reby declare that he shall in no way participate in any division of my
other property or of my personal effects, conscientiously believing that
it is my duty so to do in the interests of my family and of the country,
and I make this declaration without anger."

For, all the anger that he was balked of feeling against his wife,
because he missed her so, was added to that already felt against his son.

By the last post came a letter from General Pendyce. He opened it with
fingers as shaky as his brother's writing.

"ARMY AND NAVY CLUB.
"DEAR HORACE,

"What the deuce and all made you send that telegram? It spoiled my
breakfast, and sent me off in a tearing hurry, to find Margery perfectly
well. If she'd been seedy or anything I should have been delighted, but
there she was, busy about her dresses and what not, and I dare say she
thought me a lunatic for coming at that time in the morning. You
shouldn't get into the habit of sending telegrams. A telegram is a thing
that means something--at least, I've always thought so. I met George
coming away from her in a deuce of a hurry. I can't write any more now.
I'm just going to have my lunch.

"Your affectionate brother,

"CHARLES PENDYCE."

She was well. She had been seeing George. With a hardened heart the
Squire went up to bed.

And Wednesday came to an end....

And so on the Thursday afternoon the brown blood mare carried Mr. Pendyce
along the lane, followed by the spaniel John. They passed the Firs,
where Bellew lived, and, bending sharply to the right, began to mount
towards the Common; and with them mounted the image of that fellow who
was at the bottom of it all--an image that ever haunted the Squire's mind
nowadays; a ghost, high-shouldered, with little burning eyes, clipped red
moustaches, thin bowed legs. A plague spot on that system which he
loved, a whipping-post to heredity, a scourge like Attila the Hun; a sort
of damnable caricature of all that a country gentleman should be--of his
love of sport and open air, of his "hardness" and his pluck; of his
powers of knowing his own mind, and taking his liquor like a man; of his
creed, now out of date, of gallantry. Yes--a kind of cursed bogey of a
man, a spectral follower of the hounds, a desperate character--a man that
in old days someone would have shot; a drinking, white-faced devil who
despised H