--upon which the family kept a discreet
silence--that three male heirs in direct succession had never lived to
inherit the property. At the very time of which I am writing, Colonel
Ashol's only son was suffering from what doctors had pronounced to be
incipient spinal disease, which, should it develop, would render him a
helpless cripple for life--should life be granted to him.

I was rather more keen than usual about that particular visit, as I
expected to meet a young Catholic priest, who was to stay with the Ashols
for a day or two in company with his mother, an old friend of the
hostess. For that reason Val would have accompanied me that evening, in
spite of his aversion to such "inanities," as he chose to call dinner
parties, had he not been otherwise engaged. He had already made an
appointment to interview for the first time a girl who lived some
distance away and could not be easily postponed; moreover, the occasion
was important, being the commencement of a series of instructions
preparatory to her reception into the Church. For the lassie in
question--to use the terminology of Ardmuirland--"had gotten a Catholic
man"; in other words, was engaged to be married to a Catholic, who had
inspired her with the desire of sharing his faith as well as his worldly
goods.

It was early when I arrived. The Colonel and some of the men were still
out on the moors, but a few guests were sitting about in the big, cool
entrance hall, waiting for tea. Among them were Mrs. Vansome and her
son, to both of whom I was at once presented. They happened to be the
only Catholics of the house party. We chatted amicably for some time,
until the dressing-bell broke up the gathering for the nonce.

I happened to remain for a few minutes in the hall after the rest had
left; I wanted to look into a paper which was there, and I knew my room
from previous visits. The staircase ran along two sides of the hall and
led to a broad corridor, upon which the rooms opened. Another passage at
right angles joined this corridor, and to reach my room I had to pass by
the end of it.

It was just between daylight and dusk, on a September evening, and no
lamps were yet needed. As I passed the passage on my way I saw an
elderly lady coming toward the main corridor. I am no great observer of
feminine costume--perhaps because I am not much in ladies' company, or,
it may be, because I never had a sister to instruct me; I can only say of
this lady's