Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.The Tempter’s Call.Mark and Jane started apart, looking extremely guilty—of a loving kiss—but quite ready to make the best of things, the latter darting to the table to rearrange the position of a couple of forks, and Sir Hilton’s body-servant holding out a hand, palm upwards.“Do look sharp, Jane,” he said, “and hurry up that hot coffee and the kidneys. I knew Sir Hilton would be down directly.”“Mark!” said the baronet, sharply.“Yes, Sir Hilton.”“You know I don’t like humbug, eh?”“Yes, Sir Hilton?”“Jane, my girl, do you want to lose your place?”“No, Sir Hilton. I’m very sorry, Sir Hilton—I—”“Let him kiss you?”“Oh, Sir Hilton!”“Don’t deny it! Saw more. You gave him one. Now, look here, both of you. You, Jane, are a very nice, respectable girl, and I like you. Mark, here, is a very good fellow, and if some time you two think of getting married, I don’t say I will not give you both a hundred pounds to start life with—”“Oh, Sir Hilton!”“If I’ve got it. But no more of this. It looks bad, and is not respectful to your employers. You both know, I suppose, that if her ladyship saw half what I noted just now you would be dismissed, Jane, and I’m afraid, Mark, I should have to part with you.”“I beg—”“That will do—not another word. Breakfast, Jane—quick, please.”“Yes, Sir Hilton!” and Jane drew a breath full of relief, as she hurried through the door.“Heigh—ho—ha—hum!” yawned the baronet, placing his hands in his pockets and looking down in a dreamy way at the breakfast-table. Then he took out and opened his hunting watch, and closed it with a snap.“E-lev-en o’clock,” he said. “Her ladyship send for you, Mark?”“Yes, Sir Hilton. Brought round the pony-carriage.”“Oh! Gone out?”“Yes, Sir Hilton.”“What are you waiting for?”“Morning’s paper, Sir Hilton,” said the man, obsequiously, as he drew a sporting-print from his pocket and held it out meaningly turned down at a particular spot.“What’s that?” said the baronet, glancing at one line, and then, turning angrily, “Take it away!” he cried.“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Tilborough first Summer Meeting.”“Take it away!”“Yes, sir; but La Sylphide.”“Look here, Mark, my lad, no more of this. I know, of course, but take it away. Do you want to drive me mad?”“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Then you won’t drive over in the dogcart?”“What?”“Just to see her pull it off, Sir Hilton.”“Confound it, man! Hold your tongue! Be off!”At that moment there were steps on the gravel, and directly after a peal arose from the door-bell.“Go and see who that is, sir, and never mention anything connected with the Turf again. It’s dead to me, and I’m dead to it,” he muttered, as the man left the room, giving place to Jane, who hurried in with covered dishes upon a tray.“Did you see who that was, Jane?”“No, Sir Hilton. Some gentleman on horseback. His horse is hooked on one side of the gate.”“Who the deuce can it be?”“Dr Granton, sir,” said the groom, coming to the door.“Oh! Where is he?”“Study, sir.”“Bring him in here.”Sir Hilton looked quite transformed. There was a bright, alert look in his erstwhile dull eyes, and he seemed to pull himself together as he started actively from his chair, and made as if to hurry after his groom.But he was too late, for the door reopened, and Mark showed in a handsome, dark, military-looking man of about five-and-thirty, who marched in, hunting-crop in hand, spurs jingling faintly at his heels, and dressed in faultless taste as a horseman.“My dear old Jack!”“Hilt, old boy!”“This is a surprise. Here, Jane, another cover; the doctor will breakfast with me.”“My dear fellow, I breakfasted at eight.”“Never mind; have an eleven’s. Mouthful of corn then never hurt anyone. A chair here, Mark. That will do, my man.”Mark backed out, with the half-grin, which had sprung up on seeing his master’s animation, dying out, and shaking his head, while the visitor turned the chair placed for him back to the table and bestrode it as if it were a horse.“Whatever brings you down into this dismal region?”“Dismal, eh?” said the visitor, glancing round, and then out of the window. “Races.”“Humph!” ejaculated the baronet. “Yes; I heard they were to-day.”“You heard? Aren’t you coming?”“No, no. I’ve dropped all that sort of thing now.”“Oh, yes, I forgot; and my manners, too. How is her ladyship?”“Oh, well—very well, Jack,” said Sir Hilton, in a mournful way.“That’s right, old chap. Well, trot her out.”Sir Hilton frowned.“I beg your pardon, old man. Presuming on old brotherly acquaintance. I shall be glad to see her, though.”“Of course, my dear boy; but the fact is, she is out.”“She is? Hang it all, then, I’ve come at the right time. Have a day off with me at Tilborough, and we’ll dine afterwards at the hotel. We can get a snack of something.”“No, no; you misunderstand me. My wife is only having a morning drive in the pony chaise. A little business in the village.”“Oh, I see; Lady Bountiful—district visiting—buying curtsies of the old women, and that sort of thing.”“Yes—er—exactly.”“Ah! I’ve heard that Lady Lisle does a deal in that way. Takes the chair at charity meetings, eh? Primrose Dame, too?”“Who told you that?”“Told me? Let’s see. Oh, it was Lady Tilborough.”The conversation ceased for a minute or two while Jane entered with a tray, busied herself, and then departed, leaving the visitor quite ready to show that his eight o’clock breakfast was a thing of the past.“I say, though,” he exclaimed, with his mouth half full, “I didn’t mean this. I’ve left my horse hitched on to the gate.”Sir Hilton rose, stepped to the window, and returned.“Not there. Mark would see to it, of course, and give it a feed in the stables.”“That’s all right, then. Yes, Lady Tilborough was talking about you the other day.”“Was she? What did she say?”“Oh, not much. Only that it was a pity you had given up hunting and the Turf.”The baronet sighed—almost groaned. “Anything else?”“Well—er—no-o-o-o. Oh, yes; a little bit of badinage.”“Eh? What about? Nothing spiteful? No, she wouldn’t. She’s a dear good creature, bless her!”“Good boy! So she is—bless her!”“Ah! I once thought when the old man died, that—”“Oh, did you? Well, you didn’t, and you’ve married well enough to satisfy any man.”Sir Hilton sighed, and his visitor looked at him out of the corner of his eye.“Come, old man, you don’t seem to care for your corn. You didn’t have a wet night?”“Hot coppers this morning? My dear boy, no! Why, I lead as quiet a life as a curate now.”“All the better for you.”Sir Hilton sighed again.“Then it’s true?” said the visitor, smiling.“What’s true? What have you been hearing? Did Lady Tilborough say—”“Oh, nothing; only a bit of chaff about you.”“Tell me what the widow said.”“Oh, it was all good humouredly—a bit of her fun. You know what she is—wouldn’t hurt the feelings of a fly.”“Yes, yes, I know; but she has been laughing at me. She has—”“Nonsense—nonsense! Don’t make your coat rough, old man. She only said it was a pity.”“What was a pity?”“That dear old Hilt should be ridden with his curb chain so tight—by George! I didn’t know how hungry I was.”“Yes,” said Sir Hilton, sadly; “the curb is a bit too tight sometimes, Jack; but someone means well, and she has a right to be a bit firm. I always was a fool over money matters.”“Nonsense, old fellow! You were a prince, only you were unlucky, and were obliged to make a clear up; but you’re all right again now.”“Yes,” said the baronet, “I’m all right again now.” But his voice sounded very doleful.“It was thirty thou’ a-year, wasn’t it—I mean, isn’t it?”Sir Hilton nodded.“She got the title and you got the tin. Quid pro quo!”Sir Hilton nodded again, and then made a desperate effort to turn the conversation back upon his friend.“Lady Lisle has always taken an interest in parish matters and the poor, and it pleases her. She would not, of course, like me to take an interest now in racing affairs.”“Of course not—of course not, my dear boy,” said the visitor, helping himself to the marmalade left by Sydney.“But what about you?”“Me? Oh, I’m doing capitally,” was the reply, rather thickly uttered.“Nonsense! I mean that affair. How do matters go with the widow?”“Hah!” sighed the visitor, laying down his knife.“Hallo! Not off, is it, old chap?”“No, not off, Hilt, but I’m just where I was. Like the farmer over the claret, I don’t seem to get no furder.”“Well, you must be a duffer, Jack.”“I suppose I am, old man. Pluck enough in some things, but I’m afraid of her.”“But haven’t you spoken?”“No; I daren’t, for fear she should laugh at me, and the whole affair be quite off.”“I say, Jack, you’re dead hit.”“I am, old man—dead. Bless her! She’s an angel! But I’m afraid, after her experience with that old ruffian Tilborough, she has made up her mind never to run in double harness again.”“Nonsense! Pluck up, old fellow; a woman likes a man to be manly, and if she accepted you—”“Ah,ifHilt,if.”“She would, or I don’t know her. I should like to see it come off, for there wouldn’t be a better matched pair in England. Go in and win.”“Well, hang me if I don’t! I’ve been playing a shilly-shally waiting game, and now I’ll come to the point. But I say, what’s this about you in the papers—election news?”“Oh, it’s the wife’s wish. She won’t rest till I have ‘M.P.’ at the end of my name.”“Good thing too. You’re getting mossy here. Go into Parliament, and it will soon be rubbed off. The poor dear lady is spoiling you. Too much apron-string. She’s stopped your racing and hunting, but you must do something. Go in and win your seat.”“I don’t care much about it.”“More fool you! Think of the chances it will give you of a little life. The House—there you are; an excuse for everything not quite in running order with the ideas of such a lady as madam. Club? Best in London. Late hours? Sitting till two, three, four, or milk-time.”“Yes; I never gave that a thought.”“An excuse for everything, dear boy, and your wife proud of you. Oh, I should enter for those stakes, certainly. It will cost you something, though.”“I suppose so; but, between ourselves, Lady Lisle has placed four thou’ to my account for election expenses.”“Brave little woman! The widow’s all wrong.”“How! Why? What do you mean?”“She said her ladyship kept the chequebook, and saw to the estate herself, only allowing you a little pocket-money when you were a good boy.”“Tell Lady Tilborough to mind her own business, Jack,” said the baronet, tartly.“My dear Hilt, I’d share my last fiver with you, or I’d back any of your paper with pleasure; but I’ll be hanged if I’ll do that I say, though, come on to the race to-day.”Sir Hilton shook his head.“Nonsense! Think of it. Your old filly, La Sylphide, first favourite. I saw her a week ago. Lovely! Lady Tilborough told me she wouldn’t take four times as much for her as she gave at your sale.”“The beautiful gazelle-eyed creature!” sighed Sir Hilton.“That she is.”“Who is up?” said Sir Hilton.“Josh Rowle, your old jock, of course. The widow told me that she wouldn’t—I mean the mare—let anyone else go near her.”“Just like her, Jack. She had a temper, but she was like a kitten with me. Came ambling up the paddock when I whistled, and she’d rub her head against me for all the world like a cat, and fetch bits of carrot out of my pocket, or whinny for sugar. Ah! those were dear old days. Yes, she’ll pull it off for certain.”“Come and see her run.”“I couldn’t, old man. I couldn’t bear it. No, I’m entered for the House of Commons. Lady Lisle says I’m to be a—a Minister some day.”“Bravo! Be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and keep the purse. But I say, do come. You must be hungry for a race after fasting so long.”“I am, Jack, I am.”“Come, then.”“No; don’t ask me,” said the baronet; “my racing days are over.”“And you’ve burnt your jockey cap and silk, the scarlet and blue stripe of the finest gentleman-rider of his day?”“By Jove! no. I keep them, leathers, boots, whip, and all, in a locked-up drawer. My man, Mark, takes them out to set them up and worship sometimes.”“Then you really won’t come?”“No, Jack, I can’t. It would break my wife’s heart if I did, and she really is very fond of me.”“Very well; I won’t press you, old man. But, I say, you think La Sylphide will win?”“It’s a dead cert. Have you anything on?”“All I’m worth, dear boy. Have you?”“I? Nonsense! I haven’t made a bet these two years.”“Then now’s your time.”“No, no: I’ve done with that sort of thing.”“But, personally, you are not flush of money, are you?”“I? Never was so short in my life.”The doctor laughed. “Seize the chance, then, to make a thou’ or two.”“Impossible.”“Nonsense! You say yourself the mare’s sure to win.”“Bar accidents, she must.”“Then make your game.”“No; I have no money.”“Why, you said just now that her ladyship had placed four thou’ to your credit in her bank.”“For my electioneering exes.”“Bosh! To use. Put on the pot and make it boil. Why, man, you could clear enough on the strength of that coin lying idle to set you up for a couple of years.”“Ye-e-es,” said Sir Hilton, who began biting at his nails. “Might, mightn’t I?”“Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance.”“It does sound tempting.”“Tempting? Of course. It isn’t as if there was any gambling in it.”“Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?”“Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know, it would be different. But here you are—your own mare, whom you know down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La Sylphide can’t help winning. You’d be mad to miss this chance. I should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there; but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick.”Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and bringing down his fist with a bang.“Yes,” he cried, “it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove! I’ll do it.”“Bravo, old man!”“I’ll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can.”“Up to what?”“All I’ve got in the bank. Four thou’.”“Do you mean it?”“Of course.”“Well done, old chap. That’s Hilt up to the hilt, like in the old times.”“Pst! Someone coming,” said the baronet, dropping into a chair. “We didn’t hear the chaise. It’s my wife.”

