had escaped the ordeal with some feigned excuse, and the unfortunate Mr. Thompson, deeply grieving, had been summoned by telegram from cricket to law. The lady had chattered all the way up the winding moorland road, crying out banalities about the pretty landscape, or questioning her very ignorant companions about the dwellers in Etterick. She was full of praises for the house when it came in view; it was 'quaint,' it was 'charming,' it was everything inappropriate. But the amiable woman's prattle deserted her when she found herself in the cold stone hall with the great portraits and the lack of all modern frippery. It was so plainly a man's house, so clearly a place of tradition, that her pert modern speech seemed for one moment a fatuity.
It was an off-day for the shooters, and so for a miracle there were men in the drawing-room at tea-time. The hostess for the time was an aunt of Lewis's, a certain Mrs. Alderson, whose husband (the famous big-game hunter) had but recently returned from the jaws of a Zambesi lion.
George's sister, Lady Clanroyden, a tall, handsome girl in a white frock, was arranging flowers in a bowl, and on the sill of the open window two men were basking in the sun. From the inner drawing-room there came an echo of voices and laughter. The whole scene was sunny and cheerful, youth and age, gay frocks and pleasant faces amid the old tapestry and mahogany of a moorland house.
Mr. Andrews sat down solemnly to talk of the weather with the two men, who found him a little dismal. One-he of the Zambesi lion episode-was grizzled, phlegmatic, and patient, and in no way critical of his company. So soon he was embarked on extracts from his own experience to which Mr. Andrews, who had shares in some company in the neighbourhood, listened with flattering attention. Mrs. Alderson set herself to entertain Mr. Wishart, and being a kindly, simple person, found the task easy. They were soon engaged in an earnest discussion of unsectarian charities.
Lady Clanroyden, with an unwilling sense of duty, devoted herself to Mrs. Andrews. That simpering matron fell into a vein of confidences and in five brief minutes had laid bare her heart. Then came the narrative of her recent visit to the Marshams, and the inevitable mention of the Hestons.
'Oh, you know the Hestons?' said Lady Clanroyden, brightening.
'Very well indeed.' The lady smiled, looking round to make sure that Lewis was not in the room.
'Julia is here, you know. Julia, come and speak to your friends.'
A dark girl in mourning came forward to meet the expansive smile of Mrs.
Andrews. Earnestly the lady hoped that she remembered the single brief meeting on which she had built a fictitious acquaintance, and was reassured when the newcomer shook hands with her pleasantly. Truth to tell, Lady Julia had no remembrance of her face, but was too good-natured to be honest.
'And how is your dear mother? I was so sorry to hear from a mutual friend that she had been unwell.' How thankful she was that she read each week various papers which reported people's doings!
A sense of bewilderment lurked in her heart. Who was this Lewis Haystoun who owned such a house and such a kindred? The hypothesis of money made in coal seemed insufficient, and with much curiosity she set herself to solve the problem.
'Is Mr. Haystoun coming back to tea?' she asked by way of a preface.
'No, he has had to go to Gledsmuir. We are all idle this afternoon, but he has a landowner's responsibilities.'
'Have his family been here long? I seem never to have heard the name.'
Lady Clanroyden looked a little surprised. 'Yes, they have been rather a while. I forget how many centuries, but a good many. It was about this place, you know, that the old ballad of 'The Riding of Etterick' was made, and a Haystoun was the hero.'
Mrs. Andrews knew nothing about old ballads, but she feigned a happy reminiscence.
'It is so sad his being beaten by Mr. Stocks,' she declared. 'Of course an old county family should provide the members for a district.
They have the hearts of the people with them.'
'Then the hearts of the people have a funny way of revealing themselves,' Lady Clanroyden laughed. 'I'm not at all sorry that Lewie was beaten. He is the best man in the world, but one wants to shake him up. His motto is 'Thole,' and he gets too few opportunities of
'tholing.''
'You all call him 'Lewie,'' commented the lady. 'How popular he must be!'
Mabel Clanroyden laughed. 'I have known him ever since I was a small girl in a short frock and straight- brushed hair. He was never anything else than Lewie to his friends. Oh, here is my wandering brother and my only son returned,' and she rose to catch up a small, self-possessed boy of some six years, who led the flushed and reluctant George in tow.
The small boy was very dirty, ruddy and cheerful. He had torn his blouse, and scratched his brow, and the crown of his straw hat had parted company with the brim.
'George,' said his sister severely, 'have you been corrupting the manners of my son? Where have you been?'
The boy-he rejoiced in the sounding name of Archibald-slapped a small leg with a miniature whip, and counterfeited with great skill the pose of the stable-yard. He slowly unclenched a smutty fist and revealed three separate shillings.
'I won um myself,' he explained.
'Is it highway robbery?' asked his mother with horrified eyes.
'Archibald, have you stopped a coach, or held up a bus or anything of the kind?'
The child unclenched his hand again, beamed on his prize, smiled knowingly at the world, and shut it.
'What has the dreadful boy been after? Oh, tell me, George, please. I will try to bear it.'
'We fell in with a Sunday-school picnic along in the glen, and Archie made me take him there. And he had tea-I hope the little chap won't be ill, by the by. And he made a speech or a recitation or something of the sort. Nobody understood it, but it went down like anything.'
'And do you mean to say that the people gave him money, and you allowed him to take it?' asked an outraged mother.
'He won it,' said George. 'Won it in fair fight. He was second in the race under twelve, and first in the race under ten. They gave him a decent handicap, and he simply romped home. That chap can run, Mabel.
He tried the sack race, too, but the first time he slipped altogether inside the thing and had to be taken out, yelling. But he stuck to it like a Trojan, and at the second shot he got started all right, and would have won it if he hadn't lost his head and rolled down a bank. He isn't scratched much, considering he fell among whins. That also explains the state of his hat.'
'George, you shall never, never, as long as I live, take my son out with you again. It is a wonder the poor child escaped with his life. You have not a scrap of feeling. I must take the boy away or he will shame me before everybody. Come and talk to Mrs. Andrews, George. May I introduce my brother, Mr. Winterham?'
George, who wanted to smoke, sat down unwillingly in the chair which his sister had left. The lady, whose airs and graces were all for men, put on her most bewitching manner.
'Your sister and I have just been talking about this exquisite place, Mr. Winterham. It must be delightful to live in such a centre of old romance. That lovely 'Riding of Etterick' has been running in my head all the way up.'
George privately wondered at the confession. The peculiarly tragic and ghastly fragments which made up 'The Riding of Etterick,' seemed scarcely suited to haunt a lady's memory.
'Had you a long drive?' he asked in despair for a topic.
'Only from Glenavelin.'
He awoke to interest. 'Are you staying at Glenavelin just now? The Wisharts are in it, are they not? We were a great deal about the place when the Manorwaters were there.'
'Oh yes. I have heard about Lady Manorwater from Alice Wishart. She must be a charming woman; Alice cannot speak enough about her.'
George's face brightened. 'Miss Wishart is a great friend of mine, and a most awfully good sort.'
'And as you are a great friend of hers I think I may tell you a great secret,' and the lady patted him playfully. 'Our pretty Alice is going to be married.'
George was thoroughly roused to attention. 'Who is the man?' he asked sharply.
'I think I may tell you,' said Mrs. Andrews, enjoying her sense of importance. 'It is Mr. Stocks, the new
