pared no pains, madam, I have spared no pains to render this place
beautiful, and most of what you see, I am proud to say, has been
accomplished by my own hands."

"Indeed!" I cried in some surprise, letting my eye rest with
satisfaction on the top of a long well-sweep that was one of the
picturesque features of the place.

"It may have been folly," he remarked, with a gloating sweep of his eye
over the velvet lawn and flowering shrubs--a peculiar look that seemed
to express something more than the mere delight of possession, "but I
seemed to begrudge any hired assistance in the tending of plants every
one of which seems to me like a personal friend."

"I understand," was my somewhat un-Butterworthian reply. I really did
not quite know myself. "What a contrast to the dismal grounds at the
other end of the lane!"

This was more in my usual vein. He seemed to feel the difference, for
his expression changed at my remark.

"Oh, that den!" he exclaimed, bitterly; then, seeing me look a little
shocked, he added, with an admirable return to his old manner, "I call
any place a den where flowers do not grow." And jumping from the buggy,
he gathered an exquisite bunch of heliotrope, which he pressed upon me.
"I love sunshine, beds of roses, fountains, and a sweep of lawn like
this we see before us. But do not let me bore you. You have probably
lingered long enough at the old bachelor's place and now would like to
drive on. I will be with you in a moment. Doubtful as it is whether I
shall soon again be so fortunate as to be able to offer you any
hospitality, I would like to bring you a glass of wine--or, for I see
your eyes roaming longingly toward my old-fashioned well, would you like
a draft of water fresh from the bucket?"

I assured him I did not drink wine, at which I thought his eyes
brightened, but that neither did I indulge in water when in a heat, as
at present, at which he looked disappointed and came somewhat
reluctantly back to the buggy.

He brightened up, however, the moment he was again at my side.

"Now for the woods," he exclaimed, with what was undoubtedly a forced
laugh.

I thought the opportunity one I ought not to slight.

"Do you think," said I, "that it is in those woods the disappearances
occur of which Miss Knollys has told me?"

He showed the same hesitancy as before to enter upon this subject.

"I think the less you allow your mind to dwell on this matter the
better," said he--"that is, if