idently disliked. He was even more
confirmed in this opinion a fortnight after the unhappy affair at the
Patrimondi works, when Christopher walked into his London office and
without any explanation announced himself ready to take his place as
Peter Masters' son. He was sufficiently wise to conceal his own
triumph and accepted the intimation without question. As they sat
there in the dull London office hour after hour, Mr. Saunderson
realised that the mantle of Peter Masters, millionaire, had fallen on
shoulders that would wear it maybe in a very different fashion, but
none the less royally.

"I am to understand then," said Christopher after long hours of
instruction, "I can go there when I like, see what I like, decide what
I like, at all events with regard to these mines and works which are
almost private property."

"You can go to-morrow if you like," answered his Mentor, rising. "I
advise you to let things run for some time as they are, till you know
the ropes."

He went to a safe and unlocking it produced a key.

"That is the key of your father's room at Princes Buildings," he said,
putting it on the table. "There are two locks. Clisson, the head
clerk, has the key of one and this is the other. You are free to walk
straight in when you like, but it would be best to send Clisson a wire
you are coming and he would bring you the day's business, your private
affairs that is, precisely as he used to bring it to your father."

This time, because he was looking intently at the young man, he saw
his mouth tighten at that term and felt a resigned wonder thereat.

Christopher took up the key and looked at it, thinking of all the
doors in the world it would unlock for him, thinking of the powers of
which it was a symbol, of how it fastened the door of his freedom and
opened for him the door of a great servitude of which he was already
proud.

Mr. Saunderson also was silent a moment listening to his own thoughts
and looking at Christopher with misgivings.

"Will you live at Stormly Park?" he asked airily.

"I expect so. It is not let, is it?"

Mr. Saunderson permitted himself a little smile of superiority as he
answered.

"Everything has been kept just ready for you these two years. But it
will hardly be to your taste. Perhaps you will like it done
up--altered?"

Christopher shook his head. "Not yet."

"You can afford it, you know."

At that the young man suddenly faced him, as if he meant to say
something o