rect that every facility be given to Mr. Somerset to visit any
part of the castle he may wish to see. On my return I shall be glad to
welcome him as the acquaintance of your relatives. I have two of his
father's pictures."'

'Dear me, the plot thickens,' he said, as Miss De Stancy announced the
words. 'How could she know about me?'

'I sent a message to her this morning when I saw you crossing the park
on your way here--telling her that Mr. Somerset, son of the Academician,
was making sketches of the castle, and that my father knew something of
you. That's her answer.'

'Where are the pictures by my father that she has purchased?'

'O, not here--at least, not unpacked.'

Miss de Stancy then left him to proceed on her journey to Markton (so
the nearest little town was called), informing him that she would be
at her father's house to receive him at two o'clock. Just about one he
closed his sketch-book, and set out in the direction she had indicated.
At the entrance to the wood a man was at work pulling down a rotten gate
that bore on its battered lock the initials 'W. De S.' and erecting a
new one whose ironmongery exhibited the letters 'P. P.'

The warmth of the summer noon did not inconveniently penetrate the dense
masses of foliage which now began to overhang the path, except in spots
where a ruthless timber-felling had taken place in previous years for
the purpose of sale. It was that particular half-hour of the day in
which the birds of the forest prefer walking to flying; and there being
no wind, the hopping of the smallest songster over the dead leaves
reached his ear from behind the undergrowth. The track had originally
been a well-kept winding drive, but a deep carpet of moss and leaves
overlaid it now, though the general outline still remained to show that
its curves had been set out with as much care as those of a lawn walk,
and the gradient made easy for carriages where the natural slopes were
great. Felled trunks occasionally lay across it, and alongside were the
hollow and fungous boles of trees sawn down in long past years.

After a walk of three-quarters of an hour he came to another gate, where
the letters 'P. P.' again supplanted the historical 'W. De S.' Climbing
over this, he found himself on a highway which presently dipped down
towards the town of Markton, a place he had never yet seen. It appeared
in the distance as a quiet little borough of a few thousand inhabitants;
and, without the town b