“Yes,” he replied, “I remember her.” “She married an old servant of Sir Ronald’s, a groom. His name was John Conyers. Sir Ronald, I think, valued him very much.” “I remember it,” said Kenelm, wondering why Lady Hermione spoke so anxiously. “They have been living at a pretty little farm called ‘The Willows.’ You know the place, near Leeholme. They have been there now nearly three years. But for ‘The Willows’ there are rival claimants. Peter Gaspin, the son of old farmer Gaspin, tells me Sir Ronald promised him ‘The Willows’ when his present lease of the ‘Home Farm’ expires. John Conyers declares there is a written agreement making over to him ‘The Willows’ for life. I am quite puzzled between the two.” “Rival claimants?” he said. “Ah, well, Lady Hermione, you may be puzzled, if you will, but I cannot allow you to be troubled. What do the rivals themselves say?” “They talk of going to law, and I know how that would vex Ronald. I want him to find that all has been smooth sailing when he returns home. I am sure a lawsuit would grieve him. That was not the only thing that puzzled me.” “Let me hear all, then I can advise,” said Kenelm. “John Conyers annoyed me,” she continued. “He spoke as though Ronald were under some obligation to him--as though he had some secret influence, knowledge, or power which gave him some hold over ‘The Willows.’ Now I cannot believe anything of that kind.” “Nor can I,” said Kenelm. “I should say myself that Peter Gaspin has the greatest right to the farm.” “So I should have thought, but John Conyers and his wife both assure me most solemnly that somewhere among Sir Ronald’s papers I shall find a written agreement that they shall have the farm as long as they live.” “We must look and see. Of course, if there should be any document of the kind, it will settle the question without further trouble.” And she assented, little dreaming that in doing so she was taking the first step toward a fatal discovery. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE DOWER HOUSE WATCHED. Mr. Gerton, Kenelm Eyrle’s steward, land agent and general manager, smiled to himself to think how his patron and employer was gradually falling into a snare. “He will marry the widow as sure as fate,” he thought to himself, “and we shall have something like old times at ‘The Towers.’ Mourning all his life for a dead woman who did not care for him is too ridiculous.”