stander having no part in the rebirth of
humanity.

II

Someone was approaching along the path consecrated by a million weary
feet and still known as the Pilgrim's Way, someone who wore the ugly
uniform of a Guards officer (which is a sort of du Maurier survival
demanding Dundreary whiskers). He seemed to hesitate ere he turned
aside, opened the gate and began to mount those hundred and twenty mossy
steps which led up to the terrace.

The newcomer, whose tunic had seen much service, was a man perhaps two
or three years Paul Mario's senior, and already the bleaching hand of
Time had brushed his temples with furtive fingers. He was dark but of
sanguine colouring, now overlaid with a deep tan, wore a short military
moustache and possessed those humorous grey eyes which seem to detect in
all creation hues roseate and pleasing; eyes made for laughter and which
no man other than a good fellow ever owned.

Gaining the terrace and raising his hand to his cap in salute, the
officer smiled, and his smile fulfilled all the promise of the grey eyes
and would have brought a ray of sunshine into the deepest and darkest
cell of the Bastille itself.

"I believe I am trespassing," he began--then, as Paul Mario rose: "By
all that's gracious and wonderful, it's Paul!"

"Don!" exclaimed the other, and sprang forward in his own impetuous
fashion, grasping the newcomer by both shoulders and staring eagerly
into the suntanned face. "Dear old Don! A thousand welcomes, boy!" And
releasing his grip on the shoulders, he seized both hands and shook them
with a vigour that was not assumed but was merely an outlet for his
brimming emotions.

"Some kindly coy dryad of the woods has guided my footsteps to this
blessed spot," declared Don. "The last inn which I passed--observe my
selection of the word, passed--known, I believe, as the 'Pig and
Something-or-other,' is fully three sunny miles behind me. From the arid
and dusty path below I observed the siphon on your table----"

"And you determined to become a trespasser?" cried Paul Mario joyously,
pushing his friend into the cane rest-chair and preparing a drink for
him. "I will build an altar to your dryad, Don; for there is certainly
something miraculous in your appearance at Hatton Towers."

"When I have suitably reduced my temperature I will explain. But I have
yet to learn what _you_ are doing here. I had always understood that
Hatton Towers----"

"My dear fellow, it's mine!" cried