valued quite as much.

That worthy Nimrod, once an acquaintance and neighbour of the Garden
Vale family in the days of their prosperity, was never known to miss a
winter's hunting in his own county if he could possibly help it, and
during the present season had actually come all the way from Malta,
where his regiment was stationed, on short leave, for the sake of two or
three days of his favourite sport in the old country.

Such enthusiasm was worthy of a happier fate than that which befell him.
For on his first ride out his horse came to grief, as we have said,
over a hedge, and left the gallant major somewhat knocked about himself,
with nothing to do for half a day but to saunter disconsolately up and
down the country lanes and pay afternoon calls on some of his old
comrades.

Among others, he knocked at the door of an elderly dowager named Osborn,
who was very sympathetic with him in his misfortunes, and did her best
to comfort him with afternoon tea and gossip.

The latter lasted a good deal longer than the former. One after another
the major's old friends were mentioned and discussed and talked about as
only folk can be talked about over afternoon tea.

"By the way," said the caller, "I hear poor Cruden didn't leave much
behind him after all. Is Mrs Cruden still at Garden Vale?"

"No, indeed," said the lady; "it's a sad story altogether. Mr Cruden
left nothing behind him, and Garden Vale had to be sold, and the family
went to London, so I was told, in very poor circumstances."

"Bless me!" said the honest major, "haven't you looked them up? Cruden
was a good sort of a fellow, you know."

"Well, I've always intended to try and find out where they are living,
but really, major, you have no idea how one's time gets filled up."

"I've a very good idea," said the major with a groan. "I have to sail
in a week, and there's not much spare time between now and then, I can
tell you. Still, I'd like to call and pay my respects to Mrs Cruden if
I knew where she lived."

"I daresay you could find out. But I was going to say that only
yesterday I saw something in the paper which will hardly make Mrs
Cruden anxious to see any of her old friends at present. The eldest
son, I fear, has turned out badly."

"Who? young--what was his name?--Reginald? Can't believe it. He always
seemed one of the right sort. A bit of a prig perhaps, but straight
enough. What has he been up to?"

"You'd better see for yourself,