and Lord Talgarth sat up.

“God bless my soul!”

He rolled his eyes about a moment while intelligence came back.

“You needn’t be ashamed of it,” said Jenny.  “Mr. Jack Kirkby caught me at it, too, half an hour ago.”

His lordship’s senses had not even now quite returned.  He still stared at them innocently like a child, cleared his throat once or twice, and finally stood up.

“Jack Kirkby, so it is!  How do, Jack?  And Jenny?

“That’s who we are,” said Jenny.  “Are you sure you’re quite recovered?”

“Recovered!  Eh—!” (He emitted a short laugh.) “Sit down.  There’s chairs somewhere.”

Jack hooked out a couple that were leaning folded against the low wall of yew beneath the window and set them down.

“Have a cigar, Jack?”

“No, thanks.”

They were on good terms—­these two.  Jack shot really well, and was smart and deferential.  Lord Talgarth asked no more than this from a young man.

“Well—­what’s the matter?”

Jack left it thoughtfully for Jenny to open the campaign.  She did so very adroitly.