n take Adonis; it will exercise him, as I shall not
ride him to-day. Here is the letter. Heron Hall lies on the other side
of the river. I want the letter taken there early this morning."

Pottinger touched his forehead. "I know the Hall, sir; I've ridden
over there with messages from the housekeeper and from Mr. Davis."

"There will be no answer," said Stafford. "Simply leave it."

"Yes, sir," said Pottinger. "Would you mind putting it in my
saddle-wallet, sir? I won't touch it till my hands are clean."

Stafford put the letter in the wallet, said a few words to Adonis and
some of the other horses, and then left the stable. He heard voices on
the terrace, and, to avoid meeting anyone until he was compelled, he
went down the slope of the lawn, and, seating himself on a bank, lit a
cigarette.

From her window, Maude Falconer, now attired in a simple but
exquisitely effective morning frock, could see him. After watching him
for a minute or two, she went to her writing-table and wrote two or
three notes quickly, and, with these in her pocket, went down-stairs
and through the hall to the stable court-yard. Pottinger was still
finishing off Adonis, and he drew himself up and saluted as she entered
the stables. As a rule her manner to the servants and her inferiors was
cold and haughty, but, as Stafford had discovered last night, she could
be soft and gentle when she chose, and she smiled now at Pottinger and
the horse in a fashion that almost dazzled that ingenuous youth. At the
same time her eye had noted Pottinger's coat and waistcoat which hung
on a hook at the stall-post with the saddle-wallet slung over them. The
coat was an old one with gaping pockets, and there was no sign of a
letter in them, or in the waistcoat. Instinctively, she knew that it
was in the wallet.

"What splendid condition that horse is in, Pottinger," she said. "His
coat is like satin. I suppose you were in the army?"

Of course Pottinger was flattered, and answered in the negative very
reluctantly.

"Not but what Mr. Stafford, miss, isn't as particular as any army gent
could be. I should be sorry to turn out a badly groomed 'oss for Mr.
Stafford's eyes to rest on, miss. He's as kind-hearted a master as a
man could desire to have, but that's about the one thing Mr. Stafford
wouldn't stand, miss."

"I suppose not," she said. "Are you going to ride into Bryndermere this
morning, Pottinger? If so, I should be glad if you would take these
note