d the room which had been appropriated to her use. It was exactly
as her father had described. Here was the old oak, the long rambling
passages, the china and pictures and ancient furniture, all in the
setting where they had been fixed the best part of two centuries ago.
Here was the open landscape in front of the mullioned windows. Here were
the woods and fields and lawns, and in the distance the stables where
Sir George Haredale's stud led its luxurious existence.

It was pleasant to sit in the dining-room before a well-appointed lunch
with the fine silver on the table, the vases of flowers, and the
beautiful glass. Whatever Sir George's feelings on the subject of his
daughter's guest were, there was nothing in his manner to which the girl
could take exception. He was natural, courtly and charming, as he always
was, and appeared to take the keenest pleasure in Alice Carden's
arrival. So far as she could see, there was no sign of trouble, no grim
shadow to forecast the ruin hanging over the house. The butler and a
footman or two moved about the room. The sunshine poured through the
painted windows. Altogether it was a household to be envied. Alice's
spirits rose accordingly. She meant thoroughly to enjoy herself, and
when lunch was over professed herself willing to fall in with any plan
May had to suggest.

"Well, let us have a ride," the latter said. "We will go over the Downs
towards the sea and come back by Seton Manor. Now run away and get your
habit on. I will have a horse saddled for you which is not too fresh.
You used to be a daring rider at one time, but it is as well to begin
cautiously. In a day or two you shall have a hunter after your own
heart."

They rode out in the keen sunshine and broke across the wide expanse of
Downs, and Alice Carden gave herself up to the exquisite enjoyment of
the hour. It was good to feel the elastic movement of the cob, to listen
to the thud of his hoofs on the turf and catch the breeze streaming in
her face. They turned presently as the sun was setting, and jogged more
quietly homewards. A little later, as they came to Seton Manor, a string
of horses clothed and hooded were turning into the stables. Alice pulled
up.

"Who lives there?" she asked.

Some colour crept into May Haredale's cheeks.

"Our neighbour, Mr. Copley," she explained. "He is a newcomer and a
great lover of horses; he is very rich, having made a large fortune in
South Africa, and I suppose this is one