“Hallo, Diamond, come to say good-bye to me?” And the hound, thus encouraged, licked his master’s hand. “Have you forgotten the old days, Diamond? They are over for me as well as for you now, my old beauty!” Then, gathering a remnant of strength, he gave a ringing “View-halloo!” The hound bounded away in great excitement among the silent figures in the room, then came back, and once more licked his master’s hand. But he got no answering caress, for the hand was still forever. The days which followed between Sir George’s death and the funeral were an awkward time for Harry and his eldest brother. The younger purposely held aloof, and avoided any private conversation with the present head of the family. Only once did George catch him alone, and instantly took advantage of the opportunity. “Don’t go,” said he, laying his hand on the arm of his brother, who was going to leave the stable as he entered it. “I have been waiting for a chance to speak to you. Our father left your future in my hands, you know,” he added, in a tone which, if he chose, the other might take as a warning. “Well, what is it?” asked Harry, impatiently. “Don’t be so fidgety. It is nothing unpleasant. I only want to know if you can tell me where to find the Mainwarings’ late governess, Miss Lane?” “And you said you had nothing unpleasant to say! I call it unpleasant--confoundedly unpleasant--to ask me such a question! As if I had anything to do with Miss Lane! What do you want to know for?” His manner changed from sullen to fierce with this question. “Your manner is a little inconsistent. If you know nothing about her, why are you so angry when I ask you if you do?” “I don’t care to be put through my catechism. You ask more questions than my father did.” “Then he spoke to you about this matter?” “What if he did?” “And you told him the truth?” “Yes, the truth. I swear it! But I am not bound to answer your questions, and I won’t. Take your hand off my arm; do you hear?” “Only one question. When you have answered it, I won’t bother you again. Do you know where Miss Lane lives?” A light suddenly came into his brother’s eyes, and he answered readily: “I haven’t the least idea where Miss Lane lives; I swear it!” His brother took his hand sharply off his arm and turned away. He thought it was a lie; but he had no means of extracting the truth. He was more interested in Miss Lane than the younger guessed, more anxious for the interview he was about to seek with the prim little girl than he had ever been before about a meeting with a woman. He had to keep his impatience in check until the funeral was over; but on the very day after, the young baronet went up to town and to the address Mrs. Mansfield had given him. “Is Miss Lane at home?” he asked of the servant who opened the door. “Ask if she will see Sir George Braithwaite,” he added, as the girl did not answer.