upon mortal. Now that my rival was out of the way, I
thought I might dispense with the sling which I had worn hitherto, and
directly after breakfast I strolled across to the Maitlands', with the
intention of persuading Miss Maitland to come for a ride on the
Mercedes. I found her on the point of starting for a stroll, with the
object of giving her favourite Irish setter a run, and I was easily
persuaded to abandon my projected ride and accompany her instead. We
chose the footpath between St. Stephen's church and the village of Park
Street, and, stepping out briskly, we soon reached our destination; and
as my companion would not hear of turning back, we continued our walk to
Bricket Wood. There I insisted upon resting.

I had never seen her in higher spirits than she was that morning. She
bubbled over with gaiety. So much so that I could not help commenting
upon the fact.

"Yes," she replied frankly, in answer to my remarks on the subject, "I
do feel gay this morning. I feel as if a load had been removed from my
shoulders."

"Surely you can have no troubles," I remarked, half-banteringly.

A shadow alighted for a moment upon her face and was gone again.

"Nothing which ought to be a trouble. Nothing tangible and yet---- Oh,
Mr. Sutgrove, do you--have you ever experienced a presentiment of
something dreadful happening? No; that is not exactly what I mean. I
don't know how to explain myself without----"

Then she paused, and I discreetly kept silence. Presently she resumed.

"Men are so stupid, or I would tell you all about it. You would never
understand."

I saw my opening and made use of it. "We men may be stupid both
individually and collectively," I said. "But I can answer for one man
being sympathetic to anything you like to say to him."

She laughed. "I am so afraid you will think me silly."

"Miss Maitland--Evie----" I began.

"Hush!" She stopped me with an adorable smile. "You know you haven't
caught the Motor Pirate, yet."

I summoned up the most injured expression permitted by my contentment
with my surroundings and fell silent again.

"Poor boy!" she said mockingly. "It is unkind of me to remind you of
your vow, when you have already done your best to fulfil it."

"Not quite my best, yet," I muttered sullenly.

"Anyhow I think you have done quite enough to warrant my taking you into
my confidence."

She said this quite seriously, and glancing up at her, I saw she was
looking into a glade of t