I were you,
Mr. Walter."

"Oh," said Walter, "I am too late, you know; in for a penny, in
for a pound."

"But, sir," said old John, "the Colonel wants to speak to you in the
drawing-room."

Now Walter was excited with the events of the day, irritated by the
affront his father had put upon him and Mary, strung up by hard riding,
etc. He burst out, "Well, I shall not go to him; I have had enough of
this--badgered and bullied, and my sweetheart affronted--and now I
suppose I am to be lectured again; you say I am not well, and bring my
dinner up here."

"No, Mr. Walter," said the old man, gravely, "I must not do that. Sir,
don't you think as you are to be scolded, or the angel you love
affronted; all that is over forever. There has been many a strange thing
happened since you rode out of our stable last, but I wish you would go
to the Colonel and let him tell you all; however, I suppose I may tell
you so much as this, that your sweetheart is not Mary Bartley at all; she
is Mr. Hope's daughter."

"What!" cried Walter, in utter amazement.

"There is no doubt about it, sir," said the old man, "and I believe it is
all out about you and her, but that would not matter, for the Colonel he
takes it quite different from what you might think. He swears by her now.
I don't know really how that came about, sir, for I was not there, but
when I was dressing the Colonel he said to me, 'John, she's the grandest
girl in England, and an honor to her sex, and there is not a drop of
Bartley's blood in her.'"

"Oh, he has found that out," said Walter. "Then I'll go to him like a
bird, dear old fellow. So that is what he wanted to tell me."

"No," said John Baker, gravely.

"No," said Walter; "what then?"

"It's trouble."

"Trouble," said Walter, puzzled.

"Ay, my poor young master," said Baker, tenderly--"sore trouble, such
trouble as a father's heart won't let me, or any man break to you, while
he lives to do it. I know my master. Ever since that fellow Bartley came
here we have seen the worst of him; now we shall see the best of him. Go
to him, dear Master Walter. Don't waste time in talking to old John
Baker. Go to your father and your friend."

Walter Clifford cast a look of wonder and alarm on the old man, and went
down at once to the drawing-room. His father was standing by the fire. He
came forward to him with both hands, and said,

"My son!"

"Father," said Walter, in a whisper, "what is it?"

"Have you heard noth