in his hand.

Impetuously he went to him, stooped above him. "What on earth has
happened, sir? You haven't been thrown?" he queried anxiously.

"Thrown! I!" Sir Beverley's voice cracked derisively. "No! I got off--to
have a look at the place,--and the brute jibbed--and gave me the slip."

The words came with difficult jerks, his breathing was short and
laboured. Piers, bending over him, saw a spasm of pain contract the grey
face that nevertheless looked so indomitably into his.

"He'll go back to stables," growled Sir Beverley. "It's a way colts
have--when they've had their fling. What have you come back for, eh?
Thought I couldn't do without you?"

There was a stony glint in his eyes as he asked the question. His thin
lips curved sardonically.

Piers, still with anxiety lying cold at his heart, had no place left for
resentment. He made swift and winning answer. "I've been a brute, sir.
I've come back to ask your forgiveness."

The sardonic lips parted. "Instead of--a hiding--eh?" gasped Sir
Beverley.

Piers drew back momentarily; but the grey, drawn face compelled his
pity. He stifled his wrath unborn. "I'll take that first, sir," he
said steadily.

Sir Beverley's frown deepened, but his breathing was growing less
oppressed. He suddenly collected his energies and spoke with his usual
irascibility.

"Oh, don't try any of your damned heroics on me, sir! Apologize like a
gentleman--if you can! If not--if not--" He broke off panting, his lips
still forming words that he lacked the strength to utter.

Piers sat down beside him on the crazy bench. "I will do anything you
wish, sir," he said. "I'm horribly sorry for the way I've treated you.
I'm ready to make any amends in my power."

"Oh, get away!" growled out Sir Beverley. But with the words his hand
came gropingly forth and fastened in a hard grip on Piers' arm. "You
talk like a Sunday-school book," he said. "What the devil did you do
it for, eh?"

It was roughly spoken, but Piers was quick to recognize the spirit behind
the words. He clapped his own hand upon his grandfather's, and was
shocked afresh at its icy coldness.

"I say, do let's go" he said. "We can't talk here. It's downright madness
to sit in this draughty hole. Come along, sir!" He thrust a vigorous arm
about the old man and hoisted him to his feet.

"Oh, you're mighty strong!" gasped Sir Beverley. "Strong enough--to kick
over--the traces, eh?"

"Never again, sir," said Piers with decis