Phil
said.

"Thank you, I should. I travelled from Scotland last night, and had very
little sleep."

"In that case you will be glad to go to bed at once. I will show you to
your room," said the young man, rising from the table.

"Please do not bother," replied Colwyn, noting the worn air and white
face of the other. "You look done up yourself."

"Miss Heredith was anxious that you should retire as soon as you could,
sir, so as to get as much rest as possible after your journey," put in
the butler, with the officious solicitude of an old servant.

"Then I shall leave you in Tufnell's care," said Phil, holding out his
hand as he said good night.

He went out of the room, and Colwyn was left with the old butler.

"Is it your wish to retire now?" the latter inquired.

"I shall be glad to do so, if you will show me to my bedroom."

The butler bowed gravely, and escorted Colwyn upstairs to his bedroom.

"This is your room, sir. I hope you will be comfortable."

"I feel sure that I shall," replied Colwyn, with a glance round the
large handsome apartment.

"Your dressing-room opens off it, sir."

"Thank you. Good night."

"Good night, sir." The butler turned hesitatingly towards the door, as
though he wished for some excuse to linger, but could think of nothing
to justify such a course. He walked out of the room into the passage,
and then turned suddenly, the light through the open doorway falling on
his sharpened old features and watchful eyes.

"What is it? Do you wish to speak to me?" said Colwyn, with his pleasant
smile.

A look of perplexity and doubt passed over the butler's face as he
paused irresolutely in the doorway.

"I merely wished to ask, sir, if there is anything else I can get for
you before I go."

His face had resumed its wonted impassivity, and the words came
promptly, but Colwyn knew it was not the answer he had intended to make.

"I want nothing further," he said.

The butler bowed, and hurried away. Colwyn stood for a few moments
pondering over the incident. Then he went to bed and slept soundly.

He was awakened in the morning by the twittering of birds in the ivy
outside his window. The mist from the moat crept up the glasslike steam,
but through it he caught glimpses of a dappled autumn sky, and in the
distance a bright green hill, with a trail of white clouds floating over
the feathery trees on the summit. As he watched the rapid play of light
and shade on the hill, he wonde