ost, Mrs. Jarrold, had died during the last year of Harold's
life at college.

When the day came for the quarterly meeting of the magistrates of the
county of Norcester, Squire Rowly arranged as usual to drive Squire
Norman. This had been their habit for good many years. The two men
usually liked to talk over the meeting as they returned home together. It
was a beautiful morning for a drive, and when Rowly came flying up the
avenue in his T-cart with three magnificent bays, Stephen ran out on the
top of the steps to see him draw up. Rowly was a fine whip, and his
horses felt it. Squire Norman was ready, and, after a kiss from Stephen,
climbed into the high cart. The men raised their hats and waved good-
bye. A word from Rowly; with a bound the horses were off. Stephen stood
looking at them delighted; all was so sunny, so bright, so happy. The
world was so full of life and happiness to-day that it seemed as if it
would never end; that nothing except good could befall.

Harold, later on that morning, was to go into Norcester also; so Stephen
with a lonely day before her set herself to take up loose-ends of all
sorts of little personal matters. They would all meet at dinner as Rowly
was to stop the night at Normanstand.

Harold left the club in good time to ride home to dinner. As he passed
the County Hotel he stopped to ask if Squire Norman had left; and was
told that he had started only a short time before with Squire Rowly in
his T-cart. He rode on fast, thinking that perhaps he might overtake
them and ride on with them. But the bays knew their work, and did it.
They kept their start; it was only at the top of the North hill, five
miles out of Norcester, that he saw them in the distance, flying along
the level road. He knew he would not now overtake them, and so rode on
somewhat more leisurely.

The Norcester highroad, when it has passed the village of Brackling,
turns away to the right behind the great clump of oaks. From this the
road twists to the left again, making a double curve, and then runs to
Norling Parva in a clear stretch of some miles before reaching the sharp
turn down the hill which is marked 'Dangerous to Cyclists.' From the
latter village branches the by-road over the hill which is the short cut
to Normanstand.

When Harold turned the corner under the shadow of the oaks he saw a
belated road-mender, surrounded by some gaping peasants, pointing
excitedly in the distance. The man, wh