"That is the man that goes in for philanthropy and all that sort of thing." "That's the man," replied Jack. "Tell me all about it," said Leonard, after a long pause. And, with many pauses, Jack told his story. Leonard Dagle listened intently. "It's a strange story, Jack," he said. "I--I--it rather puzzles me. There could be--of course, there could be nothing wrong." "Wrong, how do you mean?" exclaimed Jack. "Well, Stephen Davenant's conduct is rather peculiar--isn't it?" "Oh, he's half out of his mind," said Jack, carelessly. "He has been playing a close game for the money, and hanging about the old man till he has got as hysterical as a girl. What do you think could be wrong? Everything was as correct as it could be--family lawyer, who made out the will, and all the rest of it." "Then you think the squire was wandering in his mind at last?" "That's it," said Jack. "He wanted to provide for me--to leave me something, and he fancied he'd done it. It's often the case, isn't it?" "I've met with such cases," said Leonard. "Just so," said Jack. "Is there anything to drink?" he asked, abruptly, as if he wanted to change the subject. "There's some whiskey----" Jack mixed himself a tumbler and sat on the edge of the table, and Leonard Dagle leaned back and watched him. "There's something else, Jack," he said. "Out with it; what is it?" "What a fellow you are, Len. You are like one of those mesmeric men; there's no keeping anything from you. Well, I've had an adventure." "An adventure?" "Yes, I'm half under the impression that it's nothing but a dream. Len, I've seen the most beautiful--the most--Len, do you believe in witches? Not the old sort, but the young ones--sirens, didn't they call them; who used to haunt the woods and forests and tempt travelers into quagmires and ditches. The innocent-looking kind of sirens, you know. Well, I've seen one!" "Jack, you've been drinking; put that glass down." "Have I? Then I haven't. Look here," and he told the story of his wanderings in Warden, and all it had led up to. "How's that for an adventure?" he said, when he had finished. "It would do for a mediæval romance. And she has gone, you say?" "Clean gone," said Jack, with a sigh and a long pull at the tumbler. "Gone like a--a dream, you know. How is that for an adventure? You don't believe in them, though." Leonard Dagle looked up, and there was a strange, half-shy expression in his face. "You are right, Jack. I didn't till the day before yesterday." "The day before yesterday? What do you mean?" "Simply that I, too, have had an adventure." "Seems to me that we're like those confounded nuisances who used to meet on a coach and tell stories to amuse themselves. Go on; it's your turn now." "Mine's soon told. After you started for Hurst Leigh I got a letter from a man at Wermesley----" "Wermesley!" exclaimed Jack. "Why----"