of the top o' my blottin'-pad. It's pinned
there." He turned to Lyveden. "When you was 'ere last time, sir, you
dropped your ticket. I kept it by, in case you come in again, thinkin'
you might be glad of it. It ain't six months yet, sir, since you was
'ere, so it's still good."

A moment later Lyveden was looking fixedly at the return half of a
third-class ticket which had been issued at Chipping Norton.

"Thanks," he said slowly, slipping it into his pocket. "I'm much
obliged."

He paid for the goods and waited whilst a taxi was fetched.

Then he followed the mattocks into the cab, and told the surly driver
to go to Paddington....

Five hours later he staggered, rather than walked, along the wasted
track and up to the cottage door.

There had been no man to meet him, and the mattocks had made their
weight felt after the first two miles. He laid them down thankfully.

For a moment he looked about him.

Behind him--over towards Girdle--the sun had just gone down. And
Gramarye ... Gramarye had never looked one half so beautiful.... All
her hard lines were gone. Every sacred twig of her had put on a
wedding garment. The wild mystery of the place had been exquisitely
veiled. The majesty of desolation was in full dress. Far as the eye
could reach, the toss of the glorious woods had become unspeakably
enriched... maddening....

His eyes glittering, Lyveden hugged himself in a paroxysm of glee. The
man was just gloating....

Then he strode to the wood-shed.

"Well, Patch," he said cheerily. "Has Patch been a good little----"

The sentence snapped off short.

For a moment Anthony stared at the empty staple.

Then he turned on his heel.

"Patch!" he cried sharply. "Patch!"

After listening intently for a moment, he stepped hastily on to the
wasted track and began to whistle....

Presently, trembling with anxiety, he started to stumble along the
trail, whistling frantically....

* * * * *

Seated in the hall at Bell Hammer, Valerie looked at the clock. As she
did so, the faint crunch of wheels upon gravel told that the car was
leaving to meet the down train. An instant later the clock struck
nine. Miss French threaded her needle thoughtfully....

Curled by her side upon the sofa, a little white dog with a black patch
breathed stertorously.

A door opened, and a servant appeared with a letter. This had been
expressed. Valerie laid down her work, and, afte