uriosity that
Robert McIntyre looked down at the great house, and marked the smoking
chimneys, the curtained windows, and the other signs which showed that
its tenant had arrived. A vast area of greenhouses gleamed like a lake
on the further side, and beyond were the long lines of stables and
outhouses. Fifty horses had passed through Tamfield the week before, so
that, large as were the preparations, they were not more than would
be needed. Who and what could this man be who spent his money with
so lavish a hand? His name was unknown. Birmingham was as ignorant as
Tamfield as to his origin or the sources of his wealth. Robert McIntyre
brooded languidly over the problem as he leaned against the gate,
puffing his blue clouds of bird's-eye into the crisp, still air.

Suddenly his eye caught a dark figure emerging from the Avenue gates and
striding up the winding road. A few minutes brought him near enough to
show a familiar face looking over the stiff collar and from under the
soft black hat of an English clergyman.

"Good-morning, Mr. Spurling."

"Ah, good-morning, Robert. How are you? Are you coming my way? How
slippery the roads are!"

His round, kindly face was beaming with good nature, and he took little
jumps as he walked, like a man who can hardly contain himself for
pleasure.

"Have you heard from Hector?"

"Oh, yes. He went off all right last Wednesday from Spithead, and he
will write from Madeira. But you generally have later news at Elmdene
than I have."

"I don't know whether Laura has heard. Have you been up to see the new
comer?"

"Yes; I have just left him."

"Is he a married man--this Mr. Raffles Haw?"

"No, he is a bachelor. He does not seem to have any relations either, as
far as I could learn. He lives alone, amid his huge staff of servants.
It is a most remarkable establishment. It made me think of the Arabian
Nights."

"And the man? What is he like?"

"He is an angel--a positive angel. I never heard or read of such
kindness in my life. He has made me a happy man."

The clergyman's eyes sparkled with emotion, and he blew his nose loudly
in his big red handkerchief.

Robert McIntyre looked at him in surprise.

"I am delighted to hear it," he said. "May I ask what he has done?"

"I went up to him by appointment this morning. I had written asking him
if I might call. I spoke to him of the parish and its needs, of my long
struggle to restore the south side of the church, and of our eff