king his morning pipe.

'You are out early this morning,' said Hammond, by way of civility.

'I am always pretty early, sir. I like a mouthful of morning air.'

'So do I. By-the-bye, can you tell me anything about a queer-looking old
man I passed just now a little higher up the Fell? Such an old, old man,
with long white hair.'

'Yes, sir. I believe I know him.'

'Who is he? Does he live in Grasmere?'

Steadman looked puzzled.

'Well, you see, sir, your description might apply to a good many; but if
it's the man I think you mean he lives in one of the cottages behind the
church. Old Barlow, they call him.'

'There can't be two such men--he must be at least a century old. If any
one told me he were a hundred and twenty I shouldn't be inclined to
doubt the fact. I never saw such a shrivelled, wrinkled visage,
bloodless, too, as if the poor old wretch never felt your fresh mountain
air upon his hollow cheeks. A dreadful face. It will haunt me for a
month.'

'It must be old Barlow,' replied Steadman. 'Good day, sir.'

He walked on with his swinging step, and at such a pace that he was up
the side of the Fell and close upon old Barlow's heels when Hammond
turned to look after him five minutes later.

'There's a man who shows few traces of age, at any rate,' thought
Hammond. 'Yet her ladyship told me that he is over seventy.'

CHAPTER XIX.

THE OLD MAN ON THE FELL.

Having made up his mind to stay at Fellside until after Easter,
Maulevrier settled down very quietly--for him. He rode a good deal,
fished a little, looked after his dogs, played billiards, made a devout
appearance in the big square pew at St. Oswald's on Sunday mornings, and
behaved altogether as a reformed character. Even his grandmother was
fain to admit that Maulevrier was improved, and that Mr. Hammond's
influence upon him must be exercised for good and not for evil.

'I plunged awfully last year, and the year before that,' said
Maulevrier, sitting at tea in her ladyship's morning room one afternoon
about a week after his return, when she had expressed her gracious
desire that the two young men should take tea with her.

Mary was in charge of the tea-pot and brass kettle, and looked as
radiant and as fresh as a summer morning. A regular Gainsborough girl,
Hammond called her, when he praised her to her brother; a true English
beauty, unsophisticated, a little rustic, but full of youthful
sweetness.

'You see, I didn't know what a