could not sleep.

"It's the strange bed," he said. "It's the noise of the London streets."
Sleeplessness had never troubled him before, but to-night he rolled and
tossed from side to side, and then at last he sat bolt upright in the
bed.

"Good Lord!" he said. "Good Lord, it can't be!" He stared into the thick
darkness and saw an oval face, crowned by waving brown hair, that
glinted gold in the highlights. He saw a sweet, womanly, tender, smiling
mouth and a pair of grey eyes that seemed to burn into his own.

"It can't be!" he said again. And yet it was!

CHAPTER IX

THE PEACEMAKER

"Bless my soul!" said General Bartholomew. He had turned to the last
page and looked at the signature. "Alicia Linden! I haven't heard a word
of her for five and twenty years. A confoundedly handsome girl she was
too. Hudson, where's my glasses?"

"Here, General," said the young secretary.

The General put them on.

"My dear George," he read.

It was a long letter, four pages closely written in Lady Linden's
strong, almost masculine hand.

"...I remember that when she visited me years ago, she told that me you
were an old friend of her father's. This being so, I think you should
combine with me in trying to bring these two wrong-headed young people
together. I have quarrelled with Hugh Alston, so I can do nothing at the
moment; but you, being on the spot so to speak, in London, and Hugh I
understand also being in London..."

"What the dickens is the woman drivelling about?" the General demanded.
"Hudson!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Read this letter carefully, digest it, and then briefly explain to me
what the dickens it is all about."

The secretary took the letter and read it carefully.

"This letter is from Lady Linden, of Cornbridge Manor House, Cornbridge.
She is deeply interested in a young lady, Miss Joan Meredyth. At
least--" Hudson paused.

"Joan, pretty little Joan Meredyth--old Tom Meredyth's girl. Yes, go
on!"

"Three years ago," Hudson went on, "Miss Meredyth was married in secret
to a Mr. Hugh Alston--"

"Hugh Alston, of course--bless me, I know of Hugh Alston! Isn't he the
son of old George Alston, of Hurst Dormer?"

"Yes, that would be the man, sir. Her ladyship speaks of Mr. Alston's
house, Hurst Dormer."

"That's the man then, that's the man!" said the General, delighted by
his own shrewdness. "So little Joan married him. Well, what about it?"

"They parted, sir, almost at once, having quarrelled