s hands behind him, and the
attitude seemed to her to have some significance. But on Lord
Blandamer's part it was a mark of consideration. There had been no
shaking of hands up to the present; he was anxious not to force Westray
to take his hand by offering it before his wife and the servants.

Lady Blandamer felt that there was something going on which she did not
understand, but she took leave of Westray with special kindness. She
did not directly mention the picture, but said how much they were
obliged to him, and glanced for confirmation at Lord Blandamer. He
looked at Westray, and said with deliberation:

"I trust Mr Westray knows how fully I appreciate his generosity and
courtesy."

There was a moment's pause, and then Westray offered his hand. Lord
Blandamer shook it cordially, and their eyes met for the last time.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

On the afternoon of the same day Lord Blandamer was himself in Cullerne.
He went to the office of Mr Martelet, solicitor by prescriptive right
to the family at Fording, and spent an hour closeted with the principal.

The house which the solicitor used for offices, was a derelict residence
at the bottom of the town. It still had in front of it an extinguisher
for links, and a lamp-bracket over the door of wasted iron scroll-work.
It was a dingy place, but Mr Martelet had a famous county connection,
and rumour said that more important family business was done here even
than in Carisbury itself. Lord Blandamer sat behind the dusty windows.

"I think I quite understand the nature of the codicil," the solicitor
said. "I will have a draft forwarded to your lordship to-morrow."

"No, no; it is short enough. Let us finish with it now," said his
client. "There is no time like the present. It can be witnessed here.
Your head clerk is discreet, is he not?"

"Mr Simpkin has been with me thirty years," the solicitor said
deprecatingly, "and I have had no reason to doubt his discretion
hitherto."

The sun was low when Lord Blandamer left Mr Martelet's office. He
walked down the winding street that led to the market-place, with his
long shadow going before him on the pavement. Above the houses in the
near distance stood up the great tower of Saint Sepulchre's, pink-red in
the sunset rays. What a dying place was Cullerne! How empty were the
streets! The streets were certainly strangely empty. He had never seen
them so deserted. There was a silence of the grave o