'Try that Madeira, Captain Hammersley,' said Lord Fettercairn. 'You will scarcely credit how long I have had it in the cellar. I bought a whole lot of it--when was it, Grapeston?' he asked, turning to the solemn old butler behind him. 'The year Mr. Lennard left home, my Lord.' 'Everything at Craigengowan seems to take date before or after that event,' said Lord Fettercairn, with knitted brow. 'Do you mean for India, Grapeston?' 'Yes, my lord,' replied the butler, who had carried 'Master Lennard' in his arms as a baby. 'Such a rich flavour it has, and just glance at the colour.' Hammersley affected to do so, but his eyes were bent on the face of Finella. 'I hope you won't find Craigengowan dull, but every place is so after London.' 'True, we live so fast there that we never seem to have time to do anything.' And now, understanding that Shafto was to be his chief companion at the covies on the morrow, Hammersley talked to him of hammerless guns, of central fire, of the mode of breaking in dogs, training setters, and so forth; and as these subjects had not been included in Shafto's education at Lawyer Carlyon's office, he almost yawned as he listened with irritation to what he could not comprehend. 'If you care for fishing, Hammersley,' said Lord Fettercairn, 'the Bervie yields capital salmon, sea and yellow trout. Finella has filled more than one basket with the latter, but Shafto is somewhat of a duffer with his rod--he breaks many a rod, and has never landed a salmon yet.' 'And the shootings?' said Hammersley inquiringly. 'Well, the best in the county are Drumtochty, Fasque, Hobseat, and my own, as I hope you will find to-morrow.' 'Thanks--indeed, I am sure I shall.' 'I have close on 5,000 acres, and the probable bag of grouse and black game is from 400 to 500 brace.' After dinner that evening Finella was found singing at the piano--singing, as she always did, without requiring pressure and apparently for the mere pleasure of it, as a thrush on a rose bush sings; but now she sang for Vivian Hammersley, Shafto felt instinctively that she did so, and his bitterness was roused when he heard her, in a pause, whisper: 'Please, Captain Hammersley, let Shafto turn the leaves. He likes to do it, though he can do little else in the way of music.' This kind of confidence seemed to imply foregone conclusions and a mutual understanding, however slight; but, to some extent, Finella had a kind of dread of Shafto. Hammersley smiled and drew back, after placing a piece of music before her; but not before remarking: 'This song you are about to sing is not a new one.' 'No--it is old as the days when George IV. was king--it is one you gave me some weeks ago in London, you remember?' 'Am I likely to forget?' 'Turn the leaves, Shafto, please,' said Finella, adjusting her dress over the music-stool; 'but don't talk to me.' 'Why?' 'It interrupts one so; but turn the leaves at the proper time.'