Mark and Jane started apart, looking extremely guilty—of a loving kiss—but quite ready to make the best of things, the latter darting to the table to rearrange the position of a couple of forks, and Sir Hilton’s body-servant holding out a hand, palm upwards.

“Do look sharp, Jane,” he said, “and hurry up that hot coffee and the kidneys. I knew Sir Hilton would be down directly.”

“Mark!” said the baronet, sharply.

“Yes, Sir Hilton.”

“You know I don’t like humbug, eh?”

“Yes, Sir Hilton?”

“Jane, my girl, do you want to lose your place?”

“No, Sir Hilton. I’m very sorry, Sir Hilton—I—”

“Let him kiss you?”

“Oh, Sir Hilton!”

“Don’t deny it! Saw more. You gave him one. Now, look here, both of you. You, Jane, are a very nice, respectable girl, and I like you. Mark, here, is a very good fellow, and if some time you two think of getting married, I don’t say I will not give you both a hundred pounds to start life with—”

“Oh, Sir Hilton!”

“If I’ve got it. But no more of this. It looks bad, and is not respectful to your employers. You both know, I suppose, that if her ladyship saw half what I noted just now you would be dismissed, Jane, and I’m afraid, Mark, I should have to part with you.”

“I beg—”

“That will do—not another word. Breakfast, Jane—quick, please.”

“Yes, Sir Hilton!” and Jane drew a breath full of relief, as she hurried through the door.

“Heigh—ho—ha—hum!” yawned the baronet, placing his hands in his pockets and looking down in a dreamy way at the breakfast-table. Then he took out and opened his hunting watch, and closed it with a snap.

“E-lev-en o’clock,” he said. “Her ladyship send for you, Mark?”

“Yes, Sir Hilton. Brought round the pony-carriage.”

“Oh! Gone out?”

“Yes, Sir Hilton.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Morning’s paper, Sir Hilton,” said the man, obsequiously, as he drew a sporting-print from his pocket and held it out meaningly turned down at a particular spot.

“What’s that?” said the baronet, glancing at one line, and then, turning angrily, “Take it away!” he cried.

“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Tilborough first Summer Meeting.”

“Take it away!”

“Yes, sir; but La Sylphide.”

“Look here, Mark, my lad, no more of this. I know, of course, but take it away. Do you want to drive me mad?”

“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Then you won’t drive over in the dogcart?”

“What?”

“Just to see her pull it off, Sir Hilton.”

“Confound it, man! Hold your tongue! Be off!”

At that moment there were steps on the gravel, and directly after a peal arose from the door-bell.

“Go and see who that is, sir, and never mention anything connected with the Turf again. It’s dead to me, and I’m dead to it,” he muttered, as the man left the room, giving place to Jane, who hurried in with covered dishes upon a tray.

“Did you see who that was, Jane?”

“No, Sir Hilton. Some gentleman on horseback. His horse is hooked on one side of the gate.”

“Who the deuce can it be?”

“Dr Granton, sir,” said the groom, coming to the door.

“Oh! Where is he?”

“Study, sir.”

“Bring him in here.”

Sir Hilton looked quite transformed. There was a bright, alert look in his erstwhile dull eyes, and he seemed to pull himself together as he started actively from his chair, and made as if to hurry after his groom.

But he was too late, for the door reopened, and Mark showed in a handsome, dark, military-looking man of about five-and-thirty, who marched in, hunting-crop in hand, spurs jingling faintly at his heels, and dressed in faultless taste as a horseman.

“My dear old Jack!”

“Hilt, old boy!”

“This is a surprise. Here, Jane, another cover; the doctor will breakfast with me.”

“My dear fellow, I breakfasted at eight.”

“Never mind; have an eleven’s. Mouthful of corn then never hurt anyone. A chair here, Mark. That will do, my man.”

Mark backed out, with the half-grin, which had sprung up on seeing his master’s animation, dying out, and shaking his head, while the visitor turned the chair placed for him back to the table and bestrode it as if it were a horse.

“Whatever brings you down into this dismal region?”

“Dismal, eh?” said the visitor, glancing round, and then out of the window. “Races.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the baronet. “Yes; I heard they were to-day.”

“You heard? Aren’t you coming?”

“No, no. I’ve dropped all that sort of thing now.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot; and my manners, too. How is her ladyship?”

“Oh, well—very well, Jack,” said Sir Hilton, in a mournful way.

“That’s right, old chap. Well, trot her out.”

Sir Hilton frowned.

“I beg your pardon, old man. Presuming on old brotherly acquaintance. I shall be glad to see her, though.”

“Of course, my dear boy; but the fact is, she is out.”

“She is? Hang it all, then, I’ve come at the right time. Have a day off with me at Tilborough, and we’ll dine afterwards at the hotel. We can get a snack of something.”

“No, no; you misunderstand me. My wife is only having a morning drive in the pony chaise. A little business in the village.”

“Oh, I see; Lady Bountiful—district visiting—buying curtsies of the old women, and that sort of thing.”

“Yes—er—exactly.”

“Ah! I’ve heard that Lady Lisle does a deal in that way. Takes the chair at charity meetings, eh? Primrose Dame, too?”

“Who told you that?”

“Told me? Let’s see. Oh, it was Lady Tilborough.”

The conversation ceased for a minute or two while Jane entered with a tray, busied herself, and then departed, leaving the visitor quite ready to show that his eight o’clock breakfast was a thing of the past.

“I say, though,” he exclaimed, with his mouth half full, “I didn’t mean this. I’ve left my horse hitched on to the gate.”

Sir Hilton rose, stepped to the window, and returned.

“Not there. Mark would see to it, of course, and give it a feed in the stables.”

“That’s all right, then. Yes, Lady Tilborough was talking about you the other day.”

“Was she? What did she say?”

“Oh, not much. Only that it was a pity you had given up hunting and the Turf.”

The baronet sighed—almost groaned. “Anything else?”

“Well—er—no-o-o-o. Oh, yes; a little bit of badinage.”

“Eh? What about? Nothing spiteful? No, she wouldn’t. She’s a dear good creature, bless her!”

“Good boy! So she is—bless her!”

“Ah! I once thought when the old man died, that—”

“Oh, did you? Well, you didn’t, and you’ve married well enough to satisfy any man.”

Sir Hilton sighed, and his visitor looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Come, old man, you don’t seem to care for your corn. You didn’t have a wet night?”

“Hot coppers this morning? My dear boy, no! Why, I lead as quiet a life as a curate now.”

“All the better for you.”

Sir Hilton sighed again.

“Then it’s true?” said the visitor, smiling.

“What’s true? What have you been hearing? Did Lady Tilborough say—”

“Oh, nothing; only a bit of chaff about you.”

“Tell me what the widow said.”

“Oh, it was all good humouredly—a bit of her fun. You know what she is—wouldn’t hurt the feelings of a fly.”

“Yes, yes, I know; but she has been laughing at me. She has—”

“Nonsense—nonsense! Don’t make your coat rough, old man. She only said it was a pity.”

“What was a pity?”

“That dear old Hilt should be ridden with his curb chain so tight—by George! I didn’t know how hungry I was.”

“Yes,” said Sir Hilton, sadly; “the curb is a bit too tight sometimes, Jack; but someone means well, and she has a right to be a bit firm. I always was a fool over money matters.”

“Nonsense, old fellow! You were a prince, only you were unlucky, and were obliged to make a clear up; but you’re all right again now.”

“Yes,” said the baronet, “I’m all right again now.” But his voice sounded very doleful.

“It was thirty thou’ a-year, wasn’t it—I mean, isn’t it?”

Sir Hilton nodded.

“She got the title and you got the tin. Quid pro quo!”

Sir Hilton nodded again, and then made a desperate effort to turn the conversation back upon his friend.

“Lady Lisle has always taken an interest in parish matters and the poor, and it pleases her. She would not, of course, like me to take an interest now in racing affairs.”

“Of course not—of course not, my dear boy,” said the visitor, helping himself to the marmalade left by Sydney.

