he road of all save a slight coating of mud, a wind
fresh from the forest, so fresh and strong that he walked with his cap
in his hand and his head thrown back, glad to breathe it in his lungs
and feel the sting of it on his cheeks. It seemed to him that he had
been away for months, as he climbed the long hill towards the village.
The fields now were brown instead of green, a pungent smell of freshly
turned earth and burning wood was in his nostrils. The hedges and trees
were bare; he caught a glimpse of the great house itself from an
unexpected point. Everywhere he was receiving familiar impressions. He
came to the avenue up which he had passed on his first visit to the
house, continually he met carts bearing her name, and villagers, most of
whom he noticed with some surprise, looked at him doubtfully. Presently
he arrived at the village itself, and stopped before the long, low,
white house where Stephen Hurd lived. He paused for a moment,
hesitating whether to fulfil this part of his mission now, or to wait
until later in the day. Eventually, with the idea of getting the thing
over, he opened the gate and rang the front-door bell.

He was shown into the study, and in a few minutes Stephen Hurd came in,
smoking a pipe, his hands in his pockets. When he saw who his visitor
was he stopped short. He did not offer his hand or ask Macheson to sit
down. He looked at him with a heavy frown upon his face.

"You wished to see me?" he said.

"I did," Macheson answered. "Perhaps my call is inopportune. I have come
from London practically for no other reason than to ask you a single
question."

Hurd laughed shortly.

"You had better ask it then," he said. "I thought that you might have
other business in the neighbourhood. Preaching off, eh?"

"My question is simply this," Macheson said calmly. "Have you, or had
you, ever a sister?"

A dull red flush streamed into the young man's face. He removed his pipe
from his mouth and stared at Macheson. His silence for several moments
seemed to arise from the fact that surprise had robbed him of the powers
of speech.

"Who put you up to asking that?" he demanded sharply.

Macheson raised his eyebrows slightly.

"My question is a simple one," he said. "If you do not choose to answer
it, it is easy for me to procure the information from elsewhere. The
first villager I met would tell me. I preferred to come to you."

"I have no sister," Hurd said slowly. "I never had. Now you must