f the son. It stood
remote from town or village. It was neither a palace nor a glorified
villa, but just a substantial house, with an unprepossessing exterior,
and all the marvels of modern luxury within. The short private railway
by which it was approaching ran through an ugly tract of country
terminating beneath a high belt of trees that shut off the western sun
and were flanked by granite walls.

On the platform of the minute station two porters in private uniform
received them.

"I generally walk up if I'm not in a hurry," said Peter Masters
abruptly.

He had not spoken since they left Birmingham, where a packet of
letters had been brought him, to which he gave his undivided
attention. With a curt nod to the men, with whom he exchanged no word
at all, he led the way from the siding across a black, gritty road
and unlocking a door in the wall ushered Christopher into Stormly
Park.

The belt of trees was planted on a ridge of ground that sloped towards
the road and formed a second barrier between the world without and the
world within. When they had crossed the ridge and looked down on the
Park itself Christopher gave a gasp of astonishment. It stretched out
before him in the sunset light a wide expanse of green land, with
stately clumps of trees and long vistas of avenues that led nowhere.
It was like some jewel in the wide circling belt of trees. It was so
strange a contrast to the sordid country without, that the effect was
amazing. Christopher looked round involuntarily to see by what passage
he had passed from that unpleasing world to this sunkissed land of
beauty.

Peter Masters saw the effect produced and his lips twitched with a
little smile of pleasure.

"My grandfather planted the place," he said. "He understood those
things. I don't. But it's pretty. My mother, Evelyn Aston, you know,
used to always travel by night if she could, she disliked the country
round so much."

"It is rather a striking contrast," Christopher agreed.

They passed through a clump of chestnuts just breaking into leaf.

"There is coal here," said Peter. "It will all have to go some day. I
make no additions now."

They came suddenly on the house, which was built of grey pointed
stone, its low-angle slate roof hidden behind a high balustrading. The
centre part was evidently the original house and long curved wings had
been extended on either side. There was no sign of life about the
place, nor did it carry the placid sense