his dull eyes peered from under their lids with a flash of sudden
alertness, and with one motion of his long hands he hurriedly folded
the deed before him, crammed it, with the others, into the box, locked
it with a hurried and trembling hand, and placed it in a cupboard,
which he also locked; then he drew one of the large books into the
place were the deed had been, and with a cautious glance round the
room, shuffled to the door, and opened it.

As the girl entered, one would have noticed the resemblance between her
and the old man, and have seen that they were father and daughter; for
Godfrey Heron had been one of the handsomest men of his time, and
though she had got her dark eyes and the firm, delicate lips from her
mother, the clear oval of her face and its expression of aristocratic
pride had come from the Herons.

"Are you here still, father?" she said. "It is nearly dinner-time, and
you are not dressed. You promised me that you would go out: how wicked
of you not to have done so!"

He shuffled back to the table and made a great business of closing the
book.

"I've been busy--reading, Ida," he said. "I did not know it was so
late. You have been out, I see; I hope you have enjoyed your ride. Have
you met anyone?"

"No," she replied; then she smiled, as she added: "Only a poacher."

The old man raised his head, a faint flush came on his face and his
eyes flashed with haughty resentment.

"A poacher! What are the keepers about! Ah, I forgot; there are no
keepers now; any vagrant is free to trespass and poach on Herondale!"

"I'm sorry, father!" she said, laying her hand on his arm soothingly.
"It was not an ordinary poacher, only a gentleman who had mistaken the
Heron water for the Avory's. Come now, father, you have barely time to
dress."

"Yes, yes, I will come in a moment--a moment," he said.

But after she had left the room, he still lingered, and when at last he
got to the door, he closed it and went back to the cupboard and tried
it, to see if it were locked, muttering, suspiciously:

"Did she hear me? She might have heard the rustle of the parchment, the
turn of the lock. Sometimes I think she suspects--But, no, no, she's a
child still, and she'd say something, speak out. No, no; it's all
right. Yes, yes, I'm coming, Ida!" he said aloud, as the girl called to
him on her way up the stairs.

CHAPTER II.

As Stafford climbed the hill steadily, he wondered who the girl was. It
did not occu