“But what about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m doing capitally,” was the reply, rather thickly uttered.

“Nonsense! I mean that affair. How do matters go with the widow?”

“Hah!” sighed the visitor, laying down his knife.

“Hallo! Not off, is it, old chap?”

“No, not off, Hilt, but I’m just where I was. Like the farmer over the claret, I don’t seem to get no furder.”

“Well, you must be a duffer, Jack.”

“I suppose I am, old man. Pluck enough in some things, but I’m afraid of her.”

“But haven’t you spoken?”

“No; I daren’t, for fear she should laugh at me, and the whole affair be quite off.”

“I say, Jack, you’re dead hit.”

“I am, old man—dead. Bless her! She’s an angel! But I’m afraid, after her experience with that old ruffian Tilborough, she has made up her mind never to run in double harness again.”

“Nonsense! Pluck up, old fellow; a woman likes a man to be manly, and if she accepted you—”

“Ah,ifHilt,if.”

“She would, or I don’t know her. I should like to see it come off, for there wouldn’t be a better matched pair in England. Go in and win.”

“Well, hang me if I don’t! I’ve been playing a shilly-shally waiting game, and now I’ll come to the point. But I say, what’s this about you in the papers—election news?”

“Oh, it’s the wife’s wish. She won’t rest till I have ‘M.P.’ at the end of my name.”

“Good thing too. You’re getting mossy here. Go into Parliament, and it will soon be rubbed off. The poor dear lady is spoiling you. Too much apron-string. She’s stopped your racing and hunting, but you must do something. Go in and win your seat.”

“I don’t care much about it.”

“More fool you! Think of the chances it will give you of a little life. The House—there you are; an excuse for everything not quite in running order with the ideas of such a lady as madam. Club? Best in London. Late hours? Sitting till two, three, four, or milk-time.”

“Yes; I never gave that a thought.”

“An excuse for everything, dear boy, and your wife proud of you. Oh, I should enter for those stakes, certainly. It will cost you something, though.”

“I suppose so; but, between ourselves, Lady Lisle has placed four thou’ to my account for election expenses.”

“Brave little woman! The widow’s all wrong.”

“How! Why? What do you mean?”

“She said her ladyship kept the chequebook, and saw to the estate herself, only allowing you a little pocket-money when you were a good boy.”

“Tell Lady Tilborough to mind her own business, Jack,” said the baronet, tartly.

“My dear Hilt, I’d share my last fiver with you, or I’d back any of your paper with pleasure; but I’ll be hanged if I’ll do that I say, though, come on to the race to-day.”

Sir Hilton shook his head.

“Nonsense! Think of it. Your old filly, La Sylphide, first favourite. I saw her a week ago. Lovely! Lady Tilborough told me she wouldn’t take four times as much for her as she gave at your sale.”

“The beautiful gazelle-eyed creature!” sighed Sir Hilton.

“That she is.”

“Who is up?” said Sir Hilton.

“Josh Rowle, your old jock, of course. The widow told me that she wouldn’t—I mean the mare—let anyone else go near her.”

“Just like her, Jack. She had a temper, but she was like a kitten with me. Came ambling up the paddock when I whistled, and she’d rub her head against me for all the world like a cat, and fetch bits of carrot out of my pocket, or whinny for sugar. Ah! those were dear old days. Yes, she’ll pull it off for certain.”

“Come and see her run.”

“I couldn’t, old man. I couldn’t bear it. No, I’m entered for the House of Commons. Lady Lisle says I’m to be a—a Minister some day.”

“Bravo! Be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and keep the purse. But I say, do come. You must be hungry for a race after fasting so long.”

“I am, Jack, I am.”

“Come, then.”

“No; don’t ask me,” said the baronet; “my racing days are over.”

“And you’ve burnt your jockey cap and silk, the scarlet and blue stripe of the finest gentleman-rider of his day?”

“By Jove! no. I keep them, leathers, boots, whip, and all, in a locked-up drawer. My man, Mark, takes them out to set them up and worship sometimes.”

“Then you really won’t come?”

“No, Jack, I can’t. It would break my wife’s heart if I did, and she really is very fond of me.”

“Very well; I won’t press you, old man. But, I say, you think La Sylphide will win?”

“It’s a dead cert. Have you anything on?”

“All I’m worth, dear boy. Have you?”

“I? Nonsense! I haven’t made a bet these two years.”

“Then now’s your time.”

“No, no: I’ve done with that sort of thing.”

“But, personally, you are not flush of money, are you?”

“I? Never was so short in my life.”

The doctor laughed. “Seize the chance, then, to make a thou’ or two.”

“Impossible.”

“Nonsense! You say yourself the mare’s sure to win.”

“Bar accidents, she must.”

“Then make your game.”

“No; I have no money.”

“Why, you said just now that her ladyship had placed four thou’ to your credit in her bank.”

“For my electioneering exes.”

“Bosh! To use. Put on the pot and make it boil. Why, man, you could clear enough on the strength of that coin lying idle to set you up for a couple of years.”

“Ye-e-es,” said Sir Hilton, who began biting at his nails. “Might, mightn’t I?”

“Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance.”

“It does sound tempting.”

“Tempting? Of course. It isn’t as if there was any gambling in it.”

“Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?”

“Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know, it would be different. But here you are—your own mare, whom you know down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La Sylphide can’t help winning. You’d be mad to miss this chance. I should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there; but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick.”

Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and bringing down his fist with a bang.

“Yes,” he cried, “it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove! I’ll do it.”

“Bravo, old man!”

“I’ll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can.”

“Up to what?”

“All I’ve got in the bank. Four thou’.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course.”

“Well done, old chap. That’s Hilt up to the hilt, like in the old times.”

“Pst! Someone coming,” said the baronet, dropping into a chair. “We didn’t hear the chaise. It’s my wife.”

