as belonging to the Honourable Hilary Vane. For
some reason, as he read, the sensations of the Honourable Adam were
disquieting; the contents of the letter, to say the least, were
peculiar. "To-morrow, at noon precisely, I shall be driving along the
Broad Brook road by the abandoned mill--three miles towards Edmundton
from Hull. I hope you will find it convenient to be there."

These were the strange words the Honourable Hilary had written, and the
Honourable Adam knew that it was an order. At that very instant Mr. Hunt
had been reading in the Guardian the account of an overflow meeting
in Newcastle, by his opponent, in which Mr. Crewe had made some
particularly choice remarks about him; and had been cheered to the echo.
The Honourable Adam put the paper down, and walked up the street to
talk to Mr. Burrows, the postmaster whom, with the aid of Congressman
Fairplay, he had had appointed at Edmundton. The two racked their brains
for three hours; and Postmaster Burrows, who was the fortunate possessor
of a pass, offered to go down to Ripton in the interest of his liege
lord and see what was up. The Honourable Adam, however, decided that he
could wait for twenty-four hours.

The morning of the sixteenth dawned clear, as beautiful a summer's day
for a drive as any man could wish. But the spirit of the Honourable Adam
did not respond to the weather, and he had certain vague forebodings
as his horse jogged toward Hull, although these did not take such a
definite shape as to make him feel a premonitory pull of his coat-tails.
The ruined mill beside the rushing stream was a picturesque spot, and
the figure of the Honourable Hilary Vane, seated on the old millstone,
in the green and gold shadows of a beech, gave an interesting touch of
life to the landscape. The Honourable Adam drew up and eyed his friend
and associate of many years before addressing him.

"How are you, Hilary?"

"Hitch your horse," said Mr. Vane.

The Honourable Adam was some time in picking out a convenient tree. Then
he lighted a cigar, and approached Mr. Vane, and at length let himself
down, cautiously, on the millstone. Sitting on his porch had not
improved Mr. Hunt's figure.

"This is kind of mysterious, ain't it, Hilary?" he remarked, with a tug
at his goatee.

"I don't know but what it is," admitted Mr. Vane, who did not look as
though the coming episode were to give him unqualified joy.

"Fine weather," remarked the Honourable Adam, with a brav