ence of my former days."

The young man's face cleared, and Seaman, by his side, who had knitted
his brows thoughtfully, nodded understandingly.

"You are certainly a good actor, Baron," he declared. "Even your German
has become a little English. Sit down and join us in a glass of beer.
Luncheon will be served to us here in a few minutes. You will not be
recalled to the Presence until we set you down."

Dominey bowed stiffly and took his place with the others. The train had
already started. Dominey gazed thoughtfully out of the window. Seaman,
who was waiting about for his audience, patted him on the arm.

"Dear friend," he said, "I sympathise with you. You sorrow because your
back is now to Berlin. Still, remember this, that the day is not far off
when the sentence of exile against you will be annulled. You will have
expiated that crime which, believe me, although I do not venture to
claim a place amongst them, none of your friends and equals have ever
regarded in the same light as His Imperial Majesty."

A smiling steward, in black livery with white facings, made his
appearance and served them with beer in tall glasses. The senior officer
there, who had now seated himself opposite to Dominey, raised his glass
and bowed.

"To the Baron Von Ragastein," he said, "whose acquaintance I regret not
having made before to-day. May we soon welcome him back, a brother in
arms, a companion in great deeds! Hoch!"

CHAPTER XV

Sir Everard Dominey, Baronet, the latest and most popular recruit to
Norfolk sporting society, stood one afternoon, some months after his
return from Germany, at the corner of the long wood which stretched from
the ridge of hills behind almost to the kitchen gardens of the Hall. At
a reasonable distance on his left, four other guns were posted. On one
side of him stood Middleton, leaning on his ash stick and listening
to the approach of the beaters; on the other, Seaman, curiously out of
place in his dark grey suit and bowler hat. The old keeper, whom time
seemed to have cured of all his apprehensions, was softly garrulous and
very happy.

"That do seem right to have a Squire Dominey at this corner," he
observed, watching a high cock pheasant come crashing down over their
heads. "I mind when the Squire, your father, sir, gave up this corner
one day to Lord Wendermere, whom folks called one of the finest pheasant
shots in England, and though they streamed over his head like starlings,
he'd nowt