of his own, stored by Lord Levellier on the alder island of the pond near his workshops, a quarter of a mile below the house.  They refused, whatever their object, to let a pound of it be moved, at a time when at last the Government had undertaken to submit it to experiments.  And there they stood on ground too strong for ‘the Captain,’ as they called him, to force, because of the quantity stored at Lekkatts being largely beyond the amount under cover of Lord Levellier’s licence.  The old lord was very ill, and he declined to see a doctor, but obstinately kept from dying.  His nephew had to guard him and at the same time support an enemy having just cause of complaint.  This, however, his narrow means would not much longer permit him to do.  The alternative was then offered him of either siding arbitrarily against the men and his conscience or of taking a course ‘imprudent on the part of a presumptive heir,’ Mr. Wythan said hurriedly at the little inn’s doorsteps.

‘You make one of his lordship’s guard?’ said Fleetwood.

‘The countess, her brother, and I, yes’

‘Danger at all?’

‘Not so much to fear while the countess is with us.’

‘Fear is not a word for Carinthia.’

Her name on the earl’s lips drew a keen shot of the eye from Mr. Wythan, and he read the signification of the spoken name.  ’You know what every Cambrian living thinks of her, my lord.’

‘She shall not have one friend the less for me.’

Fleetwood’s hand was out for a good-bye, and the hand was grasped by one who looked happy in doing it.  He understood and trusted the man after that, warmed in thinking how politic his impulses could be.

His intention of riding up to Croridge at noon to request his interview with Mr. Kirby-Levellier was then stated.

‘The key of the position, as you said,’ Mr. Wythan remarked, not proffering an opinion of it more than was expressed by a hearty, rosy countenance, that had to win its way with the earl before excuse was found for the venturesome repetition of his phrase.

Cantering back to that home of the loves of Gower Woodseer and Madge Winch, the thought of his first act of penance done, without his feeling the poorer for it, reconciled Fleetwood to the aspect of the hollow place.

He could not stay beneath the roof.  His task of breakfasting done, he was off before the morning’s delivery of letters, riding round the country under Croridge, soon up there again.  And Henrietta might be at home, he was reminded by hearing band-music as he followed the directions to the house named Stoneridge.  The band consisted of eight wind instruments; they played astonishingly well for itinerant musicians.  By curious chance, they were playing a selection from the Pirata; presently he heard the notes to ‘il mio tradito amor.’  They had hit upon Henrietta’s favourite piece!