is horse was soon heard upon the road.

He did succeed in finding John Gordon, who was listlessly waiting at
the Claimant's Arms for the coming of the four o'clock train which
was to take him back to London, on his way, as he told himself, to
the diamond-fields. He had thrown all his heart, all the energy of
which he was the master, into the manner in which he had pleaded for
himself and for Mary with Mr Whittlestaff. But he felt the weakness
of his position in that he could not remain present upon the ground
and see the working of his words. Having said what he had to say, he
could only go; and it was not to be expected that the eloquence of an
absent man, of one who had declared that he was about to start for
South Africa, should be regarded. He knew that what he had said was
true, and that, being true, it ought to prevail; but, having declared
it, there was nothing for him to do but to go away. He could not see
Mary herself again, nor, if he did so, would she be so likely to
yield to him as was Mr Whittlestaff. He could have no further excuse
for addressing himself to the girl who was about to become the wife
of another man. Therefore he sat restless, idle, and miserable in the
little parlour at the Claimant's Arms, thinking that the long journey
which he had made had been taken all in vain, and that there was
nothing left for him in the world but to return to Kimberley, and add
more diamonds to his stock-in-trade.

"Oh, Gordon!" said Blake, bursting into the room, "you're the very
man I want to find. You can't go back to London to-day."

"Can't I?"

"Quite out of the question. Mr Hall knew your father intimately when
you were only a little chap."

"Will that prevent my going back to London?"

"Certainly it will. He wants to renew the acquaintance. He is a
most hospitable, kind-hearted man; and who knows, one of the four
daughters might do yet."

"Who is Mr Hall?" No doubt he had heard the name on the previous
evening; but Hall is common, and had been forgotten.

"Who is Mr Hall? Why, he is the squire of Little Alresford, and my
patron. I forget you haven't heard that Mr Harbottle is dead at
last. Of course I am very sorry for the old gentleman in one sense;
but it is such a blessing in another. I'm only just thirty, and it's
a grand thing my tumbling into the living in this way."

"I needn't go back because Mr Harbottle is dead."

"But Kattie Forrester is coming to the Park. I told you last night,
but I