el.

St. Nivel accompanied me to give me the benefit of his advice, which
was perhaps not likely to be of much service to me. He employed a
refined person himself who asked and got L150 a year.

The man who took my fancy was an old cavalry soldier named Brooks who
had been out of work for a time, but who yet bore the stamp of a man
who knew his work and would do it. I closed with him for a modest L70
a year, and he was glad to get it.

"When will you be ready to come, Brooks?" I asked when we had settled
preliminaries. "We shall be off by the next boat to La Plata, and I
shall want you to get on with the packing as soon as you can."

"For the matter of that, sir," he answered, "I could come now. I've no
chick nor child to hold me. I'm a widower without encumbrances."

I told the "widower without encumbrances" to come the next day, and St.
Nivel and I jumped into a hansom to catch the five o'clock express,
glad to get out of the thick atmosphere of London into the bright crisp
air of Norfolk.

"I think you've done right," remarked St. Nivel in the train, "in
getting an old cavalry man. He'll understand hunting things."

As I could not afford to hunt I missed the point of the signification.

Ah, those were happy days, those last few before we started!

All our serious preparations were finished and we had only to give a
little general supervision to the packing of our respective servants.
Ethel's experienced maid was going with her, of course.

This done, we used to stroll about together--the three of us--and enjoy
the last few hours of the dear old place as much as we could in the
beautiful bright weather.

I think Ethel and I even used to get a little bit romantic in the
lovely moonlight nights, when the old oak-panelled corridors and
staircases were bathed in the soft light. But we were very far from
being in love with one another all the same.

I shall never forget that time of peace, which came in a period of
storm and trial; the old red mansion with the river running not a
hundred yards from it, and the graceful swans sailing to and fro, the
glorious old trees of the avenue, the fine broad terrace with its
splendid views over the low, undulating country, with a glimpse of Lynn
Deeps on one hand and the white towers of St. Margaret's, the great
church in the ancient town, on the other.

The dreamy, old-world air of the place, the smell even of the
fresh-turned earth in the great gardens, the caw