n upon them, in blissful ignorance of
the momentous matter under discussion and of course of how his own
fortunes had been balancing in the scale, was a goodly specimen of
English youth, tall, and well-hung, and athletic, but the bright frank
sunniness of his face, his straight open glance, and entirely unaffected
and therefore unspoiled manner rendered him goodly beyond the average.
Percival West and Hilary Blachland were both orphaned sons of two of Sir
Luke's sisters, and had been to him even as his own children. There was
a difference of many years between their ages, however, and their
characters were totally dissimilar, as we have heard set forth.

"Time for tiffin is it, Percy?" said Sir Luke, glancing at his
watch. "You see we old fogies haven't got your fine healthy
jackass-and-a-bundle-of-greens appetite. We must have overlooked it."

"I don't agree with you at all, Canterby," laughed the Canon. "I'll
answer for it. I feel uncommonly like beefsteaks, or anything that's
going. And what have you been doing with yourself, Percy?"

"Biking. Got ten miles out beyond Passmore since eleven o'clock. Oh,
bye-the-bye, Canon, I saw the Bishop in Passmore. He wanted you badly."

"Percy, speak the truth, sir," returned the Canon, with a solemn twinkle
in his eyes. "You said the Bishop wanted me badly? And--his Lordship
happens to be away!"

"Every word I said is solemn fact," replied Percival. "I saw the Bishop
in Passmore, but I didn't say to-day though. And there's no denying he
did want you badly. Eh, Canon?"

"You're a disrespectful rascal, chaffing your seniors, sir, and if I
were twenty years younger, I'd put on the gloves and take it out of
you."

"Come along in to tiffin, Canon, and take it out of that," rejoined
Percival with his light-hearted laugh, dropping his hand affectionately
on to the old man's shoulder. And the trio adjourned to the
dining-room.

Jerningham Lodge, Sir Luke Canterby's comfortable, not to say luxurious
establishment, was a roomy old house, standing within a walled park of
about a hundred and fifty acres. Old, without being ancient, it was
susceptible of being brought up to _fin-de-siecle_ ideas of comfort, and
the gardens and shrubberies were extensive and well kept. It had come
into his possession a good many years before, and soon after that he was
left a childless widower. Thus it came about that these two nephews of
his had found their home here.

The elder o