Vane Charteris found the day pass very slowly, with no one but her aunt to amuse her. She sat listlessly beside Mrs. Crosbie during the long drive, feeling bored and wearied, and yawned through the afternoon in her room, finding no pleasure in her mother’s society and less in her own. The thought that had come to her suddenly in the morning grew stronger as the hours passed. As Stuart Crosbie’s wife, she would taste once more the sweetness of her lost power. She was leaning by her open window, thinking this, heedless of the beauty of the picture that stretched before her, when her eyes fell on a man’s figure strolling leisurely on the lawn--a strange, odd-looking man, who seemed not quite at home in his surroundings. Miss Charteris, roused from her languor, watched him intently, and at once determined that the intruder was a tramp--perhaps one of a gang of thieves. She rose quickly, and made her way from her room, picking up her sun-shade as she went. Her aunt was out at a garden party, which she had vainly tried to induce Miss Charteris to attend, her mother was enjoying a _siesta_, and her uncle was absorbed in his books. There was no one about, and the castle seemed quite deserted as Vane walked across the hall to the back grounds. The man was standing as she had seen him last, his hands in his pockets, his hat pulled low over his brows. She went toward him at once. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Do you know you are trespassing?” The man turned at her first word; he looked at her keenly from a pair of earnest gray eyes, then slowly, and with unmistakable courtesy, removed his slouched felt hat. “Trespassing?” he repeated, in a cool tone. “Do they prosecute at Crosbie Castle if a man is found gazing only?” “You are insolent,” Miss Charteris responded, frigidly; “and, if you do not leave at once I shall send some of the servants to you.” The man replaced his hat, with a curious expression on his face. “Pray save yourself that trouble,” he said, dryly. “I am going; but may I ask if I have the honor of speaking to Mrs. Crosbie?” Vane’s face flushed. “No,” she said, coldly. “Ah! Miss Crosbie, perhaps?” “No,” she repeated again. “Indeed! Then, madame, by what right do you eject me?” “I am Mrs. Crosbie’s niece, and, in her absence, do what I know she would desire.” “Mrs. Crosbie’s niece!” repeated the man. “So Mrs. Crosbie rules this castle! Where is the squire?” Miss Charteris moved away a little. “I shall answer no more questions,” she said, quietly. “I must request you to go away at once.” “There spoke George Charteris!” muttered the stranger, as if to himself. Vane started; she could hardly believe her ears. This shabby man to mention her father’s name! It was extraordinary, and not pleasant. “I do not know who you are,” she said, with marked irritation; “but you have heard what I said, and you take no notice of my words. It now remains for the servants to see if they will be more successful.”