ging peril. What was it? His father
and Jock had kept the secret from him.

He put his hand in the pocket again. There was another note--this time
in a woman's handwriting:

Oh, come to me, if you would save us both! Do not fail. God help
us! Oh, Robert!

It was signed "Agnes."

Well, here was something of mystery; but he did not trouble himself
about that. He was not at Ridley Court to solve mysteries, to probe into
the past, to set his father's wrongs right; but to serve himself, to
reap for all those years wherein his father had not reaped. He enjoyed
life, and he would search this one to the full of his desires. Before he
retired he studied the room, handling things that lay where his father
placed them so many years before. He was not without emotions in this,
but he held himself firm.

As he stood ready to get into bed, his eyes chanced upon a portrait of
his uncle Ian.

"There's where the tug comes!" he said, nodding at it. "Shake hands, and
ten paces, Uncle Ian?"

Then he blew out the candle, and in five minutes was sound asleep.

He was out at six o'clock. He made for the stables, and found Jacques
pacing the yard. He smiled at Jacques's dazed look.

"What about the horse, Brillon?" he said, nodding as he came up.

"Saracen's had a slice of the stable-boy's shoulder--sir."

Amusement loitered in Gaston's eyes. The "sir" had stuck in Jacques's
throat.

"Saracen has established himself, then? Good! And the broncho?"

"Bien, a trifle only. They laugh much in the kitchen--"

"The hall, Brillon."

"--in the hall last night. That hired man over there--"

"That groom, Brillon."

"--that groom, he was a fool, and fat. He was the worst. This morning
he laugh at my broncho. He say a horse like that is nothing: no pace,
no travel. I say the broncho was not so ver' bad, and I tell him try the
paces. I whisper soft, and the broncho stand like a lamb. He mount,
and sneer, and grin at the high pommel, and start. For a minute it was
pretty; and then I give a little soft call, and in a minute there was
the broncho bucking--doubling like a hoop, and dropping same as lead.
Once that--groom--come down on the pommel, then over on the ground like
a ball, all muck and blood."

The half-breed paused, looking innocently before him. Gaston's mouth
quirked.

"A solid success, Brillon. Teach them all the tricks you can. At ten
o'clock come to my room. The campaign begins then."

Jacques ran a hand through