at the colourless moon, and, prompted by he knew not what, put on his hat
and emerged into the air. Here William Mills strolled on and on, till he
reached the top of Marlbury Downs, a spot he had not visited at this hour
of the night during the whole score-and-odd years.

He placed himself, as nearly as he could guess, on the spot where the
shepherd's hut had stood. No lambing was in progress there now, and the
old shepherd who had used him so roughly had ceased from his labours that
very day. But the trilithon stood up white as ever; and, crossing the
intervening sward, the steward fancifully placed his mouth against the
stone. Restless and self-reproachful as he was, he could not resist a
smile as he thought of the terrifying oath of compact, sealed by a kiss
upon the stones of a Pagan temple. But he had kept his word, rather as a
promise than as a formal vow, with much worldly advantage to himself,
though not much happiness; till increase of years had bred reactionary
feelings which led him to receive the news of to-night with emotions akin
to relief.

While leaning against the Devil's Door and thinking on these things, he
became conscious that he was not the only inhabitant of the down. A
figure in white was moving across his front with long, noiseless strides.
Mills stood motionless, and when the form drew quite near he perceived it
to be that of the Duke himself in his nightshirt--apparently walking in
his sleep. Not to alarm the old man, Mills clung close to the shadow of
the stone. The Duke went straight on into the hollow. There he knelt
down, and began scratching the earth with his hands like a badger. After
a few minutes he arose, sighed heavily, and retraced his steps as he had
come.

Fearing that he might harm himself, yet unwilling to arouse him, the
steward followed noiselessly. The Duke kept on his path unerringly,
entered the park, and made for the house, where he let himself in by a
window that stood open--the one probably by which he had come out. Mills
softly closed the window behind his patron, and then retired homeward to
await the revelations of the morning, deeming it unnecessary to alarm the
house.

However, he felt uneasy during the remainder of the night, no less on
account of the Duke's personal condition than because of that which was
imminent next day. Early in the morning he called at Shakeforest Towers.
The blinds were down, and there was something singular upon the porte