So home they came--an unusual-looking pair--Stabb with his towering bulky frame, his big goggles, his huge head with its scanty black locks encircling a face like a harvest moon--Lynborough, tall, too, but lean as a lath, with tiny feet and hands, a rare elegance of carriage, a crown of chestnut hair, a long straight nose, a waving mustache, a chin pointed like a needle and scarcely thickened to the eye by the close-cropped, short, pointed beard he wore. His bright hazel eyes gleamed out from his face with an attractive restlessness that caught away a stranger's first attention even from the rare beauty of the lines of his head and face; it was regularity over-refined, sharpened almost to an outline of itself. But his appearance tempted him to no excesses of costume; he had always despised that facile path to a barren eccentricity. On every occasion he wore what all men of breeding were wearing, yet invested the prescribed costume with the individuality of his character: this, it seems, is as near as the secret of dressing well can be tracked. His manner was not always deemed so free from affectation; it was, perhaps, a little more self-conscious; it was touched with a foreign courtliness, and he employed, on occasions of any ceremony or in intercourse with ladies, a certain formality of speech; it was said of him by an observant woman that he seemed to be thinking in a language more ornate and picturesque than his tongue employed. He was content to say the apt thing, not striving after wit; he was more prone to hide a joke than to tell it; he would ignore a victory and laugh at a defeat; yet he followed up the one and never sat down under the other, unless it were inflicted by one he loved. He liked to puzzle, but took no conscious pains to amuse. Thus he returned to his "responsibilities." Cromlech Stabb was wondering what that dignified word would prove to describe. _Chapter Two_ LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL Miss Gilletson had been studying the local paper, which appeared every Saturday and reached Nab Grange on the following morning. She uttered an exclamation, looked up from her small breakfast-table, and called over to the Marchesa's small breakfast-table. "Helena, I see that Lord Lynborough arrived at the Castle on Friday!" "Did he, Jennie?" returned the Marchesa, with no show of interest. "Have an egg, Colonel?" The latter words were addressed to her companion at table, Colonel Wenman, a handsome but bald-headed man of about forty. "'Lord Lynborough, accompanied by his friend Mr. Leonard Stabb, the well-known authority on prehistoric remains, and Mr. Roger Wilbraham, his private secretary. His lordship's household had preceded him to the Castle.'" Lady Norah Mountliffey--who sat with Miss Gilletson--was in the habit of saying what she thought. What she said now was: "Thank goodness!" and she said it rather loudly. "You gentlemen haven't been amusing Norah," observed the Marchesa to the Colonel.