Chapter Five.A Lamentable Case.Lady Lisle swept into the room, fresh from the pony-carriage, looking rather stern and haughty, her brows knitting at the sight of the breakfast things, and then rising a little as she saw the gallant-looking gentleman who rose and advanced to meet her.“Dr Granton!”“At your service, Lady Lisle. I was in the neighbourhood, and rode over to see my dear old friend, but I am just off. I congratulate you. How well he looks!”“I am glad you think so. But—you have only just come. Will you not stay? My husband must have a good deal to say to you.”“We could talk for hours, my dear madam, but I must be going on.”“You will stay to lunch?”“Impossible. Most important business in the neighbourhood. Hilton has been most hospitable and refreshed me, and I really must be off—eh, Hilt?”“Certainly.”“The fact is, Lady Lisle, it is a question of money matters. Business connection with a bank.”Lady Lisle bowed, and looked relieved.“If you must go, then, Dr Granton—”“I really must, my dear madam. No, no, Hilton, dear boy, don’t ring for the horse; I’ll go round by the stables and pick up my hack. Don’t you come. Good-morning, Lady Lisle. I hope you will let me call if I am again this way?”“Certainly, Dr Granton. I am always happy to extend the hospitality of the Denes to my husband’s friends.”“Thank you; of course. Once more, good-morning. Morning, Hilton, dear boy. Au revoir!”He passed out, and the frown on Lady Lisle’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid, Hilton,” she said, “that Dr Granton’s business may have something to do with the races.”“Eh? Indeed! Well, now you say so, I suppose it is possible.”“You have not allowed him to tempt you into going, Hilton?”“No, my dear,” said the baronet; “certainly not.”He spoke out quickly and firmly, the glow of the virtuous who had resisted temptation warming his breast.“Thank you, dear,” she said, laying her hand almost caressingly upon her lord’s shoulder. “It could only have meant gambling, risking money to win that of others. Hilton, my love, it is so vile and despicable.”“Think so, Laura?” he said, with the cold chill of his wife’s words completely extinguishing the virtuous glow.“Think so? Oh, yes, Hilton. You cannot imagine how happy you make me by the way you are casting behind you your old weaknesses, and are devoting yourself to Parliamentary study.”“For which I fear I am very unfit,” said Sir Hilton; and he turned cold directly after at a horrible thought which seemed to stun him.Suppose she should say, “Well, give it up,” and want to withdraw that balance at the bank! “What an idiot I was to say that!” he thought. But relief—partial relief—came the next minute.“That is your modesty, my dear,” said Lady Lisle. “I flatter myself that I know your capabilities better than you know them yourself. Hilton, I shall devote myself to the task of being your Parliamentary secretary, and I mean that you shall shine.”“Thank you, my dear,” said the unhappy man, sadly, as he thought of the daring venture he had set in commission, and began to repent as he walked to the window and looked out.“I ought not to have risked that money, though. Suppose the mare lost,” he mused. “Bah! I know her too well. There isn’t a horse can touch her in the straight, and it will regularly set me up. I shan’t have to go begging for a cheque, and then have ‘What for, darling?’ ringing in my ears. Hang it all! It makes a man feel so small. Why, the very servants pity me—I know they do. And as for that old scoundrel Trimmer—oh, if I could only give him something, even if it were only a wife to keep him short!”“Suppose—” he thought again, and could get no farther than that one word, which, like the nucleus of a comet, sent out behind or before it a tail of enormous proportions—a sort of gaseous mist of horrible probabilities concerning that four thousand pounds.“If I could get a message to him and stop it all,” he muttered, as he watched Jane rapidly clear the table of the tardy breakfast things.“Yes, my love, Parliament must be the goal of your ambition,” said Lady Lisle, with her eyes brightening, as soon as they were alone. “If I had been a man how I should have gloried in addressing the House!”“Ah! there’s a deal of talk goes on there, my dear,” replied Sir Hilton.“And what talk, Hilton! What a study! The proper study of mankind is man. How much better than devoting all your attention to dogs and horses!”“‘How noble a beast is the horse,’ dear, it said in my first reading-book.”“Absurd, my love. Pray don’t think of horses any more.”Sir Hilton winced, and then watched his lady as she moved in a dignified way to the fireplace to rearrange her headgear.“Going out again, my dear?” said Sir Hilton, for want of something better to say.“Yes, love. I have ordered the carriage round, to drive over to Hanby.”“To Hanby, dear?”“Yes. Mr Browse drove by while I was at the vicarage,” said the lady, in a tone of disgust. “That man is in arrear with his rent for the farm. The vicar said he supposed the man was going to the races, and I am going over to see his wife.”“For goodness’ sake, don’t go and interfere, my dear,” cried Sir Hilton, anxiously. “It would get talked about so at the Tilborough Market, and spread in all directions.”“It would not matter, that I see,” said her ladyship, haughtily. “But I was not going to interfere. I might, perhaps, say a word or two of condolence to poor Mrs Browse, and point out how much happier she would be if her husband followed the example of mine.”“But, hang it all, Laura, he can’t try to enter into Parliament!”“No, my love, but he could give up horse-racing.”“Surely you are not going over there—to drive all those miles—to say that?”“No, my love, only to help carry on your election contest, and be in time. Mr Browse is in my—our debt, according to Mr Trimmer’s figures, for a whole year’s rental of the farm.”“But you mustn’t go and dun people.”“Dun, Hilton?”“Well, collect rents. Leave that to Trimmer.”“Of course I shall, my dear,” said her ladyship, with a condescending smile. “I am going over to name that circumstance of their indebtedness to me—us, and to tell her that I shall expect Mr Browse to vote for you. She will compel her husband to do so, and that will ensure one vote.”“The grey mare’s the better horse,” said Sir Hilton to himself, and he was thinking of the train of circumstances in connection with the race, and planning to rush off and try to forestall the doctor’s risking money, as he sat back in his chair, when, slowly slouching along after passing through the swing gate, one of the regular hangers-on of a race-meeting approached the house. His aspect was battered, and the pink hunting-coat—one which had seen very much better days—was rubbed to whiteness here and greased to blackness there. It was frayed and patched, and wore the general aspect of having been used as a sleeping garment on occasion, being decorated with scraps of hay, prickly seed vessels, and the like, in addition to the chalky dust of the road, a good deal of which powdered the round-topped, peaked hunting cap, once of black velvet, now all fibre, with scarcely a trace of nap.The coat was closely buttoned up to the throat, and a pair of much-worn cord trousers completed the man’s costume, all but his boots, which were ornamented with slashings, for the benefit, probably, of bunions, for if intended for effect, after the fashion of an old stuffed doublet, the effort was a mistake.But there was no mistake about the man’s profession. He was hall-marked “tramp” by his blear eyes and horribly reddened, bulbous nose, and racing-tout by the packet of race-cards peering out of his breast-pocket. But evidently he was a man of much invention, inasmuch as from a desire to do a little trading on his way from racecourse to racecourse, or for an excuse to find his way to houses where he might pick up unconsidered trifles, cadging, filching, and the like, he carried in one hand a fat, white mongrel puppy, with a bit of blue ribbon tied about its neck. As a dog, it was about as bad a specimen as could be met with in a day’s march; but it had one advantage over its owner—it was scrupulously clean.The squire of the Denes was not within the scope of the tramp’s view, as he loafed up with his blear eyes twinkling; and for the moment the shape of the room hid Lady Lisle, till the big Persian cat, the minute before apparently fast asleep, curled up on an ottoman upon which the sun shone warmly, suddenly smelt dog, and sprang to all fours, arching its back, bottle-brushing its tail, and baring its white teeth, as it began to swear loudly.“Oh, Khan, Khan, what is the matter?” cried Lady Lisle, taking a step or two towards the cat, and then stopping short with “Oh, Hilton, my love, send this dreadful man away!”“Buy a lovely little dawg, my lady,” cried the tramp, now close up to the window, and smiling, whining, and leering in. “Puss, puss, puss! Look at ’em! They’ll make friends in a minute.”He reached in a hand and set the puppy down on the Turkey carpet, when the idiotic-looking little object, after the manner of its kind, began slowly to blunder towards the lordly Persian yclept Khan, to the imminent risk of having its eyes scratched out.“Look at the pretty creetur, my lady,” whined the man. “Two guineas is the price, but seeing its you, my lady, and a good home for the little beauty, say one pun, and he’s yours.”“Take your dirty whelp up and be off, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Hilton, in a passion, and deftly placing the toe of his boot under the puppy he lifted it and sent it flying through the window, to be fielded cleverly and without pain by its owner.“What, my noble Capting! What, my noble barrowknight, you here? You are a sight for sore eyes. You ain’t forgot Dandy Dinny?”“Forgotten you? No, you scoundrel!”“Just your old self again, Sir Rilton. Why, bless me! this is like old times. Here, c’rect card, Sir Rilton; all the names colours, jocks, and starters. Take a dozen, your lordship; you’ll want ’em for your lady-friends on the course.”“Be off, sir! How dare you trespass on my premises!”“Trespass, Sir Rilton? I wouldn’t do such a thing. There, I knowed you’d never drop the Turf. Whats yer ’oss’s name?”“Cut!” cried Sir Hilton, fiercely.“Is it, now? A sharp ’un, then, as’ll show the field its four blessed racing plates. A dark ’un, your honour?”“Will you be off, you scoundrel!”“Off, your honour, in a jiffy, ready to look out for you on the course. But you’ll buy the little dawg for her lovely ladyship?”“Take the miserable mongrel away.”“But such a companion for the long-haired tom puss, Sir Rilton.”“Did you hear me tell you to go, sir?”“Yes, your honour,” whispered the man, shuffling his “c’rect cards” back into his pocket with one hand, and leaning forward into the room to whisper: “I’m ’orrid hard up, Sir Rilton. Give us a tip for the cup to help a pore fellow get a honest livin’. You’ll do that for your pore old friend as touted for you all these years?”“Here, catch!” cried Sir Hilton, tossing the man a florin, which, as it went spinning out into the sunshine, was deftly caught, spat upon, and transferred to a pocket.“Long life to Sir Rilton Lisle, and may his ’osses allus win! But you’ll buy the little dawg for her ladyship, your honour?”Sir Hilton made an angry gesture, and the wretched-looking object slouched off, just as the noise of gravel-grinding was heard, and the Lisles’ handsome victoria was driven up to the front door.“There, Hilton,” said the lady, reproachfully, “is it not horrible that you should have come to such a state of degradation as that!”—and she pointed in the direction taken by the tout.“I—I?” cried her husband, firing up. “Hang it all, Laura, do you compare me to that wretched cad?”“No, no, my dear. I mean the degradation of being recognised by such a miserable outcast.”“Humph! Poor wretch!”“And I do object, love, to your indulging in casual relief. Be charitable, of course, but give only to the deserving and good. There,” she continued, advancing towards him to lay her hands upon his shoulders and kiss him solemnly, “I’m not angry with you, darling, for you will take these lessons to heart, I’m sure. Good-bye, love. Go and study up your Blue Books, and think out your plan of campaign. I shall be back soon to tell you that you may be sure of Mr Browse’s vote.”“Thank you, my dear,” said Sir Hilton, responding dreamily to the chilly caress he received, the lady’s lips being just on a level with his forehead. “Here, I’ll come to the carriage with you.”“No, no, no, love. Get to your Blue Books, and practise your speeches. I’m going to work for and with you, not to be a hindrance. Get to work, I want you to be a modern Cicero or Demosthenes. Good-bye—Good-bye.”Lady Lisle solemnly waved a kiss to her husband, and sailed out of the room, leaving the dapper little baronet deep in thought and biting his nails.

Lady Lisle swept into the room, fresh from the pony-carriage, looking rather stern and haughty, her brows knitting at the sight of the breakfast things, and then rising a little as she saw the gallant-looking gentleman who rose and advanced to meet her.

“Dr Granton!”

“At your service, Lady Lisle. I was in the neighbourhood, and rode over to see my dear old friend, but I am just off. I congratulate you. How well he looks!”

“I am glad you think so. But—you have only just come. Will you not stay? My husband must have a good deal to say to you.”

“We could talk for hours, my dear madam, but I must be going on.”

“You will stay to lunch?”

“Impossible. Most important business in the neighbourhood. Hilton has been most hospitable and refreshed me, and I really must be off—eh, Hilt?”

“Certainly.”

“The fact is, Lady Lisle, it is a question of money matters. Business connection with a bank.”

Lady Lisle bowed, and looked relieved.

“If you must go, then, Dr Granton—”

“I really must, my dear madam. No, no, Hilton, dear boy, don’t ring for the horse; I’ll go round by the stables and pick up my hack. Don’t you come. Good-morning, Lady Lisle. I hope you will let me call if I am again this way?”

“Certainly, Dr Granton. I am always happy to extend the hospitality of the Denes to my husband’s friends.”

“Thank you; of course. Once more, good-morning. Morning, Hilton, dear boy. Au revoir!”

He passed out, and the frown on Lady Lisle’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid, Hilton,” she said, “that Dr Granton’s business may have something to do with the races.”

“Eh? Indeed! Well, now you say so, I suppose it is possible.”

“You have not allowed him to tempt you into going, Hilton?”

“No, my dear,” said the baronet; “certainly not.”

He spoke out quickly and firmly, the glow of the virtuous who had resisted temptation warming his breast.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, laying her hand almost caressingly upon her lord’s shoulder. “It could only have meant gambling, risking money to win that of others. Hilton, my love, it is so vile and despicable.”

“Think so, Laura?” he said, with the cold chill of his wife’s words completely extinguishing the virtuous glow.

“Think so? Oh, yes, Hilton. You cannot imagine how happy you make me by the way you are casting behind you your old weaknesses, and are devoting yourself to Parliamentary study.”

“For which I fear I am very unfit,” said Sir Hilton; and he turned cold directly after at a horrible thought which seemed to stun him.

Suppose she should say, “Well, give it up,” and want to withdraw that balance at the bank! “What an idiot I was to say that!” he thought. But relief—partial relief—came the next minute.

“That is your modesty, my dear,” said Lady Lisle. “I flatter myself that I know your capabilities better than you know them yourself. Hilton, I shall devote myself to the task of being your Parliamentary secretary, and I mean that you shall shine.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said the unhappy man, sadly, as he thought of the daring venture he had set in commission, and began to repent as he walked to the window and looked out.

“I ought not to have risked that money, though. Suppose the mare lost,” he mused. “Bah! I know her too well. There isn’t a horse can touch her in the straight, and it will regularly set me up. I shan’t have to go begging for a cheque, and then have ‘What for, darling?’ ringing in my ears. Hang it all! It makes a man feel so small. Why, the very servants pity me—I know they do. And as for that old scoundrel Trimmer—oh, if I could only give him something, even if it were only a wife to keep him short!”

“Suppose—” he thought again, and could get no farther than that one word, which, like the nucleus of a comet, sent out behind or before it a tail of enormous proportions—a sort of gaseous mist of horrible probabilities concerning that four thousand pounds.

“If I could get a message to him and stop it all,” he muttered, as he watched Jane rapidly clear the table of the tardy breakfast things.

“Yes, my love, Parliament must be the goal of your ambition,” said Lady Lisle, with her eyes brightening, as soon as they were alone. “If I had been a man how I should have gloried in addressing the House!”

“Ah! there’s a deal of talk goes on there, my dear,” replied Sir Hilton.

“And what talk, Hilton! What a study! The proper study of mankind is man. How much better than devoting all your attention to dogs and horses!”

“‘How noble a beast is the horse,’ dear, it said in my first reading-book.”

