y turned in a lock and the gate swung open.

"Good evening, Dennis," said the caller. The faint gleam of the candle
revealed the drowsy and unmistakably Celtic face of him he addressed, a
man past middle age, who regarded the new-comer with a look of
recognition. "I'm afraid I've interrupted your slumbers. This is rather
a late hour at which to arrive."

"No matter, sir. Sure and I sat up expecting you, Mr. Steele, until
after midnight, and had only just turned in when--"

"What--?" The new-comer, now fairly within the garden, could not
suppress a start of surprise, which however the other, engaged in
relocking the gate, did not appear to notice. "Expecting--?"

"Although I'd given up thinking you'd be here to-night," the latter went
on. "But won't you be stepping in, sir?"

The other silently followed, walking in the manner of one tired and
worn; he did not, however, at that moment seem concerned with fatigue or
physical discomfort; the uncertain light of the candle before him showed
his brows drawn, his eyes questioning, as if something had happened to
cause him to think deeply, doubtfully. At the door the servant stood
aside to allow him to enter; then ushered him into a fairly commodious
and comfortable sitting-room.

"My master did not come back with you, sir, from Strathorn House?"

"No; Captain Forsythe's gone on to Germany."

"To attend some court, I suppose. Sure, 'tis a dale he has done of that,
Mr. Steele, after the both of us were wounded by those black devils in
India and retired from active service." The servant's voice had an
inquiring accent; his glance rested now in some surprise on the
new-comer's garments,--a gamekeeper's well-worn coat and cap,--and on
the dusty, almost shabby-looking shoes.

"A wager," said John Steele, noting the old orderly's expression. "From
Strathorn House to London by foot, within a given time, don't you know;
fell in with some rough customers last night who thought my coat and hat
better than these."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but--" The man's apprehensive look fastened
itself on a dark stain on the coat, near the shoulder.

"Just winged me--a scratch," replied John Steele with an indifferent
shrug, sinking into a chair near the fire which burned low.

"It's lucky you came off no worse, sir, and you'll be finding a change
of garments up-stairs; I put them out for you myself--"

"I'm afraid, Dennis, I'm rather large for your master's clothes," was
the visitor's r