ed with?" demanded Pike.

"I'd emptied it out again in the store-room," returned the boy. "I told
master there were a loose skiff out there, and he come out and secured
it. Them harvesters come up next and got him out of the water."

"Yes, you could see fast enough what you were looking for! Well, young
Rip," continued Mr. Pike, consolingly, "you stand about as rich a chance
of being hanged as ever you'll stand in all your born days. If you'd
jumped through that wire you'd have saved my lord, and he'd have made it
right for you with old Floyd. I'd advise you to keep a silent tongue in
your head, if you want to save your neck."

"I was keeping it, till you come and made me tell with that there
pistol," howled the boy. "You won't go and split on me?" he asked, with
trembling lips.

"I won't split on you about the grain," graciously promised Pike. "It's
no business of mine. As to the other matter--well, I'll not say anything
about that; at any rate, yet awhile. You keep it a secret; so will I."

Without another word, Pike extended his hand as a signal that the culprit
was at liberty to depart; and he did so as fast as his legs would carry
him. Pike then returned the pistol to his pocket and took his way back to
Calne in a thoughtful and particularly ungenial mood. There was a doubt
within him whether the boy had disclosed the truth, even to him.

Perhaps on no one--with the exception of Percival--did the death of Lord
Hartledon leave its effects as it did on Lady Kirton and her daughter
Maude. To the one it brought embarrassment; to the other, what seemed
very like a broken heart. The countess-dowager's tactics must change as
by magic. She had to transfer the affection and consideration evinced for
Edward Lord Hartledon to his brother; and to do it easily and naturally.
She had to obliterate from the mind of the latter her overbearing dislike
to him, cause her insults to be remembered no more. A difficult task,
even for her, wily woman as she was.

How was it to be done? For three long hours the night after Lord
Hartledon's death, she lay awake, thinking out her plans; perhaps for the
first time in her life, for obtuse natures do not lie awake. The death
had affected her only as regarded her own interests; she could feel for
none and regret none in her utter selfishness. One was fallen, but
another had risen up. "Le roi est mort: vive le roi!"

On the day following the death she had sought an interview with Percival