e jug of buttermilk. In a few
minutes he rose from the table and took his seat on a bench near the
fire, where the light from a lamp, which hung on the wall, fell on
him. He drew a notebook from his pocket, and proceeded to write in it,
referring from time to time to scraps of paper, of which he seemed to
have a large number. He was a man of middle height, of a spare frame,
which showed no sign of great personal strength, but was well knit, and
might easily have been capable of great endurance. His face was thin
and narrow. He had very dark hair, and dark, gentle eyes. There was a
suggestion about the mouth of the kind of strength which often goes with
gentleness.

To Neal the appearance of the man was not very interesting. He watched
him in mere idleness while waiting for the girl to bring the supper
Donald had ordered. If there had been anyone else in the room Neal would
not have wasted a second glance on the unobtrusive stranger. Yet, as
he watched the man he became aware of something about him which was
attractive. There was a dignity in his movements quite different from
Donald Ward's habitual self-assertion, different, too, from the stately
confidence of Lord Dunseveric. There was a quiet seriousness in the
way he set to work at his writing, and a methodical carefulness in his
sorting of the scraps of paper which he drew one by one from his pocket.
The maid entered with the wine and food which Donald had ordered.

"You'll be for beds, the night," she said.

"Ay," said Donald, "and do you see that the feathers are well shaken
and the beds soft. If you'd ridden all the miles I've ridden to-day,
my girl, after not being on the back of a horse for three months, you'd
want a soft bed to lie on."

The stranger looked up from his notebook. There was laughter in his
dark eyes, but it went no further than his eyes. His lips showed no
inclination to smile.

Another man entered the room--a burly, strong man. He wore top boots,
as if he had been riding. He looked like a well-to-do farmer. He gave no
order to the girl, but walked straight to where the dark-eyed stranger
sat. Greetings passed between them, and then talk in a low voice. Both
of them looked at Donald and Neal. Then, beckoning to the girl, the
stranger asked if he could be accommodated with a private room. The girl
nodded, and went to prepare one. Donald Ward finished his supper, rose,
stretched himself, yawned, and then drawing a stool near the fire, sat
do