ence, to "dodge" the gentleman
who was looking out for him, for they did not meet.

On the Sunday it happened that neither of the brothers went to church.
Lord Hartledon, on awaking in the morning, found he had a sore throat,
and would not get up. Val did not dare show himself out of doors. Not
from fear of arrest that day, but lest any officious meddler should point
him out as the real Simon Pure, Percival Elster. But for these
circumstances, the man with the writ could hardly have remained
under the delusion, as he appeared at church himself.

"Which is Lord Hartledon?" he whispered to his neighbour on the free
benches, when the party from the great house had entered, and settled
themselves in their pews.

"I don't see him. He has not come to-day."

"Which is Mr. Elster?"

"He has not come, either." So for that day recognition was escaped.

It was not to be so on the next. The rain, as I have said, came down,
putting off the boat-race, and keeping Hartledon's guests indoors all the
morning; but late in the afternoon some unlucky star put it into Lord
Hartledon's head to go down to the Rectory. His throat was better--almost
well again; and he was not a man to coddle himself unnecessarily.

He paid his visit, stayed talking a considerable time with Mrs. Ashton,
whose company he liked, and took his departure about six o'clock. "You
and Anne might almost walk up with me," he remarked to the doctor as he
shook hands; for the Rector and Miss Ashton were to dine at Hartledon
that day. It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race--the
race which now had not taken place.

Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no occasion to
open his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry bright rays in the
west seemed to give hope that the morrow would be fair; and, rejoicing in
this cheering prospect, he crossed the broad Rectory lawn. As he went
through the gate some one laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe?"

Lord Hartledon looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long coat and
red whiskers, who held out something to him.

"Who are you?" he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp movement.

"I'm sorry to do it, sir; but you know we are only the agent of others in
these affairs. You are my prisoner, sir."

"Indeed!" said Lord Hartledon, taking the matter coolly. "You have got
hold of the wrong man for once. I am not Mr. Percival Elster."

The capture