to him; but Ricordo never
entered them. Beyond calling occasionally at The Homestead, and at the
great house at Vale Linden, he showed no desire for companionship. If he
had left at the end of two months he would have been spoken of as the
mysterious Eastern gentleman who wore a fez, and while all sorts of
surmises would have been offered concerning him, nothing would have been
known.

[Illustration: Signor Ricordo.]

This morning, Signor Ricordo lay back in his chair, smoking a cheroot.
As usual, his eyes were nearly closed, and the same look of cynical
melancholy rested on his face. Once or twice he picked up the previous
day's paper, only to throw it aside. Evidently he had but little
interest in the affairs of the country. Presently he lifted his head
quickly, and saw the village postman coming towards him.

"Mornin', sur."

"Good-morning, Beel. Got some letters for me?"

"Sever'l, sur. 'Ere you be."

"Thank you."

The postman left him, and made his way towards the house.

For a time he sat deep in thought, not referring to the letters, but his
face gave no indication as to whether his thoughts were pleasant or
otherwise. It was as expressionless as the face of the sphinx. After a
time he turned to the letters and glanced at them carelessly. At length,
however, his eyes showed a glow of interest. He tore open one of the
letters and read it almost eagerly:

"DEAR SIGNOR RICORDO,--At last I am able to accept your kind
invitation, and by the time you get this I shall be on my way
to Vale Linden. As I am starting by an early train I shall
arrive at the station by one o'clock. I am simply longing to be
amidst the beautiful scenery which you describe so eloquently,
and more than all to have a long chat with you. All news when
we meet.--Yours,

"A. WINFIELD."

"P.S.--I shall lunch in the train."

Certainly there was nothing in the letter of a striking nature, yet
Ricordo walked up and down the lawn like one greatly moved.

"It is coming, it is coming," he repeated more than once.

Hastily scanning the other letters, he went into the house, and having
carefully locked them in a safe, he went out on the moors and walked for
many miles. By one o'clock he was at Vale Linden station, but no one
would have judged that he had trudged a long distance that summer day.
As he waited the coming of the train he looked as cool as if he had just
dressed after a cold bath.