oor, when it was open.

The late Sir Jeremy, I believe, had been very fond of the place. Being
of a somewhat morose and taciturn disposition, he liked the seclusion of
this lonely corner of the park. He had a chair or two put into the
pavilion and 'twas said that he indulged there in the smoking of that
fragrant weed which of late had been more generously imported into this
country.

After Sir Jeremy's death, the pavilion fell into disuse. Sir Marmaduke
openly expressed his dislike of the forlorn hole, as he was wont to call
it. He caused the door to be locked, and since then no one had entered
the little building. The key, it was presumed, had been lost; the lock
certainly looked rusty. The roof, too, soon fell into disrepair, and no
doubt within, the place soon became the prey of damp and mildew, the
nest of homing birds, or the lair of timid beasts. Very soon the proud
copy of an archaic temple took on that miserable and forlorn look
peculiar to uninhabited spots.

From an air of abandonment to that of eeriness was but a step, and now
the building towered in splendid isolation, in this remote corner of the
park, at the confines of the wood, with a reputation for being the abode
of ghosts, of bats and witches, and other evil things.

When Master Busy sought for tracks of imaginary criminals bent on
abducting the heiress he naturally drifted to this lonely spot; when
Master Courage was bent on whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the
other man's betrothed, he enticed her to that corner of the park where
he was least like to meet the heavy-booted saint.

Thus it was that these three met on the one spot where as a rule at a
late hour of the evening Prince Amede d'Orleans was wont to commence his
wanderings, sure of being undisturbed, and with the final disappearance
of Master Busy and Mistress Charity the place was once more deserted.

The bats once more found delight in this loneliness and from all around
came that subdued murmur, that creaking of twigs, that silence so full
of subtle sounds, which betrays the presence of animal life on the
prowl.

Anon there came the harsh noise of a key grating in a rusty lock. The
door of the pavilion was cautiously opened from within and the
mysterious French prince, bewigged, booted and hatted, emerged into the
open. The night had drawn a singularly dark mantle over the woods. Banks
of cloud obscured the sky; the tall elm trees with their ivy-covered
branches, and thei