Lucy--if it were possible; there was very little doubt of that. She ran back as fast as she had come, turning her head once to see how Harry was getting on. He was not urging his horse beyond a walk; it was evident that he meant to give her a chance of winning. She ran towards the stable-yard, where she knew that the Squire was, and at last, arriving triumphantly first at the yard-gate, burst suddenly into the arms of her father, as he was just opening the gate to come out. "Hallo!" said the Squire, when this unexpected apparition presented itself. "Hoity-toity! What is the matter, Lucibelle?" "A--victory!" was all that Lucy could utter. "Where? who told you?" he asked, excitedly. "Harry," said the panting Lucy. "Somewhere in--France, I think--'tis a--queer name." "In France, Sir, at Malplaquet," said Harry, who now rode up quickly, having good-naturedly allowed his little sister the pleasure of winning the race; "a great victory under the Duke of Marlborough." And he handed the _Gazette_ to his father. "That is glorious!" said the Squire. "I will go in and tell Mother." Not that Mother--that is, Madam Passmore--cared anything about victories, but she liked to see her husband pleased, and would have welcomed equally a victory or a defeat which had wrought that desirable end. Harry walked into the house with his father, and Lucy, having regained her breath, followed them. "Why, Charley, where have you been?" asked the Squire, as that young gentleman made his appearance. "Here is a splendid victory over the French, and you are not here to cheer!" "Where have I been?" repeated Charley, in a very glum tone. "Well, I like that! I have been at home, Sir, kicking my heels together for want of anything else to do: your party and Harry had taken all the horses." "I did not know you wanted Fairy, Charley," said Harry, kindly. "I am sorry I took her." "Come, my lad, no use in crying over spilt milk," said the Squire. "It is Saturday night, Charley, and people ought to be at peace on Saturday night." "I hate Saturday nights, and Sundays too, and I don't want to be at peace!" said Charley, walking off. On that afternoon, while Harry was riding home with the news of the victory of Malplaquet, an event was taking place in London Which the family at Ashcliffe little imagined, yet which very nearly concerned one of them. In an upper room of a house in Holborn Bars sat half a dozen men in conclave. The door of the chamber was double, the inner of green baize, the outer of strong oak, barred and bolted, as if the conference were desirous to avoid eavesdroppers. At one side of the table sat three men, all of whom had passed middle age. We have little to do with them, so they may be succinctly described as two short men and one tall one. Opposite stood three others, who were all young; and it is with one of these alone that we are intimately concerned.