'm sleepy, Marmaduke. I'll--I'll--I guess I'll sleep on that
one. By your leave, I'll sleep here until my lord--was it Lord
Farquhart--you said was coming?"

The stranger's booted feet were stretched far in front of him; his
relaxed hands lay under the folds of his riding coat, and his head was
nodding now this way, now that, in search of a resting place.

"Yes, my Lord Farquhart," answered Marmaduke. "But, sir, you told me,
the last time you were here, that you'd tell me your own name soon,
that I'd know your name before so very long."

"Ah, in that last you are doubtless right. You'll know it some day,
but I'm not so sure that I'll do the telling, and, God on my side,
that day'll not be near." The last words drooled out in a sleepy
undertone. Then the voice roused once more. "But who comes with Lord
Farquhart? He's surely not taken the whole house for himself, has he?
And he waits here, you say, for the Lady Barbara Gordon, his cousin
and his sweetheart?"

"She's his cousin, right enough," answered the old gossip. "But if
she's his sweetheart, she knows more of that than the rest of the
world. They're going to be married, though, in less than a fortnight,
and--and---- But you asked who comes with Lord Farquhart? Well, Mr.
Clarence Treadway, for one. They're never twenty-four hours apart, so
London says. Then there is Mr. Ashley, an old suitor of the Lady
Barbara, to whom her father forced her to give a refusal willy-nilly.
London knows all about that. And--and there's one other. I've
forgotten his name. It matters not. And the gentlemen travel with a
servant apiece. Oh, the other's Mr. Lindley, Mr. Cecil Lindley. Why,
lad, what's the matter with you?"

This query was in response to a sharp "_Aie, aie,_" that had shot from
the stranger's lips.

"I--I was dreaming that I was caught in a trap, a--a mousetrap, I
think it was. Your--your voice is most soothing, Marmaduke. Wake me in
time for me to retire to my own room before my Lord Farquhart arrives
with his company." The weary head had finally lopped to rest. The
sleepy voice had trailed off into silence.

"Ay, ay, I'll wake you, never fear!" old Marmaduke answered the lad,
standing over him. Then he murmured: "He's a pretty boy! I'll warrant
I'd be earning the thanks of some worthy family by ferreting out his
name and telling tales on him. But I'll not. Not just yet, anyway."

The lad's short, black curls fell over the upper part of his face, and
as he sat, s