CHAPTER XXVI. UNDER THE TREES. It was the same noble-looking man Calne had ever known, as he went down the road, throwing a greeting to one and another. Lord Hartledon was not a whit less attractive than Val Elster, who had won golden opinions from all. None would have believed that the cowardly monster Fear was for ever feasting upon his heart. He came to a standstill opposite the clerk's house, looked at it for a moment, as if deliberating whether he should enter, and crossed the road. The shades of evening had begun to fall whilst he talked with the surgeon. As he advanced up the clerk's garden, some one came out of the house with a rush and ran against him. "Take care," he lazily said. The girl--it was no other than Miss Rebecca Jones--shrank away when she recognized her antagonist. Flying through the gate she rapidly disappeared up the street. Lord Hartledon reached the house, and made his way in without ceremony. At a table in the little parlour sat the clerk's wife, presiding at a solitary tea-table by the light of a candle. "How are you, Mrs. Gum?" She had not heard him enter, and started at the salutation. Lord Hartledon laughed. "Don't take me for a housebreaker. Your front-door was open, and I came in without knocking. Is your husband at home?" What with shaking and curtseying, Mrs. Gum could scarcely answer. It was surprising how a little shock of this sort, or indeed of any sort, would upset her. Gum was away on some business or other, she replied--which caused their tea-hour to be delayed--but she expected him in every moment. Would his lordship please to wait in the best parlour, she asked, taking the candle to marshal him into the state sitting-room. No; his lordship would not go into the best parlour; he would wait two or three minutes where he was, provided she did not disturb herself, and went on with her tea. Mrs. Gum dusted a large old-fashioned oak chair with her apron; but he perched himself on one of its elbows. "And now go on with your tea, Mrs. Gum, and I'll look on with all the envy of a thirsty man." Mrs. Gum glanced up tremblingly. Might she dare offer his lordship a cup? She wouldn't make so bold but tea _was_ refreshing to a parched throat. "And mine's always parched," he returned. "I'll drink some with you, and thank you for it. It won't be the first time, will it?" "Always parched!" remarked Mrs. Gum. "Maybe you've a touch of fever, my lord. Many folk get it at the close of summer." Lord Hartledon sat on, and drank his tea. He said well that he was always thirsty, though Mrs. Gum's expression was the better one. That timid matron, overcome by the honour accorded her, sat on the edge of her chair, cup in hand. "I want to ask your husband if he can give me a description of the man who was concerned in that wretched mutiny on board the _Morning Star_," said Lord Hartledon, somewhat abruptly. "I mean the ringleader, Gordon. Why--What's the matter?"