“The house yonder on the ridge, sir, is Hawkhurst, the seat of the Wynde family. Sir Harold Wynde died in India a year ago, you know, sir, and the property belongs to his only child, a daughter. A mile or so beyond is Wyndham village.” Rufus Black turned his gaze upon the fair domain of the Wyndes. It lay on both sides of the highway, stretching as far as his eye could reach. The grand old mansion of gray stone, with outlying houses of glass glittering in the summer sunshine like immense jewels, the great lawns, the gardens, the park, the cool woods, all these made up one of the fairest pictures the eyes of Rufus Black had ever rested upon. “How glorious!” he said involuntarily. “And it all belongs to a lady!” “Yes, sir, a mere girl,” replied the cabman. “She is at school in France. It’s a great place, is Hawkhurst.” He dropped the trap and urged on his horse, but Rufus continued to look upon the house and estate with great, envious eyes. Why should all this belong to one, and that one a mere girl, while he wanted for bread? His soul was convulsed with bitterness and repining, and the shadow of his trouble rested upon his face. A few minutes of brisk driving brought them to Wyndham village, which consisted merely of one long straggling street, lined with houses and gardens. In the very centre of the street, upon four corners formed by the intersection of a country road, was gathered the business portion of the hamlet. Upon the corner was the village smithy, from whose open door came the ringing sound of hammer upon anvil. A group of countrymen were gathered about the door of the smithy, and a few carts stood before it on the paved street. Upon a second corner was a general shop and postoffice in one. Upon a third corner was a rival establishment, of the same description, but without the advantage and prestige of the postoffice, and on the fourth corner stood the Wyndham Inn, with its swinging sign, ample court-yard and hospitable look. It was an old stone building, with a wide portico in front, on which were tables and chairs. Rufus Black was driven into the court, and sprang out of the cab, at the same moment that the portly, rubicund landlord came out to receive him. The young man inquired for his father, and was informed that he was in his rooms at the inn. Rufus paid and dismissed the cabman, and followed the landlord into the inn. He was conducted up a flight of uncarpeted stairs, and the landlord pointed out to him the door of a front chamber as the one at which he was to knock. Rufus quietly lifted the latch and ushered himself into the room, closing the door behind him.