called the steward's room, where Roy waited. This Roy, a
hard-looking man with a face very much seamed with the smallpox, was
working bailiff to Mr. Verner. Until within a few years he had been but
a labourer on the estate. He was not liked among the poor tenants, and
was generally honoured with the appellation "Old Grips," or "Grip Roy."

"Roy," said Frederick Massingbird, "Mr. Verner says it is to be left
until to-morrow morning. Mr. Lionel will see about it then. He is out at
present."

"And let the mob have it all their own way for to-night?" returned Roy
angrily. "They be in a state of mutiny, they be; a-saying everything as
they can lay their tongues to."

"Let them say it," responded Frederick Massingbird. "Leave them alone,
and they'll disperse quietly enough. I shall not go in to Mr. Verner
again, Roy. I caught it now for disturbing him. You must let it rest
until you can see Mr. Lionel."

The bailiff went off, growling. He would have liked to receive
carte-blanche for dealing with the mob--as he was pleased to term
them--between whom and himself there was no love lost. As he was
crossing a paved yard at the back of the house, some one came hastily
out of the laundry in the detached premises to the side, and crossed his
path.

A very beautiful girl. Her features were delicate, her complexion was
fair as alabaster, and a bright colour mantled in her cheeks. But for
the modest cap upon her head, a stranger might have been puzzled to
guess at her condition in life. She looked gentle and refined as any
lady, and her manners and speech would not have destroyed the illusion.
She may be called a protegee of the house, as will be explained
presently; but she acted as maid to Mrs. Verner. The bright colour
deepened to a glowing one when she saw the bailiff.

He put out his hand and stopped her. "Well, Rachel, how are you?"

"Quite well, thank you," she answered, endeavouring to pass on. But he
would not suffer it.

"I say, I want to come to the bottom of this business between you and
Luke," he said, lowering his voice. "What's the rights of it?"

"Between me and Luke?" she repeated, turning upon the bailiff an eye
that had some scorn in it, and stopping now of her own accord. "There is
no business whatever between me and Luke. There never has been. What do
you mean?"

"Chut!" cried the bailiff. "Don't I know that he has followed your steps
everywhere like a shadder; that he has been ready to kiss the very
g