“Absurd, my love. Pray don’t think of horses any more.”

Sir Hilton winced, and then watched his lady as she moved in a dignified way to the fireplace to rearrange her headgear.

“Going out again, my dear?” said Sir Hilton, for want of something better to say.

“Yes, love. I have ordered the carriage round, to drive over to Hanby.”

“To Hanby, dear?”

“Yes. Mr Browse drove by while I was at the vicarage,” said the lady, in a tone of disgust. “That man is in arrear with his rent for the farm. The vicar said he supposed the man was going to the races, and I am going over to see his wife.”

“For goodness’ sake, don’t go and interfere, my dear,” cried Sir Hilton, anxiously. “It would get talked about so at the Tilborough Market, and spread in all directions.”

“It would not matter, that I see,” said her ladyship, haughtily. “But I was not going to interfere. I might, perhaps, say a word or two of condolence to poor Mrs Browse, and point out how much happier she would be if her husband followed the example of mine.”

“But, hang it all, Laura, he can’t try to enter into Parliament!”

“No, my love, but he could give up horse-racing.”

“Surely you are not going over there—to drive all those miles—to say that?”

“No, my love, only to help carry on your election contest, and be in time. Mr Browse is in my—our debt, according to Mr Trimmer’s figures, for a whole year’s rental of the farm.”

“But you mustn’t go and dun people.”

“Dun, Hilton?”

“Well, collect rents. Leave that to Trimmer.”

“Of course I shall, my dear,” said her ladyship, with a condescending smile. “I am going over to name that circumstance of their indebtedness to me—us, and to tell her that I shall expect Mr Browse to vote for you. She will compel her husband to do so, and that will ensure one vote.”

“The grey mare’s the better horse,” said Sir Hilton to himself, and he was thinking of the train of circumstances in connection with the race, and planning to rush off and try to forestall the doctor’s risking money, as he sat back in his chair, when, slowly slouching along after passing through the swing gate, one of the regular hangers-on of a race-meeting approached the house. His aspect was battered, and the pink hunting-coat—one which had seen very much better days—was rubbed to whiteness here and greased to blackness there. It was frayed and patched, and wore the general aspect of having been used as a sleeping garment on occasion, being decorated with scraps of hay, prickly seed vessels, and the like, in addition to the chalky dust of the road, a good deal of which powdered the round-topped, peaked hunting cap, once of black velvet, now all fibre, with scarcely a trace of nap.

The coat was closely buttoned up to the throat, and a pair of much-worn cord trousers completed the man’s costume, all but his boots, which were ornamented with slashings, for the benefit, probably, of bunions, for if intended for effect, after the fashion of an old stuffed doublet, the effort was a mistake.

But there was no mistake about the man’s profession. He was hall-marked “tramp” by his blear eyes and horribly reddened, bulbous nose, and racing-tout by the packet of race-cards peering out of his breast-pocket. But evidently he was a man of much invention, inasmuch as from a desire to do a little trading on his way from racecourse to racecourse, or for an excuse to find his way to houses where he might pick up unconsidered trifles, cadging, filching, and the like, he carried in one hand a fat, white mongrel puppy, with a bit of blue ribbon tied about its neck. As a dog, it was about as bad a specimen as could be met with in a day’s march; but it had one advantage over its owner—it was scrupulously clean.

The squire of the Denes was not within the scope of the tramp’s view, as he loafed up with his blear eyes twinkling; and for the moment the shape of the room hid Lady Lisle, till the big Persian cat, the minute before apparently fast asleep, curled up on an ottoman upon which the sun shone warmly, suddenly smelt dog, and sprang to all fours, arching its back, bottle-brushing its tail, and baring its white teeth, as it began to swear loudly.

“Oh, Khan, Khan, what is the matter?” cried Lady Lisle, taking a step or two towards the cat, and then stopping short with “Oh, Hilton, my love, send this dreadful man away!”

“Buy a lovely little dawg, my lady,” cried the tramp, now close up to the window, and smiling, whining, and leering in. “Puss, puss, puss! Look at ’em! They’ll make friends in a minute.”

He reached in a hand and set the puppy down on the Turkey carpet, when the idiotic-looking little object, after the manner of its kind, began slowly to blunder towards the lordly Persian yclept Khan, to the imminent risk of having its eyes scratched out.

“Look at the pretty creetur, my lady,” whined the man. “Two guineas is the price, but seeing its you, my lady, and a good home for the little beauty, say one pun, and he’s yours.”

“Take your dirty whelp up and be off, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Hilton, in a passion, and deftly placing the toe of his boot under the puppy he lifted it and sent it flying through the window, to be fielded cleverly and without pain by its owner.

“What, my noble Capting! What, my noble barrowknight, you here? You are a sight for sore eyes. You ain’t forgot Dandy Dinny?”

“Forgotten you? No, you scoundrel!”

“Just your old self again, Sir Rilton. Why, bless me! this is like old times. Here, c’rect card, Sir Rilton; all the names colours, jocks, and starters. Take a dozen, your lordship; you’ll want ’em for your lady-friends on the course.”

“Be off, sir! How dare you trespass on my premises!”

“Trespass, Sir Rilton? I wouldn’t do such a thing. There, I knowed you’d never drop the Turf. Whats yer ’oss’s name?”

“Cut!” cried Sir Hilton, fiercely.

“Is it, now? A sharp ’un, then, as’ll show the field its four blessed racing plates. A dark ’un, your honour?”

“Will you be off, you scoundrel!”

“Off, your honour, in a jiffy, ready to look out for you on the course. But you’ll buy the little dawg for her lovely ladyship?”

“Take the miserable mongrel away.”

“But such a companion for the long-haired tom puss, Sir Rilton.”

“Did you hear me tell you to go, sir?”

“Yes, your honour,” whispered the man, shuffling his “c’rect cards” back into his pocket with one hand, and leaning forward into the room to whisper: “I’m ’orrid hard up, Sir Rilton. Give us a tip for the cup to help a pore fellow get a honest livin’. You’ll do that for your pore old friend as touted for you all these years?”

“Here, catch!” cried Sir Hilton, tossing the man a florin, which, as it went spinning out into the sunshine, was deftly caught, spat upon, and transferred to a pocket.

“Long life to Sir Rilton Lisle, and may his ’osses allus win! But you’ll buy the little dawg for her ladyship, your honour?”

Sir Hilton made an angry gesture, and the wretched-looking object slouched off, just as the noise of gravel-grinding was heard, and the Lisles’ handsome victoria was driven up to the front door.

“There, Hilton,” said the lady, reproachfully, “is it not horrible that you should have come to such a state of degradation as that!”—and she pointed in the direction taken by the tout.

“I—I?” cried her husband, firing up. “Hang it all, Laura, do you compare me to that wretched cad?”

“No, no, my dear. I mean the degradation of being recognised by such a miserable outcast.”

“Humph! Poor wretch!”

“And I do object, love, to your indulging in casual relief. Be charitable, of course, but give only to the deserving and good. There,” she continued, advancing towards him to lay her hands upon his shoulders and kiss him solemnly, “I’m not angry with you, darling, for you will take these lessons to heart, I’m sure. Good-bye, love. Go and study up your Blue Books, and think out your plan of campaign. I shall be back soon to tell you that you may be sure of Mr Browse’s vote.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Sir Hilton, responding dreamily to the chilly caress he received, the lady’s lips being just on a level with his forehead. “Here, I’ll come to the carriage with you.”

“No, no, no, love. Get to your Blue Books, and practise your speeches. I’m going to work for and with you, not to be a hindrance. Get to work, I want you to be a modern Cicero or Demosthenes. Good-bye—Good-bye.”

Lady Lisle solemnly waved a kiss to her husband, and sailed out of the room, leaving the dapper little baronet deep in thought and biting his nails.

