-'Nobody, no, not I,
nobody cares for me.'" Suddenly a new look shot up in her face.

"Did you see that singular handsome man who came from the church--like
some one out of an old painting? Not that his dress was so strange; but
there was something in his face--something that you would expect to find
in--in a Garibaldi. Silly, am I not? Did you see him?"

He looked at her gravely.

"My dear," he said at last, "I think I will go after all, though I shall
be a little late."

"A sensible grandfather. Come quickly, dear." He paused again.

"But I fear I sent a note to say I could not dine."

"No, you did not. It has been lying on your table for two days."

"Dear me--dear me! I am getting very old."

They passed out of the church. Presently, as they hurried to the rectory
near by, the girl said:

"But you haven't answered. Did you see the stranger? Do you know who he
is?"

The rector turned, and pointed to the gate of Ridley Court. Gaston and
Brillon were just entering. "Alice," he said, in a vague, half-troubled
way, "the man is a Belward, I think."

"Why, of course!" the girl replied with a flash of excitement. "But he's
so dark, and foreign-looking! What Belward is he?"

"I do not know yet, my dear."

"I shall be up when you come back. But mind, don't leave just after
dinner. Stay and talk; you must tell me everything that's said and
done--and about the stranger."

CHAPTER II. IN WHICH HE CLAIMS HIS OWN

Meanwhile, without a word, Gaston had mounted, ridden to the castle, and
passed through the open gates into the court-yard. Inside he paused.
In the main building many lights were burning. There came a rattle of
wheels behind him, and he shifted to let a carriage pass. Through the
window of the brougham he could see the shimmer of satin, lace, and soft
white fur, and he had an instant's glance of a pretty face.

The carriage drew up to the steps, and presently three ladies and
a brusque gentleman passed into the hall-way, admitted by powdered
footmen. The incident had a manner, an air, which struck Gaston, he knew
not why. Perhaps it was the easy finesse of ceremonial. He looked at
Brillon. He had seen him sit arms folded like that, looking from the top
of a bluff down on an Indian village or a herd of buffaloes. There was
wonder, but no shyness or agitation, on his face; rather the naive,
naked look of a child. Belward laughed.

"Come, Brillon; we are at home."

He rode up to the steps, Jacqu