come over this afternoon and stay to dinner."

"We'll come, with pleasure," David said. "I'll go anywhere to have the
chance of a quiet hour with you, Ruth. So far ours has been rather a
prosaic wooing. And, besides, I shall want you to coach me up on my
interview with your uncle. You have no idea how nervous I am. And at the
last he might refuse to accept me for your husband."

Ruth looked up fondly into her lover's face.

"As if he could," she said, indignantly. "As if any man could find fault
with you."

David drew the slender figure to his side and kissed the sweet, shy lips.

"When you are my wife," he said, "and come to take a closer and tenderer
interest in my welfare--"

"Could I take a deeper interest than I do now, David?"

"Well, perhaps not. But you will find that a good many people find fault
with me. You have no idea what the critics say sometimes. They declare
that I am an impostor, a copyist; they say that I am--"

"Let them say what they like," Ruth laughed. "That is mere jealousy, and
anybody can criticise. To me you are the greatest novelist alive."

There was only one answer to this, and Ruth broke away, declaring that
she must go at once.

"But you will come this afternoon?" she said. "And you will make
Lord Littimer like you. Some people say he is queer, but I call him
an old darling."

"He will like me, he is bound to. I've got something, a present for him,
that will render him my slave for life. _Au revoir_ till the gloaming."

* * * * *

The dew was rising from the grass, the silence of the perfect morning was
broken by the uneasy cries of the dogs. From their strange whimpering
Williams felt pretty sure that something was wrong. At most times he
would have called the dogs to him and laid into them with a whip, for
Williams knew no fear, and the hounds respected his firm yet kindly rule.

But Williams was in an exceptionally good temper this morning. Everything
had turned out as he had hoped for and anticipated, and the literal
kicking-out of Henson the previous evening was still fresh and sweet in
his memory. It would be something to boast of in his declining years.

"Drat the dogs," he exclaimed. "Now, what's the matter? I had better
go and see. Got a fox in a hole, perhaps! We shall have to tie 'em up
in future."

Williams darted into the thicket. Then he came full upon Henson, lying on
his back, with his white, unconscious face and staring ey