Chapter Six.The Lady in the Case.“Blue Books! Blue Books! Confound the Blue Books!” cried Sir Hilton, as he marched up and down the breakfast-room long after he had heard the wheels of the departing victoria and the tramp of the handsome pair of horses die out. “Who’s to study Blue Books? Who’s to practise speeches with the weight of four thousand pounds on his mind?“Speeches!” he cried angrily, after a few minutes, and he waved his hands wildly. “I want no practice, after making such a Speech as I did to Jack Granton. I must have been mad. I can’t go to the course without being found out, and if I could it’s too late—too late—too late!“But is it?” he said, after a few minutes’ restless walk like that of the lone wolf up and down its cage at the Zoo.“Oh, yes,” he groaned; “Jack was always like lightning at planking down. He’d ride straight away and get every penny on. There, I’m getting in a regular fever. Out of training. I never used to worry when I stood to lose five times as much, and I won’t worry now. I won’t think I stand to lose four thou’, but only that I stand to win forty, as I must, for with Josh Rowle up, the Sylphide must win in a canter. There’s nothing been foaled yet that can touch her in these little races. There, Laura’s out, and I’ll have a cigar and calm down. Forty thou’! Shell never know—at least, I hope not, and, it will make me independent for a bit. But I won’t do it any more. It would be tempting fortune; but with that extra in the bank I can stand my ground a little. Laura’s a dear good woman, but too straight-laced. There’s too much of this parish twaddle and charity-mongering. She’s quite insane upon such matters, and with the independence that money will give me I can afford to stand up for myself. She talks about weaning me, and I’ve given up the hunting and the racecourse to humour her, so now she must drop some of her fads to favour me. We shall be a deal happier then.”He dropped into a chair, feeling easier in his mind, and went on musing.“Yes,” he said, “there’s a lot a fellow ought to do, and the first thing after settling day I mean to attack this stewardship business. I’m about sick of that long, lean, lizardly humbug Trimmer. Hang his white choker and sanctified ways! He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I’ll swear. A hypocritical rascal! I’ll swear I saw him leering at our pretty Jane, but if I told Laura she’d take his part. Ha, ha, ha! Capital!” he said half-aloud, as he indulged in a hearty fit of chuckling. “What a splendid idea. I can’t quite see my way, but Mark’s dead on the little lassie, and if I’m right and the lad can be enlightened, my word, I should like to see the fun! Judging by the way Mark can handle his fives, and the fire such a notion would give him, I shouldn’t like to be in Master Trimmer’s shoes, to wear the phiz he would have when the lad had done with him. Yes, that would settle Master Trimmer, if, of course, I am right, and he is the confounded mawworm I believe him to be.“Well, that would be an improvement. Then there’s Master Syd. That young dog’s gammoning his aunt shamefully, I’m sure. But it’s all her own fault. She treats him as if he were a child instead of a lad of eighteen and it isn’t natural for a boy to be dragged into these parish meetings, and to be set to read reports of this society and that society, and checked in his natural desire for a bit of honest, manly sport. Why, if that boy could have had his way he’d have been at the races to-day. Going fishing, I suppose. Well, that’s not so bad, but I almost wonder he’s allowed to do that.“Hang it all!” he muttered, springing up and going to the window, where he looked out, and carefully cut and lit a cigar, to begin smoking, so that the fumes should pass out into the air, “how that money does keep buzzing in my head. My pulses are going like fun. Ah! there, I won’t think about it. La Sylphide is safe to pull it off for us. Do Granton good, too. Make him more independent over his suit with the widow. Ha! There’s nothing like a good cigar to pull a man round. I’m better already; but it’s miserable work, this having to steal a smoke in one’s own house. I feel quite a coward over it, or like a boy learning. Like Syd did when I caught him having a weed in the stables. One of mine, too! He confessed to helping himself to one out of that box in the study cupboard.“Well, I wasn’t very hard on him. Boys will be boys, and they pay pretty dearly for their first smoke.“Yes, I feel ever so much calmer now. My word! How I should have liked to have the dogcart out and drive Laury tandem to the racecourse! She wouldn’t have enjoyed it? Well, the boy, then, to see the Sylph win, and dropped in afterwards at the Arms. Had a chat with old Sam’s pretty little lassie. Good idea that of his, to name the little thing after the mare. How proud he is of her, and how proud he was, too, of the mare. Well, no wonder; it was a splendid bit of training. But hang him for an old fox! As big an old scoundrel as ever had a horse pulled in a race. Shocking old ruffian! Wonder what he’s doing on the cup race; on heavily with La Sylphide, of course, and no wonder, for she is sure to win.”As he said these words Sir Hilton was sitting on the window-sill sending out his smoke in good, steady, regular puffs, perfectly unconscious of all sounds without and of everything but his own thoughts, till the door was opened suddenly, with strange effect.For Sir Hilton Lisle, Bart., as his name was written, made a sudden bound off the window-sill, sending his cigar flying, while the guilty blood flushed his face, as he felt that his wife had returned, and he had been caught smoking indoors.But he turned pale with anger the next moment as he stood facing the little maid, Jane, who was fighting hard to hide a smile which would show, while her bright eyes twinkled with delight, as she said quickly: “Lady Tilborough, sir.”And the next moment the widow of the late nobleman of that name, a round-faced, retroussé-nosed, red-lipped, grey-eyed little woman of exquisite complexion, and looking delightfully enticing in her tall hat and perfectly-fitting riding-habit, which she held up with a pair of prettily-gauntleted hands, hurried into the room.“There, go away, little girl,” she cried, giving Jane a playful tap with her whip, “and tell your Mark to give my pony’s mouth a wash out. No corn, mind.”“Yes, my lady,” cried Jane, beaming upon the natty little body, and taking in her dress with one glance.“Here I am, Hilt, dear boy,” cried the visitor, as the door closed. “Caught you all alone, for I passed your wife, and she cut me dead. Here I am!”“Yes, I see you are,” groaned Sir Hilton; and then to himself: “Temptation once again, and in its most tempting form.”

“Blue Books! Blue Books! Confound the Blue Books!” cried Sir Hilton, as he marched up and down the breakfast-room long after he had heard the wheels of the departing victoria and the tramp of the handsome pair of horses die out. “Who’s to study Blue Books? Who’s to practise speeches with the weight of four thousand pounds on his mind?

“Speeches!” he cried angrily, after a few minutes, and he waved his hands wildly. “I want no practice, after making such a Speech as I did to Jack Granton. I must have been mad. I can’t go to the course without being found out, and if I could it’s too late—too late—too late!

“But is it?” he said, after a few minutes’ restless walk like that of the lone wolf up and down its cage at the Zoo.

“Oh, yes,” he groaned; “Jack was always like lightning at planking down. He’d ride straight away and get every penny on. There, I’m getting in a regular fever. Out of training. I never used to worry when I stood to lose five times as much, and I won’t worry now. I won’t think I stand to lose four thou’, but only that I stand to win forty, as I must, for with Josh Rowle up, the Sylphide must win in a canter. There’s nothing been foaled yet that can touch her in these little races. There, Laura’s out, and I’ll have a cigar and calm down. Forty thou’! Shell never know—at least, I hope not, and, it will make me independent for a bit. But I won’t do it any more. It would be tempting fortune; but with that extra in the bank I can stand my ground a little. Laura’s a dear good woman, but too straight-laced. There’s too much of this parish twaddle and charity-mongering. She’s quite insane upon such matters, and with the independence that money will give me I can afford to stand up for myself. She talks about weaning me, and I’ve given up the hunting and the racecourse to humour her, so now she must drop some of her fads to favour me. We shall be a deal happier then.”

He dropped into a chair, feeling easier in his mind, and went on musing.

“Yes,” he said, “there’s a lot a fellow ought to do, and the first thing after settling day I mean to attack this stewardship business. I’m about sick of that long, lean, lizardly humbug Trimmer. Hang his white choker and sanctified ways! He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I’ll swear. A hypocritical rascal! I’ll swear I saw him leering at our pretty Jane, but if I told Laura she’d take his part. Ha, ha, ha! Capital!” he said half-aloud, as he indulged in a hearty fit of chuckling. “What a splendid idea. I can’t quite see my way, but Mark’s dead on the little lassie, and if I’m right and the lad can be enlightened, my word, I should like to see the fun! Judging by the way Mark can handle his fives, and the fire such a notion would give him, I shouldn’t like to be in Master Trimmer’s shoes, to wear the phiz he would have when the lad had done with him. Yes, that would settle Master Trimmer, if, of course, I am right, and he is the confounded mawworm I believe him to be.

“Well, that would be an improvement. Then there’s Master Syd. That young dog’s gammoning his aunt shamefully, I’m sure. But it’s all her own fault. She treats him as if he were a child instead of a lad of eighteen and it isn’t natural for a boy to be dragged into these parish meetings, and to be set to read reports of this society and that society, and checked in his natural desire for a bit of honest, manly sport. Why, if that boy could have had his way he’d have been at the races to-day. Going fishing, I suppose. Well, that’s not so bad, but I almost wonder he’s allowed to do that.

“Hang it all!” he muttered, springing up and going to the window, where he looked out, and carefully cut and lit a cigar, to begin smoking, so that the fumes should pass out into the air, “how that money does keep buzzing in my head. My pulses are going like fun. Ah! there, I won’t think about it. La Sylphide is safe to pull it off for us. Do Granton good, too. Make him more independent over his suit with the widow. Ha! There’s nothing like a good cigar to pull a man round. I’m better already; but it’s miserable work, this having to steal a smoke in one’s own house. I feel quite a coward over it, or like a boy learning. Like Syd did when I caught him having a weed in the stables. One of mine, too! He confessed to helping himself to one out of that box in the study cupboard.

“Well, I wasn’t very hard on him. Boys will be boys, and they pay pretty dearly for their first smoke.

“Yes, I feel ever so much calmer now. My word! How I should have liked to have the dogcart out and drive Laury tandem to the racecourse! She wouldn’t have enjoyed it? Well, the boy, then, to see the Sylph win, and dropped in afterwards at the Arms. Had a chat with old Sam’s pretty little lassie. Good idea that of his, to name the little thing after the mare. How proud he is of her, and how proud he was, too, of the mare. Well, no wonder; it was a splendid bit of training. But hang him for an old fox! As big an old scoundrel as ever had a horse pulled in a race. Shocking old ruffian! Wonder what he’s doing on the cup race; on heavily with La Sylphide, of course, and no wonder, for she is sure to win.”

As he said these words Sir Hilton was sitting on the window-sill sending out his smoke in good, steady, regular puffs, perfectly unconscious of all sounds without and of everything but his own thoughts, till the door was opened suddenly, with strange effect.

For Sir Hilton Lisle, Bart., as his name was written, made a sudden bound off the window-sill, sending his cigar flying, while the guilty blood flushed his face, as he felt that his wife had returned, and he had been caught smoking indoors.

But he turned pale with anger the next moment as he stood facing the little maid, Jane, who was fighting hard to hide a smile which would show, while her bright eyes twinkled with delight, as she said quickly: “Lady Tilborough, sir.”

And the next moment the widow of the late nobleman of that name, a round-faced, retroussé-nosed, red-lipped, grey-eyed little woman of exquisite complexion, and looking delightfully enticing in her tall hat and perfectly-fitting riding-habit, which she held up with a pair of prettily-gauntleted hands, hurried into the room.

“There, go away, little girl,” she cried, giving Jane a playful tap with her whip, “and tell your Mark to give my pony’s mouth a wash out. No corn, mind.”

“Yes, my lady,” cried Jane, beaming upon the natty little body, and taking in her dress with one glance.

“Here I am, Hilt, dear boy,” cried the visitor, as the door closed. “Caught you all alone, for I passed your wife, and she cut me dead. Here I am!”

“Yes, I see you are,” groaned Sir Hilton; and then to himself: “Temptation once again, and in its most tempting form.”

