upshot."

"I hope you will be. You must not run away from us immediately. Where's
your luggage?"

Captain Cannonby laughed. "Talk to a returned gold-digger of his
'luggage'! Mine consists of a hand portmanteau, and that is at the
Golden Fleece. I can order it up here if you'd like me to stay with you
a few days. I should enjoy some shooting beyond everything."

"That is settled, then," said Lionel. "I will see that you have your
portmanteau. Did you get rich at the diggings?"

The captain shook his head. "I might have made something, had I stuck at
it. But I grew sick of it altogether. My brother, the doctor, makes a
sight of money, and I can get what I want from him," was the candid
confession.

Lionel smiled. "These rich brothers in reserve are a terrible drag upon
self-exertion. Here we are!" he added, as they turned in at the gates.
"This is Verner's Pride."

"What a fine place!" exclaimed Captain Cannonby, bringing his steps to a
halt as he gazed at it.

"Yes, it is. Not a pleasant prospect, was it, to contemplate the being
turned out of it by a dead man."

"A dead--You do not mean to say that Frederick Massingbird--if in
life--would be the owner of Verner's Pride?"

"Yes, he would be. I was its rightful heir, and why my uncle willed it
away from me, to one who was no blood relation, has remained a mystery
to this day. Frederick Massingbird succeeded, to my exclusion. I only
came into it at his death."

Captain Cannonby appeared completely thunderstruck at the revelation.
"Why, then," he cried, after a pause, "this may supply the very
motive-power that is wanting, for one to personate Fred Massingbird."

"Scarcely," replied Lionel. "No ghost, or seeming ghost, walking about
in secret at night, could get Verner's Pride resigned to him. He must
come forward in the broad face of day, and establish his identity by
indisputable proof."

"True, true. Well, it is a curious tale! I should like, as I say, to
witness the winding-up."

Lionel looked about for his wife. He could not find her. But few of
their guests were in the rooms; they had dispersed somewhere or other.
He went up to Sibylla's dressing-room, but she was not there.
Mademoiselle Benoite was coming along the corridor as he left it again.

"Do you know where your mistress is?" he asked.

"_Mais certainement_," responded mademoiselle. "Monsieur will find madam
at the archerie."

He bent his steps to the targets. On the lawn, flitting amidst