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but a swoon or two, and a dose of sal volatile for the ladies."

"Ladies," echoed Yerington, with a frown.

"A mere nothing, my lord. Only a flutter that a man's shoulder could cure. I' faith he was in desperate need."

Yerington gave an exclamation of impatience. The introduction had not pleased him. The man hastened on. ""Twas a question in which we risked our skins. Our pistols were not loaded. The gentleman so stipulated, and let them bear witness."

Captain Elliot examined the weapons.

"No charge nor recent powder marks," he said briefly.

Lord Yerington's eyes were beginning to dance.

"I scent a pretty story here, Hugh," he said. "And what more?"

"But the veriest bit of gallantry," answered Tom. "At best-a lady's heart; at worst-its palpitation."

"Phrases," sneered Captain Elliot impatiently.

"The lady, it would seem, had not yet reached the yielding point," the fellow continued. "The impatient gentleman would hasten matters. In brief, for the nonce, we were highwaymen; this stretch of woods our lurking place, you'll admit it was admirably adapted for the purpose-our pistols were two great boasts to which we could not live up, as your lordship knows. The coachman and postilions already had known the colour of the gentleman's gold; and the ladies! One had a tongue to make you quail! Faith, we had a lashing. As for the younger one I scarce caught sight of her. We rushed forth flourishing our weapons. The postilions affected panic. Up dashed the young gallant to the rescue. Our part then was over. He had routed us fairly, at so much a head. So there you have it—a play;

a romance; a farce. Who knows? Think you, my lord, this merits jail?"

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"Gad," gasped Yerington, over his knees which he had taken into his embrace; heard you ever a better jest, Hugh? A farce, a roaring farce."

"Damned poor sport," commented Captain Elliot drily.

"Prithee, did she faint?" queried Yerington with sudden interest.

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"Not she, my lord. She was a plucky one." "No shoulder then," said Yerington. He lost on that throw." A sudden light danced across his face. "I'll swear 'twas Mansur," he said.

He looked at the fellow sharply, whose face betrayed nothing. He was true to his pay. In the background the great booby hastened to perjure himself.

"It was Mr. Mansur," he whimpered, "and do you but let us off, we'll have no dealings with him again."

Bethinking himself of his rôle of magistrate, Lord Yerington ordered them away with an air of some dignity and a wink to Captain Elliot.

"But mind, no more such tricks," he ended, "or it will go ill with you."

The great shambling giant, a comical enough bogie to throw at a frightened woman, slid off among the trees and was lost to view.

Tom, however, could not forbear a sweeping bow and Lord Yerington caught his shoulder in his strong fingers.

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'How goes it with the mother and the sister? he

said.

A fleeting expression of better feeling appeared in the man's face.

"Very ill, I fear, my lord," he answered with something like shame.

"Are they honest?" asked Yerington, watching him. Tom's eyes met his fairly.

"A fit question of such a son," he answered. "They are honest as the day,-God pity them both."

"And the name?"

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Lascelles," said the fellow with a faint trace of pride.
A good name," said Yerington.

It takes but a few generations of such men as I to bring good names to the dust. The best man of our family, as I've told you, my lord, was hanged."

His manner was bitter with regret and a seeming helplessness to right the wrong.

"How may I find your mother?" asked Yerington. A few words informed him and he entered the address in his note-book.

"My steward will find work for them," he said.

The man straightened himself, a strange light in his eyes. He seemed unable to grasp the purport of Yerington's words. As conviction seized him he was overcome by sudden, weak laughter.

Pardon, my lord," he gasped, "I have not broke fast. From my heart I thank you."

He left them abruptly. At intervals as they stood listening, the laughter that was near to tears came to them; and it sat upon their spirits with a sense of tragedy.

CHAPTER XI

CAPTAIN ELLIOT REQUIRES REINFORCEMENTS

When an engineer finds his guns have not the desired effect, he changes his batteries.

-THE TATLER.

THE chimneys of Oxholme Castle were smoking for the first time in many months.

Within its great hall, Lord Yerington and Captain Elliot, still in their travelling dress, were regaling themselves over a bowl of steaming punch.

"A penny for your thoughts," said Captain Elliot.

"I'd be overpaid," drawled Yerington. ""Tis of the way back to London. I see a procession of damp beds, of half-cooked fowls, of bridling landladies and damned insistent guide-posts telling me how far I am from town. And, what of your thoughts?"

The Captain was frowning at him, through the blue. smoke arising from his churchwarden.

"I'm thinking of the ride I intend to take to-morrow," he said. "And here are you yawning out your life in the finest country God ever made, because you can't be in a dirty coffee-house, with a score of bloods as emptyheaded as yourself, or dangling about the ladies' boudoirs while they put on their red, and pick the lock of a reputation. There are times, Harry, when I weary of thee." Yerington covered a yawn with his hand.

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I've been counting," he said; "you spoke a hundred words!"

Despite himself, Elliot laughed.

"Are you never serious?" he asked.

"Never at Oxholme," answered Yerington;

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what chance would I have against this awful array of my ancestors?"

He waved his arm to indicate the portrait-panelled walls of the hall.

"A race to be proud of!" exclaimed Elliot.

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Gad, that's what's the matter. I've heard that since I was in my cradle. I hadn't the choosing of fate that made me the last of my line."

He rose up and wandered about the room.

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"This is Sir Reginald Gower," he said, pausing before the portrait of an eagle-faced man in armour. fought under William the Norman and laid the first stone of Oxholme. Is that a face, I ask you, to add savour to existence? See that beak."

"The nose of a warrior," said Elliot.

"That square chin."

"The corner-stone of character."

"Character!" exclaimed Yerington. "Do you suppose he ever thought save in Roman capitals? Or swore an oath of less than twenty letters?"

He turned toward the table with a shrug.

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It gives a man the vapours to think how many of them went into the mixing of him. Oxholme plus portraits, plus their eyes. Damme! I don't like it."

As he resumed his place opposite the Captain, that young soldier leaned forward and placed a hand for an instant upon his arm before he withdrew it with some embarrassment.

"There's a sparkle in that reckless soul of yours that's like a tonic to my sobered blood, Harry," he said. "But I'm concerned about you."

"One thing I promise you," laughed Yerington, “if 'twill give you comfort, Hugh, and that is that I shall not be sepulchred with my feet upon a dice-box and a folly in my hand."

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