of repose that haunts old
houses. Stormly Park had an air of waiting; a certain grim expectation
lurked behind the over-mantled windows and closed doors. It was as if
it watched for the fate foreshadowed in its owner's words. Even the
glorious sunlight pouring over it failed to give it a sense of warm
living life.

It filled Christopher with curiosity and a desire to explore the grey
fastness and trim level lawns beyond. Some living eyes watched,
however, for the front door swung open as they approached and two
footmen came out. Christopher again noted Peter Masters did not speak
to them or appear to notice their presence. On the steps he paused,
and stood aside.

"Go in," he said when his visitor hesitated.

Christopher obeyed.

The interior was almost as great a contrast to the exterior as the
Park was to the surrounding country. It was rich with colour and
warmth and comfort.

They were met by a thin, straightened-looking individual, who murmured
a greeting to which Peter Masters paid no attention.

He turned to Christopher.

"This is Mr. Dreket, my secretary. Dreket, show Mr. ----" for an
imperceptible moment he paused--"Mr. Aston his room and explain the
ways of the place to him. I've some letters to see to."

He turned aside down a long corridor. Christopher and the secretary
looked at each other.

"I shan't be sorry for a wash and brush up," said Christopher,
smiling.

The other gave a little sigh, expressive more of relief than fatigue,
and led the way upstairs. As they went up the wide marble steps Mr.
Masters reappeared and stood for a moment in the shadow of an arch
watching the dark, erect young head till it was out of sight, then he
retraced his steps and disappeared in his own room.

Christopher did not see him again till dinner-time. The two dined
together at a small table that was an oasis in a desert of space. The
room was hung with modern pictures set in unpolished wood panelling.
Peter vaguely apologised for them to one accustomed to the company of
the masterpieces of the dead.

"I'm no judge. I should be taken in if I bought old ones," he said.
"So I buy new, provided they are by possible men. They may be worth
something, some day, eh?"

"They are very good to look at now," Christopher answered, a little
shyly, looking at a vast sea-scape which seemed to cool the room with
a fresh breeze.

"You Astons would have beaten me anyhow," pursued Peter. "I've got
nothing old: but the ne