f his imagination
remained only as memories to be laughed at. He no longer felt alarm or
anxiety. He dressed presently, and guessing that Tom, always the first
to rise, might already be out of doors, he strolled on to the terrace
presently to meet him there.

Already he speculated whether an apology was due from him to May, or
whether he might himself expect one. It didn't matter. He knew perfectly
well that Tom was all right now, and that was the only thing that
signified.

CHAPTER III. AT THE ORIEL

Chadlands sprang into existence when the manor houses of England--save
for the persistence of occasional embattled parapets and other
warlike survivals of unrestful days now past--had obeyed the laws of
architectural evolution, and begun to approach a future of cleanliness
and comfort, rising to luxury hitherto unknown. The development of this
ancient mass was displayed in plan as much as in elevation, and, at its
date, the great mansion had stood for the last word of perfection, when
men thought on large lines and the conditions of labour made possible
achievements now seldom within the power of a private purse. Much had
since been done, but the main architectural features were preserved,
though the interior of the great house was transformed.

The manor of Chadlands extended to some fifty thousand acres lying in a
river valley between the heights of Haldon on the east and the frontiers
of Dartmoor westerly. The little township was connected by a branch with
the Great Western Railway, and the station lay five miles from the manor
house. No more perfect parklands, albeit on a modest scale, existed in
South Devon, and the views of the surrounding heights and great vale
opening from the estate caused pleasure alike to those contented with
obvious beauty and the small number of spectators who understood the
significance of what constitutes really distinguished landscape.

Eastward, long slopes of herbage and drifts of azaleas--a glorious
harmony of gold, scarlet, and orange in June--sloped upwards to larch
woods; while the gardens of pleasure, watered by a little trout stream,
spread beneath the manor house, and behind it rose hot-houses and the
glass and walled gardens of fruit and vegetables. To the south and west
opened park and vale, where receded forest and fallow lands, until the
grey ramparts of the moor ascending beyond them hemmed in the picture.

Sir Walter Lennox had devoted himself to the sporting si