Captain Elliot shook his head gravely.

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"I prithee, good grandam, don't," protested Yerington. Turn to this philosopher, Sir Punch, and be merry. There's no such shield and buckler 'gainst the onslaughts of a damned meddling conscience as a laugh." For some moments Elliot regarded him with his shrewd Scotch eyes. Then he lifted up his glass of the commended punch and drained it.

"He is going straight to the devil," he was thinking, "and the right woman, mayhap, might save him. I cannot."

The punch, as he drank it, was flavourless.

CHAPTER XII

THE LORD OF THE MANOR

Five geese, a landscape damp and wild

Such things, to say the least, require
A Muse of more than average fire.

-AUSTIN DOBSON.

THE next morning Lord Yerington arose with a sense of pleasurable anticipation.

Captain Elliot departed early on an extended ride, and this left his host to his own devices. At ten in the morning he swung off across the meadows towards Oxholme village at a brisk pace.

As he came in sight of it his face brightened. It was the field of many a boyish exploit, and it had been years since he had caught more than a casual glimpse of it. At one end of it arose the market-cross and facing it was the well-remembered gable front of the Royal Arms, his secret goal ever since he had left London.

One of the first objects that arrested his attention was a man seated before an easel, painting. It was an unusual sight and Lord Yerington drew near and glanced over his shoulder.

The artist turned and looked at him. He revealed, as he did so, a pale face with delicate features, luminous brown eyes and a sensitive, beautiful mouth.

"Ah!" exclaimed Yerington, "I'll be bound 'tis Michael Culpepper."

The young man did not rise with ready village deference. Instead he returned to his canvas, giving it an indifferent stroke here and there.

"Your lordship's memory flatters me," he answered.

"Michael Culpepper, indeed, born to the Royal Arms, but not to the purple. 'Tis long since Oxholme village has had the pleasure of welcoming you. Doubtless, your lordship has passed the time pleasantly. The steward has well represented you here."

"Put that as you will," responded Lord Yerington lightly, though he caught the grate of irony in the tone. Prithee, how is your good mother?"

Well, your lordship," answered Michael without turning his head.

And your pretty cousin? I trust that she suffered no ill results from her adventure?"

The brush twisted nervously in Michael's grasp and fell to the ground. He stooped to pick it up, and when he raised his face again it was slightly flushed. He began gathering his apparatus hastily together.

"No, I thank your lordship," he said. "Is your lordship bent upon visiting the inn?"

"I just thought I'd drop in and make my compliments and inquiries," said Yerington.

It was with something nearer astonishment than surprise that he perceived that Michael had taken easel, paint-box and canvas under his arm and was hurrying off towards the inn without further ceremony.

He opened his lips to call after him, closed them again, and shrugged his shoulders.

Burn me," he muttered to himself,

judge these poor devils, for there's a fine distinction betwixt genius and madness, and from what I saw upon his canvas, methinks this man is cursed with somewhat of the former."

He soon reached the inn, a dignified stone structure with many gabled and mullioned windows, and across the front of which ran a shallow garden, guarded by a stone wall.

Lord Yerington passed under the lintel and into the hall. The rooms to right and left were empty.

He heard the sound of men's voices. He passed to the foot of the stairs and, glancing down the narrow passage, he caught a glimpse of the tap-room. It swam in a haze of smoke and he heard an interrupted come and go of the broad Worcestershire drawl. A horse-fair in the village had gathered the tenants from the neighbouring farms and the room was full.

Lord Yerington felt an inclination to pass a few words with these seldom-visited people of his-a kindly impulse rooted in an old affection. He went down the hall, past the kitchen and stood in the doorway. The men appeared dimly through the clouds of tobacco smoke rising from their pipes. They were all smoking, save the poorer ones, to whom tobacco was an unpurchasable luxury, and exchanging their short country confidences. The principal topic of interest that day was the return of the lord of the manor.

They do say," said one man as he kicked a log into place with his heavy boot, "as he takes milk baths to keep his skin so white and fine."

The village cobbler, a small man with bowed shoulders, laughed, revealing his toothless gums.

"My daughter is housemaid at the castle. She saw his dressing-room, and she says it was that full of pastes, and patches, and smelling-bottles;-'Ods bodikins! a Court lady could scarce have used half."

A contemptuous chorus arose.

A hulking youth, with gorilla-like length of arm, and knees set far back, double-jointed and swinging forward toward the feet, which always tell of strength, if ugliness, leaned back and gave vent to a great laugh.

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'Ecod!" he said. "I'd like to have it out with him,

bare fists on the village green. He'd see how much he'd squeeze out of us bad harvest years after that."

A smooth voice interrupted him. They turned to see Lord Yerington standing in their midst, smiling, scented, immaculate.

"My good fellow," he said, addressing the man who had last spoken, "I've a damned bad memory for faces, for which I beg your pardon. May I so far impose upon your good-nature as to inquire your name?"

Every man had risen and was shuffling upon his feet, dabbing at his forelock shamefacedly, exchanging between while dismayed glances with his neighbour. The young man whom Lord Yerington addressed began to sweat with terror.

"My name, your lordship," stammered the young bully as if it were his life which had been demanded so carelessly, "my name, please your lordship, is JonahJonah Easton."

"Ah!" returned Yerington, "I recall you now, Jonah. From the Hill Farm, I think."

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"The same, your lordship," replied Jonah, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. We've been tenants of your lordship's family for nigh three hundred years."

The lord of the manor approached and felt his biceps with experienced fingers.

"And judging from your muscles," he said, "the Hill Farm has nourished you well, Jonah."

A slow grin was beginning to steal from lip to lip of the ruddy-faced farmers in the tap-room. Lord Yerington embraced them all in a genial smile.

"It would seem from what I heard upon my entrance," he said, "that my good Jonah here would like to try a turn with me upon the green. I am altogether at his service. Whatever hour falls most conveniently with