ords wing. "Not at
all," he said. "I think the general feeling was that Southwald was a
fool and deserved what he got. I know that was my own impression!"

"Jove!" cried the Duke, suddenly wroth, "I shall not suffer this,
Wargrove. You mean me!"

"That," said Wargrove, with a face like a statue hewn in granite, "is
precisely as your Highness pleases."

CHAPTER XIV

THE END OF AN OLD FEUD

Since the looting of his house by Laurence's dragoons, Adam Ferris had
lived mostly at Abbey Burnfoot, the property of his brother-in-law
Julian Wemyss. Julian was not there. He had gone to London upon unknown
business. At least if Adam Ferris knew of his kinsman's mission, he
would have been the very last man to speak of it.

Nor indeed, did any try to wind the secret out of him. Adam had always
been a silent man, distantly smiling and peaceable, but even then there
was something about the man which caused his neighbours to be careful
how they meddled with him.

But now he brooded darkly, wandering much on the moor and along the
shore. Only the old Earl dared to front him, and as there had been
enmity between the houses for four hundred years, the first meeting was
not without some piquancy.

It happened the first morning after Louis had taken Patsy to Castle
Raincy. The old gentleman stood upon the point of etiquette, and though
he was stiff with rheumatism, he drilled his shoulders and strode down
the glen, crossing by the stile from which he had so often cursed the
lands of Cairn Ferris and every soul who dwelt therein. But now that he
had called up his men and shut the gates of Castle Raincy upon the
heiress of his enemy's house, he passed into Ferris territory as if he
carried the white banner of envoy extraordinary.

There was something fresh and almost childish in the delight with which
he noted every twist and turn of the long Glen burn, the trouts whisking
in the brown pools or floating with their noses just showing under the
shade of rugged willow roots which wind and water had undercut. He had
observed these things all his life--from above, but his feet had never
been set upon Ferris ground. His eyes had never looked (as it were) upon
Zion, and now the goodly things were goodlier, the bunches of Eshcol
grapes heavier and more purple, the pine trees nobler and higher, the
peeps of corn-land more enthralling to the spirit, than ever they had
appeared seen from above as if marked on a chart.

Presently he