Chapter Seven.A Diabolical Business.If the old writers were right, so was Sir Hilton Lisle, as he drew a chair forward and placed it ready for his attractive visitor, who gave the long folds of her riding-habit a graceful sweep, and then dropped with an elastic plump into the seat.“Oh, Hilt, dear boy! Oh, Hilt!” she cried, bursting into tears.“My dear Lady Tilborough!” he cried, catching her hands in his, as she dabbed her whip down on the table with a smart blow; “what is the matter?”“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” she cried passionately.“Don’t?” said Sir Hilton. “What have I done?”“Called me Lady Tilborough in that cold, formal way, just as if you were going to refuse before I asked; and us such very, very old friends!”“Well, Hetty, then. My dear old girl, what is the matter?”“Ah, that’s better, Hilt,” said the lady, with a sigh of relief. “We are such old friends, aren’t we?—even if you have married that dreadfully severe wife who looks upon me as an awfully wicked woman.”“Which you are not, Hetty,” said Sir Hilton, warmly.“Thank ye, Hilt dear. That does me good,” she said, drawing away her hands and beginning to wipe her eyes. “I always felt that I could trust to you if I had a spill. Tilborough always used to say: ‘If you’re in any trouble, go to dear old Hilt, unless it’s money matters; and in them don’t trust him, for he’s a perfect baby.’”“Did Lord Tilborough say that?” cried Sir Hilton, frowning.“Yes, old fellow,” sighed the lady; “and it’s quite true. There, don’t look black, Hilty, dear old man. You know you ruined yourself, and so you would anyone else who trusted you with money.”“Lady Tilborough!” cried Sir Hilton, indignantly.“Stop that, dear boy. No stilts. Be honest. You know it’s true. Here, sit down and listen. I want your help.”“Hadn’t you better go to some other friend?” said Sir Hilton, sinking back in a chair at some distance, crossing his legs, and kicking the uppermost one up and down angrily. “Dr Granton, for instance.”“You leave Jack Granton out of the case, stupid. He wants to marry me, though he has never said so. He’s a thoroughly good fellow; but, of course, I couldn’t go to him, even if he could help me, and he can’t.”“How can I, Lady Tilborough?”“Hetty!” said the lady, sternly.“Well, Hetty, then.”“That’s better, Hilt, old man. Here, I’ll tell you directly. Look at me.”She paused to fight down a passion of hysterical laughter.“My dear little woman!” said Sir Hilton, springing up.“Keep away! Don’t touch me!” cried his visitor.“Have a glass of wine—some brandy?”“No, no; no, no! I shall be better directly. There, did you ever see such a silly woman? That’s got the better of it. If I hadn’t let myself go then I believe I should have had a fit.”“Ha! You quite frightened me. Now then, Hetty, old lady, what’s the matter?”“That’s our old friend Hilt talking like himself again,” said the visitor, with a sigh of relief. “There, I’m better now, ready to take every obstacle that comes in my way. Hilt, old man, a horrible disaster.”“Yes? Yes?” cried Sir Hilton, turning white, as if he already saw the shadow of what was to come.“Your dear old mare.”“Not dead?” cried Sir Hilton, wildly.“No, no, no; but it’s as bad. She was to run for the cup to-day.”“Yes, yes; I know.”“Thought you had done thinking of such things.”“I have—I haven’t—oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, go on! She hasn’t been got at?”“Not directly, Hilt, but indirectly.”“But how—how? Go on. I’m in torture.”“Ha!” cried Lady Tilborough, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I knew you would be, Hilt, for your old friend’s sake.”“Will you go on, Hetty?”“Yes, yes. I can’t prove it. I daren’t say it, but Josh Rowle has been a deal at Sam Simpkins’s this last week or two.”“Yes?”“And I’m as good as sure that the old scoundrel has been at work on him.”“No; you’re wrong. Josh is as honest as the day. I always trusted him to ride square, and he always did.”“And so he has for me, Hilt.”“Of course. I tell you I always trusted him.”“But not with a bottle, Hilt.”“Eh? No; drink was his only weakness.”“That’s right; and I believe Sam Simpkins—the old villain!—has been at him that way to get him so that he can’t ride.”“What!”“The miserable wretch is down with D.T.—in an awful state, and the local demon can’t allay the spirit. To make matters worse, Jack Granton, who might have helped me, can’t be found.”“Jack was here just now. Gone on to the course.”“What! Oh, joy! No, no; it’s no use. Too late. Nobody could make poor Josh fit to ride to-day.”“But this is diabolical.”“Oh, it’s ten times worse than that, Hilty, old man. I had such trust in the mare that I’m on her for nearly every shilling I possess. If she doesn’t win I’m a ruined woman.”“Oh!” cried Sir Hilton, getting up and stamping about the room, tearing at his hair, already getting thin on the crown.“Thank you, Hilt dear, thank you. I always knew you for a sympathetic soul. Can you imagine anything worse?”“Yes—yes!” cried Sir Hilton; “ten times worse.”“What?”“I’m on her too!”“You?”“Yes, to the tune of four thousand pounds.”“You, Hilt!” cried the lady, with her eyes brightening, and instead of sympathy something like ecstasy in her tones. “I thought you had ‘schworred off.’”“Yes, of course—I had—but the mare—short of money—such faith in her—I put on—lot of my wife’s money. Hetty, how could you have managed so badly with Josh Rowle? What have you done? Oh, woman, woman! You always were the ruin of our sex! Why did you come with such horrible news as this? I’m a ruined man.”“Yes, Hilt, and I’m a ruined woman.”“Do you know what it means for me, Hetty?”“Yes, Hilt, old man—four thou’.”“Of my wife’s money? No, it means locking my dressing-room door, and then—”“Yes? What then?”“Revolver. No, haven’t got one—a razor.”“Tchah!”“While you, Hetty—”“Not such a fool,” cried the lady. “Life’s worth more than four million millions, squared and cubed. Pull yourself together, you dear old gander.”“Pull myself together!” groaned Sir Hilton. “Oh, why did you come with this horrible news?”“Because I knew you could help me, stupid!”“I—I—help you?”“Hold up, Hilt, or you’ll break your knees. It’s an emergency—no time to lose. La Sylphide must come up to the scratch.”“Oh!” groaned Sir Hilton. “Impossible. Try to put another jock on her, and she’ll murder him. You know what she is. There, pray leave me. I must do a bit of writing before I go.”“Hilt!” cried Lady Tilborough, flushing with energy, as she sprang up and snatched her whip from the table, to swish it about and make it whistle through the air. “You make me feel as if I could lash you till you howled. Be a man. Suicide! Bah! You’ll have to die quite soon enough. Now then, listen. This is the only chance. In the terrible emergency I’ve come to you. Now, quick, there isn’t a minute to spare. You must help me.”“I? How?”“Can’t you see?”“I’m stunned.”“Oh, what a man! You must ride the mare yourself.”“And win.”“Impossible!”“Nonsense. She will be like a lamb with you.”“But my wife; she wouldn’t—”“Oh!” cried Lady Tilborough, stamping, and lashing the air with her whip. “Divorce your wife.”“She’d divorce me.”“And a good job too! You must come and ride the mare.”“I can’t—I can’t.”“You must, Hilt.”“Out of training. Too heavy.”“Not a bit of it. You’re as fine as can be, and will want weight. You look as thin as if you’d been fretting.”“I have been, woman; I have.”“All the better. Come on at once.”“I tell you I daren’t. I can’t, Hetty. It is madness.”“Yes, to refuse. Do you hear? It is to save your four thousand pounds.”“Oh!” groaned Sir Hilton.“Your wife’s money.”“With which she has trusted me for Parliamentary expenses.”“Ha! Then you must ride and save it.”“No, no, no! My spirit’s broken. I should funk everything.”“Nonsense! Come, you will ride?”“No, no, not even for that money, and to save the shame. I can’t—I can’t, Hetty.”“Then for your old, old friend. Hilt, dear boy, we were nearly making a match of it once, only you were a fool. I’d have had you.”“Would you?”“Yes, if you hadn’t been so wild. Now then, for the sake of the old days and our old love. Hilt, for my sake. Do you want me to go down upon my knees?”“No, no, the other way on, if you like. But the race—impossible. I can’t—I can’t. I don’t know, though. She’d never hear of it. But the newspaper. She never reads it, though; calls it a disgustingly low journal. But, no—no, I couldn’t—I couldn’t. Hetty, old girl, pray, pray don’t tempt me.”“It is to save yourself from shame, and me, a weak, helpless woman, from absolute ruin. Don’t live to see me sold up, stock, lock, and barrel. Why, Hilt, old man, I shall be as badly off as you. All my poor gee-gees, including the mare, knocked down, and poor me marrying some tyrant who will now and then write me a paltry cheque.”“Ha, yes!” cried Sir Hilton, drawing himself up as rigidly as if he had been struck by a cataleptic seizure, while Lady Tilborough stared at him in horror, and, unseen by either, Sydney, armed with mounted fly-rod and creel, appeared at the window, stopped short, and looked in in astonishment.“Ha!” ejaculated the baronet, again, drawing a deep breath, as he changed into the little, wiry, alert man, with a regular horsey look coming over his face, and tightening lips. “All right, Hetty,” he cried. “I’m on.”“Hurrah!” cried Lady Tilborough, waving her whip about her head, and then stroking it down softly on first one and then on the other side of her old friend, before making believe to hold a pair of reins and work them about, jockey fashion. “Sir Hilton up—he’s giving her her head—look at her—away she goes—a neck—half a length—a length—two lengths! Sylphide wins! Sylphide wins—a bad second, and the field nowhere.”“Ha!” breathed Sir Hilton, with his eyes flashing.“What about your silk and cap?”“All right.”“Get ’em; come on, then, Hilt. I’ll gallop back to the paddock like the wind. There’ll be some scene-shifting there by now, and the bookies working the oracle, for the news was flying when I came away that my mare was to be scratched.”“Ha,” cried Sir Hilton. “We’ll scratch ’em, old girl. She must—she shall win.”“Three cheers for the gentleman-rider!”“But my wife—my election?”“What! Win the race, and you’ll win the seat, old man. Can’t you see?”“Only the saving of the money we have on.”“What! Not that the popular sporting rider who won the cup will win no end of votes to-day?”“Ah, to be sure. Yes, of course,” cried Sir Hilton, excitedly. “Be off. I’ll join you at the hotel. My word! I seem to be coming to life again, Hetty. I can hear the buzzing of the crowd, the beating of the hoofs, the whistling of the wind, and see the swarming mob, and yelling of the thousand voices as the horse sweeps on with her long, elastic stride.”“First past the post, Hilt.”“Yes, first past the post.”“Now, get all you want and drive over at once. I’ll go round to the stables, shout for Mark, and tell him the news. Then I’ll gallop back at once.”The “at once” came faintly, for Lady Tilborough was already passing through the door.“Phew!” whistled Sir Hilton. “By George! it sends a thrill through a man again. La Sylphide. My first old love.”He stood motionless, staring after his visitor for a few moments, and then dashed through the opposite door.The next moment a fishing-rod was thrust in at the window, dropped against the table, and Syd, with a creel hanging from its strap, vaulted lightly through into the room, to give vent to what sounded like the tardy echo of his uncle’s whistle.“Phe-ew!” And then he said softly, with a grin of delight upon his features: “Auntie seems to be very much out. The ball’s begun to roll, gentlemen, so make your little game.”

If the old writers were right, so was Sir Hilton Lisle, as he drew a chair forward and placed it ready for his attractive visitor, who gave the long folds of her riding-habit a graceful sweep, and then dropped with an elastic plump into the seat.

“Oh, Hilt, dear boy! Oh, Hilt!” she cried, bursting into tears.

“My dear Lady Tilborough!” he cried, catching her hands in his, as she dabbed her whip down on the table with a smart blow; “what is the matter?”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” she cried passionately.

“Don’t?” said Sir Hilton. “What have I done?”

“Called me Lady Tilborough in that cold, formal way, just as if you were going to refuse before I asked; and us such very, very old friends!”

“Well, Hetty, then. My dear old girl, what is the matter?”

“Ah, that’s better, Hilt,” said the lady, with a sigh of relief. “We are such old friends, aren’t we?—even if you have married that dreadfully severe wife who looks upon me as an awfully wicked woman.”

“Which you are not, Hetty,” said Sir Hilton, warmly.

