istopher felt temptation grip him. He was
convinced the man beside him knew the untold story, and at this
juncture in his life he would give much to understand all those things
he had never questioned or ventured to consider. Then recognising
disloyalty in the very thought, he hastened to escape the pitfall. It
was no use to take half measures with this man, however, so he lied
again boldly.

"Of course I know," and went back again to safer ground. "Whatever
your reasons, it was good of you to think of me and kinder still to
renew your offer. I expect you will think me a silly fool of a boy to
refuse it again."

"Not exactly; but a boy brought up by an Aymer Aston the second."

"That is sufficient luck for one boy to grab out of life."

Peter Masters chuckled. "I take it, young man, you'd rather be
fathered by Aymer than by me, eh?"

Christopher muttered a very fervent affirmative between clenched
teeth, which did not appear to reach his hearer's ears, for as Masters
finished his own sentence he shot a sudden, sharp, puzzled look at
Christopher, and his teeth shut together with a click. He spoke no
more and when Christopher hazarded a remark he got no answer.

The glory of the day was at its height when Marden came in sight; the
whole world seemed to have joined in a peon of thanksgiving which for
the moment drowned the unwonted echoes in Christopher's heart that
Peter Masters's hard voice had awoken.

Youth was his, Love was his, and Patricia was to be his, and he was
going to see her. He covered the distance from the lodge gates to the
house in a time that taxed his companion's nerve to the uttermost and
bid fair to outpace even the throbbing, rushing pulse of spring that
filled the land.

CHAPTER XVII

Patricia was in the orchard, and not only in the orchard, but of it,
for she was comfortably perched on a low bough of an ancient hoary
apple tree. She had a volume of Robert Bridges's poems in her hand and
a thirst was on her to be at the edge of a cliff and look over into
blue space below. The secluded orchard with its early crown of pink
blushes, the serene shut-in valley screened from cold winds and
cradled between the chalky highlands, weighed on her. She looked
upwards through the dainty tracery of soft green and pink to the sky
above, delicately blue with white clouds racing over it. There was air
up there, free and untrammelled. Patricia sighed and then laughed at
herself, for it was good, e