untry at an early date. Miss Willoughby then said farewell, having an
engagement at the Record Office, where, as the Earl gallantly observed,
she would 'make a sunshine in a shady place.'

When she had gone, the Earl observed, '_Bon sang ne peut pas mentir_! To
think of that beautiful creature condemned to waste her lovely eyes on
faded ink and yellow papers! Why, she is, as the modern poet says, "a
sight to make an old man young."'

He then asked Logan to acquaint Merton with the new and favourable aspect
of his affairs, and, after fixing Logan's visit to Rookchester for the
same date as Miss Willoughby's, he went off with a juvenile alertness.

'I say,' said Logan, 'I don't know what will come of this, but
_something_ will come of it. I had no idea that girl was such a
paragon.'

'Take care, Logan,' said Merton. 'You ought only to have eyes for Miss
Markham.'

Miss Markham, the precise student may remember, was the lady once known
as the Venus of Milo to her young companions at St. Ursula's. Now
mantles were draped on her stately shoulders at Madame Claudine's, and
Logan and she were somewhat hopelessly attached to each other.

'Take care of yourself at Rookchester,' Merton went on, 'or the
Disentangler may be entangled.'

'I am not a viscount and I am not an earl,' said Logan, with a
reminiscence of an old popular song, 'nor I am not a prince, but a shade
or two _wuss_; and I think that Miss Willoughby will find other marks for
the artillery of her eyes.'

'We shall have news of it,' said Merton.

II. The Affair of the Jesuit

Trains do not stop at the little Rookchester station except when the high
and puissant prince the Earl of Embleton or his visitors, or his
ministers, servants, solicitors, and agents of all kinds, are bound for
that haven. When Logan arrived at the station, a bowery, flowery,
amateur-looking depot, like one of the 'model villages' that we sometimes
see off the stage, he was met by the Earl, his son Lord Scremerston, and
Miss Willoughby. Logan's baggage was spirited away by menials, who
doubtless bore it to the house in some ordinary conveyance, and by the
vulgar road. But Lord Embleton explained that as the evening was warm,
and the woodland path by the river was cool, they had walked down to
welcome the coming guest.

The walk was beautiful indeed along the top of the precipitous red
sandstone cliffs, with the deep, dark pools of the Coquet sleeping far
below. No