ing against a tree-trunk, gazing down into the
road.

Winchester was flat upon his face, spread-eagled, scrabbling with his
nails upon the roadway and cursing horribly. He seemed to be
endeavouring to haul himself across. Had the road been a wall, you
would have said he was trying to scale it....

He had made no progress by the time the others arrived, and was easily
secured. Then ropes were sent for, and two of his magnificent sailors
lashed his arms to his sides.

* * * * *

The end of a conversation held this same evening in the hall of Bell
Hammer may be recorded.

"He's not himself, Aunt Harriet. There's something wrong. Nobody
could have been more gentle--or handsome. He was just wonderful. And
then..." Valerie broke off and shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
"His work and the place itself--Gramarye, he calls it--seem to have got
into his blood. You never saw such enthusiasm. It was unnatural."

"Anthony Lyveden," said Lady Touchstone, "is not the man to go mad."

"I know. But he ought to see somebody--a doctor. There was the
queerest light in his eyes.... And he spoke strangely, as if he heard
things. Who's the great man for--for brain trouble?"

"Sperm," said Lady Touchstone placidly. "But you're racking my brains
for nothing. Anthony Lyveden's not----"

"I know he isn't!" cried Valerie. "That's what makes me certain
there's something wrong. He's doing something, or taking something, or
being given something, that's affecting his mind. It's not internal;
it's some outside influence. If he didn't care, it'd be different.
But he does. He said so. But he didn't seem to have room for me and
the estate at the same time. It had to be one or the other. It was
like a bad dream--past dispute, but illogical."

"I should write to John Forest," said her aunt. "Ask him to come and
stay. He's a wise man. I don't feel equal to telling you what to do.
I don't know what to tell you. If you'd come back and said that he
wouldn't see you, I was going to Chorley Wood----"

"Chipping Norton," corrected Valerie.

"Well, Chipping Norton--myself. I was going to kneel down in the mud
and refuse to get up. I was going to wear that blue face-cloth that we
both hate. I'd got it all worked out. But, from what you tell me,
there's apparently nothing for me to kneel for."

"Nothing whatever," said her niece. "He's given me everything,
and--I've come empty away," she add