ugh, but that,
surely, was different.

He would go as far as Haredale Park Farm and look at the horses. He was
all the more ready to do this, because he felt assured he would pass for
a total stranger. It was possible Joe Raffle might identify him, but,
then, the old head groom had known him ever since he could walk. And now
Joe was Sir George Haredale's trusted right-hand man and had been so for
the last eighteen months, since the death of his predecessor. It had
always been a consolation to Fielden to know that Raffle had gone on to
Mallow's, with the stud which had once been his property. They had not
been a very brilliant lot and few of the horses had ever paid for their
keep; but Raffle believed in the Blenheim blood and had always
prophesied that some of the colts would do great things at the proper
time.

Fielden was amused to see the suspicious glances cast at him by more
than one of the lads. Presently Raffle came himself, a short, sturdy
man, bent with age, whitehaired, but with cheeks rosy as a winter apple.
He was about to ask Fielden's business sharply, when his face changed
and he led Fielden to one side. The old man was moved and with
difficulty held his voice steady, but his keen blue eyes gleamed with
pleasure.

"I never expected to see this day, Master Harry," he said. "And one of
those lads wanted to order you off the premises. Just think of it! And
they told me you were dead. I met a man in London who said he knew for
a fact that you were drowned in the Modder in South Africa."

Fielden's face grew stern for a moment.

"Your friend wasn't far wrong, Joe," he said grimly. "It was a near
thing. But that is too long a story to tell now. I came down on
business, and I don't know whether I was glad or sorry to find that no
one recognized me."

"Miss May would have been glad to see you," Raffle said.

"Oh, we have already met. That was an accident, too. I told her I was
coming to-day, and she gave me a cordial invitation to look at the
horses. I couldn't resist a chance like that. Well, Joe, I hope that Sir
George has done better with the Blenheim stock than I did. I understand
he didn't give much for them. I am told he bought the whole lot, lock,
stock and barrel, for a bagatelle. And now they say there is a Derby
winner amongst them. Is that a fact, Joe? Or is it one of the fairy
tales one is always hearing in regard to turf matters?"

Raffle lowered his voice impressively.

"It is no fairy t