n a change, and the wind carries an
edge that will arouse every devil of rheumatism in my bones. I am not a
lad, Gregory, and travelling at this season is no small matter for a man
of fifty."

Gregory approached the table, and leaning his hand upon it:

"Will you go?" he asked, squarely eyeing his brother.

Joseph fell a-pondering. He knew Gregory to be a man of fixed ideas, and
he bethought him that were he now to refuse he would be hourly plagued
by Gregory's speculations touching the boy's fate and recriminations
touching his own selfishness. On the other hand, however, the journey
daunted him. He was not a man to sacrifice his creature comforts, and to
be asked to sacrifice them to a mere whim, a shadow, added weight to his
inclination to refuse the undertaking.

"Since you have the matter so much at heart," said he at length, "does
it not occur to you that you could plead with greater fervour, and be
the likelier to succeed?"

"You know that Cromwell will lend a more willing ear to you than to
me--perchance because you know so well upon occasion how to weave your
stock of texts into your discourse," he added with a sneer. "Will you
go, Joseph?"

"Bethink you that we know not where he is. I may have to wander for
weeks o'er the face of England."

"Will you go?" Gregory repeated.

"Oh, a pox on it," broke out Joseph, rising suddenly. "I'll go since
naught else will quiet you. I'll start to-morrow."

"Joseph, I am grateful. I shall be more grateful yet if you will start
to-day."

"No, sink me, no."

"Yes, sink me, yes," returned Gregory. "You must, Joseph."

Joseph spoke of the wind again; the sky, he urged, was heavy with rain.
"What signifies a day?" he whined.

But Gregory stood his ground until almost out of self-protection the
other consented to do his bidding and set out as soon as he could make
ready.

This being determined, Joseph left his brother, and cursing Master
Stewart for the amount of discomfort which he was about to endure on his
behoof, he went to prepare for the journey.

Gregory lingered still in the chamber where they had dined, and sat
staring moodily before him at the table-linen. Anon, with a half-laugh
of contempt, he filled a glass of muscadine, and drained it. As he set
down the glass the door opened, and on the threshold stood a very dainty
girl, whose age could not be more than twenty. Gregory looked on the
fresh, oval face, with its wealth of brown hair crowning the lo