e or in horsemanship. At any rate, though
not quite satisfied, he felt that there might be an explanation.

The next morning the boys went out to ride once more. Bucephalus
justified Gilbert's prediction, and behaved as well as could be
expected. Once he made a start, but a sudden twitch of the reins
recalled to his mind the defeat of the day before, and he quickly
relapsed into obedience.

Meanwhile Mr. Grey paced the floor of his library, and thought deeply.
To what means should he resort to avert the danger that menaced his
estate? He knew enough now of Gilbert to understand that he was
resolute and determined. He might be conciliated, but could not be
intimidated while he felt that he was battling for his inherited
rights. Would it be worth while to conciliate him? Mr. Grey feared that
he would require the surrender of the major portion of the estate, and
to this he was not willing to accede. While he was thus perplexed,
Pompey made his appearance, and said:

"There's a man wants to see you, Mr. Grey."

"A man, or a gentleman?"

"A man. It's Hugh Trimble."

"Bring him up."

Some idea must have been started in Mr. Grey's mind, for his eyes
lighted up with a gleam of exultation, and he muttered:

"The very thing. Why didn't I think of it before?"

Hugh Trimble shuffled into the room--a tall, shambling figure of a man,
with a generally disreputable look. He was roughly dressed, and
appeared like a social outlaw. He was a tenant of Mr. Grey's, living on
a clearing just on the edge of a forest. He had a wife, but no
children. She led a hard life, being subjected to ill usage from her
husband when, as was frequently the case, he was under the influence of
liquor.

Such was the man who entered the library, and evidently ill at ease on
finding himself in a room so unfitted to his habits, made a clumsy
salutation.

"Well, Trimble," said Mr. Grey, with unusual cordiality, "how are you
getting on?"

"Bad enough," returned Trimble, "I haven't got no money for you."

"Have you been unlucky?"

"I'm always unlucky," growled Trimble, frowning. "I was born to bad
luck, I was."

"Perhaps your bad luck will leave you, after a time."

"I don't see no signs of that."

"Sit down," said Mr. Grey, with continued cordiality. "There's a chair
next to you."

Hugh Trimble seated himself cautiously on the edge of a chair, a little
surprised at the unexpected attention he was receiving.

"I want to speak to you on an i