Spectre of the Might Have Been,--you were entirely in the right. At that
time I knew no more the meaning of the--er--the word, John--"

"Meaning the word--Love, Master George!"

"Precisely; I knew no more about it than--that table. But during these
latter days, I have begun to understand, and--er--the fact of the matter
is--I'm--I'm fairly--up against it, John!"

Here, Baxter, who had been watching him with his quick, sharp eyes
nodded his head solemnly:

"Master George," said he, "speaking as your father's old servant, and
your boyhood's friend,--I'm afraid you are."

Bellew took a turn up and down the room, and then pausing in front of
Baxter, (who had risen also, as a matter of course), he suddenly laid
his two hands upon his valet's shoulders.

"Baxter," said he, "you'll remember that after my mother died, my father
was always too busy piling up his millions to give much time or thought
to me, and I should have been a very lonely small boy if it hadn't been
for you, John Baxter. I was often 'up against it,' in those days, John,
and you were always ready to help, and advise me;--but now,--well, from
the look of things, I'm rather afraid that I must stay 'up against
it'--that the game is lost already, John. But which ever way Fate
decides--win, or lose,--I'm glad--yes, very glad to have learned the
true meaning of--the word, John."

"Master George, sir,--there was a poet once--Tennyson, I think, who
said,--'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at
all,' and I know--that he was--right. Many years ago,--before you were
born, Master George, I loved--and lost, and that is how I know. But I
hope that Fortune will be kinder to you, indeed I do."

"Thank you, John,--though I don't see why she should be." And Bellew
stood staring down at the rug again, till aroused by Baxter's cough:

"Pray sir, what are your orders, the car is waiting downstairs?"

"Orders?--why--er--pack your grip, Baxter, I shall take you with me,
this time, into Arcadia, Baxter."

"For how long, sir?"

"Probably a week."

"Very good, sir."

"It is now half-past three, I must be back in Dapplemere at eight. Take
your time--I'll go down to look at the machine. Just lock the place up,
and--er--don't forget the black bag."

Some ten minutes later the great racing car set out on its journey, with
Bellew at the wheel, and Baxter beside him with the black bag held
firmly upon his knee.

Their process was, necessarily, sl