lf an hour later they started off together in high spirits.

* * * * *

It was dark before the seventeenth Earl of Blight returned to the house
and joined the others at the dinner-table. His face wore a slightly
worried expression.

"The fact is, my dear," he said, in answer to a question from the
Countess, "I am a little upset about Algernon. I fear we have lost him."

"Algernon?" said the Countess in surprise.

"Yes. We were standing at the top of Flamborough Head, looking down into
the sea, when--" He paused and tapped his glass, "Sherry, Jenkins," he
said, catching the butler's eye.

"I beg your pardon, my lord."

"--When poor Algernon stumbled and--Do any of you boys know if your
brother can swim?"

Everard, the ninth, said that Algernon had floated once in the Paddington
Baths, but couldn't swim.

"Ah! I was hoping--But in any case, coming into the water from that
height--Well, well, we must face our troubles bravely. Another glass of
sherry, Jenkins."

As they passed through the hall on their way to the drawing-room, Lord
Blight stopped a moment at the aneroid barometer and gave it an
encouraging tap.

"It looks like another fine day to-morrow," he said to Cuthbert, the
second Podby. "The panorama from the Scalby cliffs is unrivalled.
We might drive over and have a look at it."

III

Fortunately the weather held up. A week later the Podby family had been
thinned down to five, and the seventeenth Earl of Blight was beginning
to regain his usual equanimity. His health too was benefiting by the
constant sea air and change; for, in order that no melancholy
associations should cast a gloom over their little outings, he took care
to visit a different health-resort each time, feeling that no expense or
trouble should be spared in a matter of this kind. It was wonderful with
what vigour and alertness of mind he sat down in the evenings to the
preparation of his speech on the Coast Erosion Bill.

One night after dinner, when all the Podby family (Basil and Percy) had
retired to bed, Gertie (Countess of Blight) came into her husband's
library and, twirling the revolving bookcase with restless fingers, asked
if she could interrupt him for a moment.

"Yes?" he said, looking up at her.

"I am anxious, Blight," she answered. "Anxious about Percy."

"So am I, my love," he responded gravely. "I fear that to-morrow"--he
consulted a leather pocket-book--"no, the day after