water, before the
Featherstones came."

"But did they bury him up there?"

"No, sir; they were all buried at night by the water of Langrigg, but
when they were carrying him home in the mist by the hill road the Scots
from the tower overtook them. The Count's men were wounded and their
horses foundered, but the Scots let them go when they found that he was
dead. About 1300, sir. Somebody put up the cross to commemorate it."

"They seem to have been a chivalrous lot," Foster remarked. "I wonder
if that kind of thing would happen nowadays!"

"I'm afraid one couldn't expect it, sir," the old fellow answered and
Foster smiled.

The cross faded into the hillside; it got dark and the valley narrowed.
Trees grew in sheltered spots; the faint, delicate tracery of birch
branches breaking the solid, black ranks of the firs. The road wound
along the river, which roared, half seen, in the gloom. Now and then
they ran through water, and presently the glare of the headlamps bored
through breast-high mist. There was a smell of wet soil and rotting
leaves. It was very different from the tangled pine bush of Ontario
and the stark bareness of the plains, but it was somehow familiar and
Foster felt that he was at home.

By and by the moon came out, and the mist got thinner as they ran into
an opening where the side of the glen fell back. Lights twinkled at
the foot of a hill, and as they sped on the irregular outline of a
house showed against a background of trees. It glimmered, long and
low, in the moonlight, and then Foster lost it as they ran through a
gate into the darkness of a belt of firs. A minute or two later, the
car slowed and stopped after passing round a bend.

A wide door stood hospitably open, and a figure upon the steps cut
against the light. There were two more figures inside the hall, and as
he got down Foster heard voices that sounded strangely pleasant and
refined. Then a man whom he could not see well shook hands with him
and took him in, and he stopped, half dazzled by the brightness.

The hall was large and a fire burned on a deep hearth. There were oil
lamps on tall pillars, and in the background a broad staircase ran up
to a gallery in the gloom. Foster, however, had not much time to look
about, for as soon as he had given up his hat and coat his host led him
towards the fire and two ladies came up. He knew one was his partner's
mother and the other his sister, but although they were like L