“Thank ye, Hilt dear. That does me good,” she said, drawing away her hands and beginning to wipe her eyes. “I always felt that I could trust to you if I had a spill. Tilborough always used to say: ‘If you’re in any trouble, go to dear old Hilt, unless it’s money matters; and in them don’t trust him, for he’s a perfect baby.’”

“Did Lord Tilborough say that?” cried Sir Hilton, frowning.

“Yes, old fellow,” sighed the lady; “and it’s quite true. There, don’t look black, Hilty, dear old man. You know you ruined yourself, and so you would anyone else who trusted you with money.”

“Lady Tilborough!” cried Sir Hilton, indignantly.

“Stop that, dear boy. No stilts. Be honest. You know it’s true. Here, sit down and listen. I want your help.”

“Hadn’t you better go to some other friend?” said Sir Hilton, sinking back in a chair at some distance, crossing his legs, and kicking the uppermost one up and down angrily. “Dr Granton, for instance.”

“You leave Jack Granton out of the case, stupid. He wants to marry me, though he has never said so. He’s a thoroughly good fellow; but, of course, I couldn’t go to him, even if he could help me, and he can’t.”

“How can I, Lady Tilborough?”

“Hetty!” said the lady, sternly.

“Well, Hetty, then.”

“That’s better, Hilt, old man. Here, I’ll tell you directly. Look at me.”

She paused to fight down a passion of hysterical laughter.

“My dear little woman!” said Sir Hilton, springing up.

“Keep away! Don’t touch me!” cried his visitor.

“Have a glass of wine—some brandy?”

“No, no; no, no! I shall be better directly. There, did you ever see such a silly woman? That’s got the better of it. If I hadn’t let myself go then I believe I should have had a fit.”

“Ha! You quite frightened me. Now then, Hetty, old lady, what’s the matter?”

“That’s our old friend Hilt talking like himself again,” said the visitor, with a sigh of relief. “There, I’m better now, ready to take every obstacle that comes in my way. Hilt, old man, a horrible disaster.”

“Yes? Yes?” cried Sir Hilton, turning white, as if he already saw the shadow of what was to come.

“Your dear old mare.”

“Not dead?” cried Sir Hilton, wildly.

“No, no, no; but it’s as bad. She was to run for the cup to-day.”

“Yes, yes; I know.”

“Thought you had done thinking of such things.”

“I have—I haven’t—oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, go on! She hasn’t been got at?”

“Not directly, Hilt, but indirectly.”

“But how—how? Go on. I’m in torture.”

“Ha!” cried Lady Tilborough, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I knew you would be, Hilt, for your old friend’s sake.”

“Will you go on, Hetty?”

“Yes, yes. I can’t prove it. I daren’t say it, but Josh Rowle has been a deal at Sam Simpkins’s this last week or two.”

“Yes?”

“And I’m as good as sure that the old scoundrel has been at work on him.”

“No; you’re wrong. Josh is as honest as the day. I always trusted him to ride square, and he always did.”

“And so he has for me, Hilt.”

“Of course. I tell you I always trusted him.”

“But not with a bottle, Hilt.”

“Eh? No; drink was his only weakness.”

“That’s right; and I believe Sam Simpkins—the old villain!—has been at him that way to get him so that he can’t ride.”

“What!”

“The miserable wretch is down with D.T.—in an awful state, and the local demon can’t allay the spirit. To make matters worse, Jack Granton, who might have helped me, can’t be found.”

“Jack was here just now. Gone on to the course.”

“What! Oh, joy! No, no; it’s no use. Too late. Nobody could make poor Josh fit to ride to-day.”

“But this is diabolical.”

“Oh, it’s ten times worse than that, Hilty, old man. I had such trust in the mare that I’m on her for nearly every shilling I possess. If she doesn’t win I’m a ruined woman.”

“Oh!” cried Sir Hilton, getting up and stamping about the room, tearing at his hair, already getting thin on the crown.

“Thank you, Hilt dear, thank you. I always knew you for a sympathetic soul. Can you imagine anything worse?”

“Yes—yes!” cried Sir Hilton; “ten times worse.”

“What?”

“I’m on her too!”

“You?”

“Yes, to the tune of four thousand pounds.”

“You, Hilt!” cried the lady, with her eyes brightening, and instead of sympathy something like ecstasy in her tones. “I thought you had ‘schworred off.’”

“Yes, of course—I had—but the mare—short of money—such faith in her—I put on—lot of my wife’s money. Hetty, how could you have managed so badly with Josh Rowle? What have you done? Oh, woman, woman! You always were the ruin of our sex! Why did you come with such horrible news as this? I’m a ruined man.”

“Yes, Hilt, and I’m a ruined woman.”

“Do you know what it means for me, Hetty?”

“Yes, Hilt, old man—four thou’.”

“Of my wife’s money? No, it means locking my dressing-room door, and then—”

“Yes? What then?”

“Revolver. No, haven’t got one—a razor.”

“Tchah!”

“While you, Hetty—”

“Not such a fool,” cried the lady. “Life’s worth more than four million millions, squared and cubed. Pull yourself together, you dear old gander.”

“Pull myself together!” groaned Sir Hilton. “Oh, why did you come with this horrible news?”

“Because I knew you could help me, stupid!”

“I—I—help you?”

“Hold up, Hilt, or you’ll break your knees. It’s an emergency—no time to lose. La Sylphide must come up to the scratch.”

“Oh!” groaned Sir Hilton. “Impossible. Try to put another jock on her, and she’ll murder him. You know what she is. There, pray leave me. I must do a bit of writing before I go.”

“Hilt!” cried Lady Tilborough, flushing with energy, as she sprang up and snatched her whip from the table, to swish it about and make it whistle through the air. “You make me feel as if I could lash you till you howled. Be a man. Suicide! Bah! You’ll have to die quite soon enough. Now then, listen. This is the only chance. In the terrible emergency I’ve come to you. Now, quick, there isn’t a minute to spare. You must help me.”

“I? How?”

“Can’t you see?”

“I’m stunned.”

“Oh, what a man! You must ride the mare yourself.”

“And win.”

“Impossible!”

“Nonsense. She will be like a lamb with you.”

“But my wife; she wouldn’t—”

“Oh!” cried Lady Tilborough, stamping, and lashing the air with her whip. “Divorce your wife.”

“She’d divorce me.”

“And a good job too! You must come and ride the mare.”

“I can’t—I can’t.”

“You must, Hilt.”

“Out of training. Too heavy.”

“Not a bit of it. You’re as fine as can be, and will want weight. You look as thin as if you’d been fretting.”

“I have been, woman; I have.”

“All the better. Come on at once.”

“I tell you I daren’t. I can’t, Hetty. It is madness.”

“Yes, to refuse. Do you hear? It is to save your four thousand pounds.”

“Oh!” groaned Sir Hilton.

“Your wife’s money.”

“With which she has trusted me for Parliamentary expenses.”

“Ha! Then you must ride and save it.”

“No, no, no! My spirit’s broken. I should funk everything.”

“Nonsense! Come, you will ride?”

“No, no, not even for that money, and to save the shame. I can’t—I can’t, Hetty.”

“Then for your old, old friend. Hilt, dear boy, we were nearly making a match of it once, only you were a fool. I’d have had you.”

“Would you?”

“Yes, if you hadn’t been so wild. Now then, for the sake of the old days and our old love. Hilt, for my sake. Do you want me to go down upon my knees?”

“No, no, the other way on, if you like. But the race—impossible. I can’t—I can’t. I don’t know, though. She’d never hear of it. But the newspaper. She never reads it, though; calls it a disgustingly low journal. But, no—no, I couldn’t—I couldn’t. Hetty, old girl, pray, pray don’t tempt me.”

“It is to save yourself from shame, and me, a weak, helpless woman, from absolute ruin. Don’t live to see me sold up, stock, lock, and barrel. Why, Hilt, old man, I shall be as badly off as you. All my poor gee-gees, including the mare, knocked down, and poor me marrying some tyrant who will now and then write me a paltry cheque.”

“Ha, yes!” cried Sir Hilton, drawing himself up as rigidly as if he had been struck by a cataleptic seizure, while Lady Tilborough stared at him in horror, and, unseen by either, Sydney, armed with mounted fly-rod and creel, appeared at the window, stopped short, and looked in in astonishment.

“Ha!” ejaculated the baronet, again, drawing a deep breath, as he changed into the little, wiry, alert man, with a regular horsey look coming over his face, and tightening lips. “All right, Hetty,” he cried. “I’m on.”

“Hurrah!” cried Lady Tilborough, waving her whip about her head, and then stroking it down softly on first one and then on the other side of her old friend, before making believe to hold a pair of reins and work them about, jockey fashion. “Sir Hilton up—he’s giving her her head—look at her—away she goes—a neck—half a length—a length—two lengths! Sylphide wins! Sylphide wins—a bad second, and the field nowhere.”

“Ha!” breathed Sir Hilton, with his eyes flashing.

“What about your silk and cap?”

“All right.”

“Get ’em; come on, then, Hilt. I’ll gallop back to the paddock like the wind. There’ll be some scene-shifting there by now, and the bookies working the oracle, for the news was flying when I came away that my mare was to be scratched.”

“Ha,” cried Sir Hilton. “We’ll scratch ’em, old girl. She must—she shall win.”

“Three cheers for the gentleman-rider!”

“But my wife—my election?”

“What! Win the race, and you’ll win the seat, old man. Can’t you see?”

“Only the saving of the money we have on.”

“What! Not that the popular sporting rider who won the cup will win no end of votes to-day?”

“Ah, to be sure. Yes, of course,” cried Sir Hilton, excitedly. “Be off. I’ll join you at the hotel. My word! I seem to be coming to life again, Hetty. I can hear the buzzing of the crowd, the beating of the hoofs, the whistling of the wind, and see the swarming mob, and yelling of the thousand voices as the horse sweeps on with her long, elastic stride.”

“First past the post, Hilt.”

“Yes, first past the post.”

“Now, get all you want and drive over at once. I’ll go round to the stables, shout for Mark, and tell him the news. Then I’ll gallop back at once.”

The “at once” came faintly, for Lady Tilborough was already passing through the door.

“Phew!” whistled Sir Hilton. “By George! it sends a thrill through a man again. La Sylphide. My first old love.”

He stood motionless, staring after his visitor for a few moments, and then dashed through the opposite door.

The next moment a fishing-rod was thrust in at the window, dropped against the table, and Syd, with a creel hanging from its strap, vaulted lightly through into the room, to give vent to what sounded like the tardy echo of his uncle’s whistle.

“Phe-ew!” And then he said softly, with a grin of delight upon his features: “Auntie seems to be very much out. The ball’s begun to roll, gentlemen, so make your little game.”

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