dropped it.

"You'll be wanting to buy a little present for your lady-love,
Stafford," he said. "I am placing a thousand pounds to your credit at
your bank, I don't know whether you'll think that is enough--"

"Quite enough," said Stafford, in a low voice. "Thank you! You are very
generous--"

Sir Stephen winced and held up his hand.

"What is mine is yours from this moment, my dear Stafford," he said.

Stafford went out by the door at the other end of the hall, and made
his way to the stables. Just as he was crossing the lawn the temptation
to ride over to Heron Hall and leave the note himself assailed him
strongly. He took the letter from his pocket and looked at it
wistfully. But he knew that he dared not ran the risk of meeting Ida,
and with a sigh he went on towards the stables, carrying the note in
his hand. And as he turned away Maude Falconer let fall the curtain
which she had raised at her window so that she might watch him.

She stood for a moment with her costly dressing-gown held together with
one white hand, her lids half closed.

"He has written to her," she said to herself. "Has he broken with her
for good, or will he try and keep her? I would give something to see
that letter, to know exactly how he stands. And how I stand! I wonder
how he will send it? He is taking it to the stables." She thought a
moment, then she smiled. "Pottinger!" she murmured.

Stafford found Pottinger giving the last loving touches with a silk
handkerchief to Adonis. His coat and waistcoat were off, his shirt open
at the neck and his sleeves turned up. He touched his forehead with a
respectful and welcoming greeting, and without any surprise; for
Stafford very often paid an early visit to the stable, and had more
than once lent a hand in grooming a favourite horse.

"Looks well, sir, don't he?" said Pottinger, passing a hand over the
glossy black and finishing up with a loving smack. "I'm rather late
this morning, sir." He smiled and looked a little sheepish. "We had a
little bit of jollification in the servants' hall, on our own account,
sir, and were enjoying ourselves like our betters."

"That's right," said Stafford. Something in his voice caused Pottinger
to glance at him with surprise and apprehension; but, of course, he
could not say anything, and he dropped his eyes respectfully after the
one glance at Stafford's haggard face.

"I want you take a letter for me this morning, Pottinger," said
Stafford. "You ca