in the last century a baronet--the earldom had been lost to the
Dynecourts during the Commonwealth--who, having quarreled with his
friend over a reigning belle, had smitten him across the cheek with his
glove, and then challenged him to mortal combat. The duel had been
fought in the luckless chamber, and had only ended with the death of
both combatants; the blood stains upon the flooring were large and deep,
and to this day the boards bear silent witness to the sanguinary
character of that secret fight.

Just now, standing outside the castle in the warmth and softness of the
dying daylight, one can hardly think of by-gone horrors, or aught that
is sad and sinful.

There is an air of bustle and expectancy within-doors that betokens
coming guests; the servants are moving to and fro noiselessly but
busily, and now and then the stately housekeeper passes from room to
room uttering commands and injunctions to the maids as she goes. No less
occupied and anxious is the butler, as he surveys the work of the
footmen. It is so long since the old place has had a resident master,
and so much longer still since guests have been invited to it, that the
household are more than ordinarily excited at the change now about to
take place.

Sir Adrian Dynecourt, after a prolonged tour on the Continent and
lingering visits to the East, has at last come home with the avowed
intention of becoming a staid country gentleman, and of settling down
to the cultivation of turnips, the breeding of prize oxen, and the
determination to be the M.F.H. when old Lord Dartree shall have
fulfilled his declared intention of retiring in his favor. He is a tall
young man, lithe and active. His skin, though naturally fair, is bronzed
by foreign travel. His hair is a light brown, cut very close to his
head. His eyes are large, clear, and honest, and of a peculiarly dark
violet; they are beautiful eyes, winning and sweet, and steady in their
glance. His mouth, shaded by a drooping fair mustache, is large and
firm, yet very prone to laughter.

It is quite the end of the London season, and Sir Adrian has hurried
down from town to give directions for the reception of some people whom
he has invited to stay with him during the slaughter of the partridges.

Now all is complete, and the last train from London being due half an
hour ago Sir Adrian is standing on the steps of his hall-door anxiously
awaiting some of his guests.

There is even a touch of genuine imp