that had presented itself to his mind, was his speech.
He spent several half hours conversing with himself in broadest
Devonshire, but finally decided that, it being the speech of the natives,
he might sooner or later betray himself by some inadvertent lapse. Next
he attempted a Colonial accent. James Glieve, however, being consulted on
the subject, it was firmly negatived as likely to prove unpopular. In the
end he fell back on a strong Irish accent. It came to him readily enough,
the nurse of his childhood having hailed from the Emerald Isle. Possibly
his actual phraseology would not prove all it might be, but the Devonians
were not likely to be much the wiser. Anyhow Antony admired his own
prowess in the tongue quite immensely.

"Sure, 'tis the foine country ye have here," quoth he presently, as,
mounting a hill, they came out upon a road crossing an expanse of
moorland. Gorse bushes bloomed golden against a background of grey sky
and atmosphere, seen through a fine veil of rain.

"'Tis gued enuff," said the man laconically. And Antony perceived that the
beauties of nature held no particular interest for him.

He looked out at the wide expanses around him. Mist covered the farther
distances, but through it, afar off, he fancied he could descry the grey
line of the sea. To the right the moorland gave place to a distant stone
wall, beyond which was a wheat field; to the left it stretched away into
the mist, through which he saw the dim shapes of trees.

The man jerked his head to the left.

"'Tis over yonder is t'old Hall. Yue'm to be under-gardener there I heerd
t'Doctor say. What they'll want wi' keeping up t'gardens now I doant
knoaw, and t'old Squire gone. Carried off mighty suddint 'e was. Us said
as t'journey tue Lunnon ud be the death o' he. Never outside t'doors these
fifteen year and more, and then one fine day Doctor takes he oop to
Lunnon to see one o' they chaps un calls a speshulist. Why t'speshulist
didn't come to he us can't tell. Carried on a stretcher he was from
t'carriage to t'train, for all the world like a covered corpse. Next
thing Doctor coom home alone, and us hears as t'old Squire be dead. I
doant rightly knoaw as who 'twas was the first to tell we, for Doctor, 'e
doant like talking o' the business. But there 'tis, and t'Lord only knows
who'll have t'old place now, seeing as 'ow 'e never 'ad no wife to bear
un a son. Us _heerd_ as 'twould be a chap from foreign parts. 'Twas Jane
Ellen from