Olivia soothed her, and returned to the squire. “Bessie thinks Mr. Faradeane was hurt, badly perhaps--and that was the reason he did not stay, papa,” she said, with a little catch in her voice. “Eh?” said the squire. “Well, that may be so.” And, instead of turning up the drive, he went down the lane toward The Dell. Olivia walked in silence by his side, and the squire stopped at the gate, and put his hand upon it. It was fastened securely. “The gate is locked,” he said, looking puzzled and baffled. Olivia touched his arm, and pointed to the window, upon the white blind of which was the shadow of a tall figure pacing up and down. “Look, papa,” she whispered. The squire stared at the shadow with a thoughtful frown. “That is an unhappy man,” he remarked to her, also in a whisper. “At any rate, he is not so much hurt as Bessie imagined.” “No,” said Olivia, with a little sigh of relief. Then she touched her father’s hand. “Come away, papa,” she said, almost inaudibly. “I--I feel as if we were watching him.” “Well, so we are,” retorted the squire, with a suppressed laugh. Then he looked at her uneasily. “Yes; let us go home,” he said. “You look tired and upset. This has been too much for you. I will walk down in the morning and inquire how he is. I suppose he will not refuse me admittance. I am not a woman.” And he laughed. But Olivia did not echo the laugh as he had expected; and she remained silent all the way along the drive. Meanwhile Mr. Bartley Bradstone had ridden back to his splendid and gorgeous house in anything but a good humor. Your parvenu, while he would give half his newly gotten wealth to be a gentleman, invariably hates every gentleman he meets. Bartley Bradstone had taken a dislike to Lord Bertie, first because he was a gentleman, and secondly because he was, evidently, an old friend of Olivia’s, and possibly a lover. As he contrasted her manner to Bertie with the cold reserve with which she treated him, he clinched his teeth and jerked at the reins, making the horse start and shy. “She treats me as if I were the dirt under her feet,” he muttered, sullenly, “just the dirt under her feet! And I like her all the better for it, confound her! But it’s a dangerous game to play with Bartley Bradstone, Miss Olivia, if you only knew it! Perhaps the day will come when you will lower your pride a little. It will be my turn then. By Heaven! I’d give--I don’t know what I wouldn’t give, to see you at my feet! And it shall come to that, too, or I’m not the clever fellow people think me. It is very hard if Bartley Bradstone isn’t a match for a dozen Lord Granvilles, though he is the son of an earl.”