ou owe me nothing!" His eyes gleamed under his hat and his teeth
clinched as he spoke. "Nothing, Sir Everard Kingsland! Let us say
good-bye. I must reach Worrel by sunrise."

"And so you shall. The fleetest steed in my stables shall carry you.
But come to Kingsland and rest for the night. If you will not accept
my thanks, accept at least the shelter of my roof."

The boy seemed to hesitate.

The baronet look advantage of that momentary hesitation and drew his
arm through his own. There was not a prouder man in wide England, but
this unknown lad had saved his life, and Sir Everard was only
two-and-twenty, and full of generous impulses.

"Come," he said, "don't be obstinate. You own to being footsore and
weary. Kingsland is very near, and a night's rest will do you good."

"Thanks! I accept your kind hospitality, Sir Everard, on two
conditions."

"On any conditions you choose, _mon ami_. What are they?"

"That no one shall know it but yourself, and that I may depart before
day-dawn."

"I dislike that last condition very much; but it must be as you say.
Sleep in safety, most mysterious youth; no one shall know you are under
my roof, and I will come and wake you myself at the first peep of day.
Will that do?"

"Admirably. You are very kind to take all this trouble for a nameless
tramp, Sir Everard."

"Am I? Even when the nameless tramp saved my life?"--yet Sir Everard
winced a little while saying it. "And that reminds me, we must hasten,
if yonder fallen villain is to recover from his wound. His condition
is not an enviable one at this moment."

"How did it happen?" the boy asked.

And the young baronet repeated the story of Dick Darkly's provocation
and vow of revenge.

As he concluded they passed through the stately gates, up the majestic
sweep of drive, to the imposing old mansion.

"Home!" Sir Everard said, gayly. "Solitude and darkness reign, you
see. The family have long since retired, and we can pass to our
respective dormitories unseen and unheard."

The boy looked up with his brilliant, glowing eyes. But he did not
speak. In silence he followed Sir Everard in, up the noble marble
stair-way, along richly carpeted, softly lighted corridors, and into a
stately chamber.

"You will sleep here," Sir Everard said. "My room is near, and I am a
light sleeper. To-morrow morning at five I will rouse you. Until then
adieu, and pleasant dreams."

He swung out and closed the door, and