t neither now nor in the future shall any shadow fall between these
two to cancel by one solitary item Christopher's obligation to his
adopted father. Perhaps I am selfish over it, but anyway, Aymer is my
son, and I understand how it is with him."

There was a silence in the room. Peter puffed vehemently and the
clouds of blue-grey smoke circling round him obscured the heavy
features from his cousin when his eyes left the picture to look at
him.

"Yes, yes, I see. Quite so," said a voice from the smoke at last, and
slowly the strong, bland expressionless face emerged clearly from the
halo, "but I am no further on my way towards my son. And who's to have
the money if I don't find him? Will you?"

"Heaven forbid!--and Nature! Peter, I'm sixty and you are
fifty-four."

"Will Nevil's boy?"

"We have enough. We should count it a misfortune. Leave it in
charities."

"And suppose he discovers some day who he is, and wanted it?"

"Hardly likely after so long."

"Quite likely. Shall I leave it to Christopher?"

It was the last thrust, and it told. There was quite a long silence.
Charles longed passionately to refuse, but even he dared not. The
issue was too great. "I cannot dictate to you in the matter," he said
at length, "but I do not think Christopher would appreciate it."

"Then I must hope to find a Christopher of my own," returned Peter,
rising; "let us meanwhile find Nevil."

The duel was over and apparently the result was as undetermined as
ever. The only satisfaction poor Charles Aston derived was from the
fact that Peter was unusually gentle and tactful to Aymer that
afternoon. He seemed in no hurry to go, urged as excuse he wanted to
consult Christopher about a motor, but when they sent to find that
young gentleman, they discovered he and Patricia and the motor were
missing.

CHAPTER XIX

It seemed to Christopher as he overhauled his long-suffering motor
preparatory to the new run, that a great gap of innumerable grey days
stretched between him and the moment he brought the car to a
standstill before the doors of the house, that had appeared to him to
be a Temple of Promise. It was in fact barely an hour and a half and
the greater part of that time had been occupied with lunch and a hasty
interview with Aymer. That shorter interlude in the orchard just over,
had already blotted out a golden landscape with a driving mist that
obscured all true proportion of time or space. He longed greatly, wi