but at a modest computation he thought they would fetch
at least a thousand pounds.

He went up to his bedroom and began idly turning out the drawers. At any
rate he would be able to cut a presentable appearance at Haredale Park.
He might venture in the open, too, for it was nearly dark. The lights of
Haredale gleamed hospitably as he walked up the drive. He had had no
formal invitation, nothing save May Haredale's suggestion, but he knew
Sir George well enough to be sure of his reception.

It all looked strangely familiar as the butler opened the door and asked
his name. Fielden knew the butler's face well, but it was plain the
latter did not recognize him. Yes, Sir George and Miss Haredale were at
home. They had arrived from London late in the afternoon, but, so far as
the butler knew, did not expect any guest. Still, so many people came
and went to that hospitable house that the advent of a stranger caused
no surprise in the butler's mind.

"If you will give me your name, sir," he suggested.

"Oh, tell Miss Haredale that Mr. Field is here. She expects me,
because----"

Fielden broke off suddenly, for May Haredale came across the hall at
that moment. She smiled a welcome and held out her hand. She dismissed
the butler, after giving instructions to him to take the visitor's bag
upstairs.

"I was almost afraid you wouldn't come," she said. "I feared you would
be too proud or something equally absurd."

"I plead guilty," Harry Fielden smiled. "Really I don't think I should
have had courage to come, only I found that not a soul knew me with the
exception of Joe Raffle. I have passed a score of people to-day whom I
know intimately. But it is just as well, May. Why, even Mason, your
butler, looked at me as if I were a perfect stranger."

"But I recognized you," May said quietly.

"Ah, you recognized me, and I was glad of that. I don't think I can tell
you how happy that made me. When we met in London I felt for the first
time for more than two years that I was not alone in the world. It makes
one hard and bitter to be always amongst strangers who care nothing for
one, to feel that if one dropped dead in the street no one would feel
even a pang of regret. But I ought not to be talking like this. There is
one thing I am going to ask you and Sir George, and that is, to keep my
identity a secret. It is possible I may be here a good deal off and on,
and that is why I am going to drop the last two letters of my name an