On the Sunday it happened that neither of the brothers went to church. Lord Hartledon, on awaking in the morning, found he had a sore throat, and would not get up. Val did not dare show himself out of doors. Not from fear of arrest that day, but lest any officious meddler should point him out as the real Simon Pure, Percival Elster. But for these circumstances, the man with the writ could hardly have remained under the delusion, as he appeared at church himself. "Which is Lord Hartledon?" he whispered to his neighbour on the free benches, when the party from the great house had entered, and settled themselves in their pews. "I don't see him. He has not come to-day." "Which is Mr. Elster?" "He has not come, either." So for that day recognition was escaped. It was not to be so on the next. The rain, as I have said, came down, putting off the boat-race, and keeping Hartledon's guests indoors all the morning; but late in the afternoon some unlucky star put it into Lord Hartledon's head to go down to the Rectory. His throat was better--almost well again; and he was not a man to coddle himself unnecessarily. He paid his visit, stayed talking a considerable time with Mrs. Ashton, whose company he liked, and took his departure about six o'clock. "You and Anne might almost walk up with me," he remarked to the doctor as he shook hands; for the Rector and Miss Ashton were to dine at Hartledon that day. It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race--the race which now had not taken place. Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no occasion to open his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry bright rays in the west seemed to give hope that the morrow would be fair; and, rejoicing in this cheering prospect, he crossed the broad Rectory lawn. As he went through the gate some one laid a hand upon his shoulder. "The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe?" Lord Hartledon looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long coat and red whiskers, who held out something to him. "Who are you?" he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp movement. "I'm sorry to do it, sir; but you know we are only the agent of others in these affairs. You are my prisoner, sir." "Indeed!" said Lord Hartledon, taking the matter coolly. "You have got hold of the wrong man for once. I am not Mr. Percival Elster." The capturer laughed: a very civil laugh. "It won't do, sir; we often have that trick tried on us." "But I tell you I am _not_ Mr. Elster," he reiterated, speaking this time with some anger. "I am Lord Hartledon." He of the loose coat shook his head. He had his hand again on the supposed Mr. Elster's arm, and told him he must go with him. "You cannot take me; you cannot arrest a peer. This is simply ridiculous," continued Lord Hartledon, almost laughing at the real absurdity of the thing. "Any child in Calne could tell you who I am." "As well make no words over it, sir. It's only waste of time."