ters; it stood on the very outskirts of the
village and as he had only the wood to traverse between it and the
pavilion where he effected his change of personality, he ran thus but
few risks of meeting prying eyes. Moreover, Adam Lambert, the
blacksmith, and the old woman who kept house for him, both belonged to
the new religious sect which Judge Bennett had so pertinently dubbed the
Quakers, and they kept themselves very much aloof from gossip and the
rest of the village.

True, Richard Lambert oft visited his brother and the old woman, but did
so always in the daytime when Prince Amede d'Orleans carefully kept out
of the way. Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had all the true instincts of the
beast or bird of prey. He prowled about in the dark, and laid his snares
for the seizure of his victim under cover of the night.

This evening certain new schemes had found birth in his active mind; he
was impatient that the victim tarried, when his brain was alive with
thoughts of how to effect a more speedy capture. He leaned against the
wall, close by the gate as was his wont when awaiting Sue, smiling
grimly to himself at thought of the many little subterfuges she would
employ to steal out of the house, without encountering--as she
thought--her watchful guardian.

A voice close behind him--speaking none too kindly--broke in on his
meditations, causing him to start--almost to crouch like a frightened
cat.

The next moment he had recognized the gruff and nasal tones of Adam
Lambert. Apparently the blacksmith had just come from the wood through
the gate, and had almost stumbled in the dark against the rigid figure
of his mysterious lodger.

"Friend, what dost thou here?" he asked peremptorily. But already Sir
Marmaduke had recovered from that sudden sense of fear which had caused
him to start in alarm.

"I would ask the same question of you, my friend," he retorted airily,
speaking in the muffled voice and with the markedly foreign accent which
he had assumed for the role of the Prince, "might I inquire what you are
doing here?"

"I have to see a sick mare down Minster way," replied Lambert curtly,
"this is a short cut thither, and Sir Marmaduke hath granted me leave.
But he liketh not strangers loitering in his park."

"Then, friend," rejoined the other lightly, "when Sir Marmaduke doth
object to my strolling in his garden, he will doubtless apprise me of
the fact, without interference from you."

Adam Lambert, after his un