"My appetite is going strangely," observed Mr. Henry. "Slops seem to suit me best now." George's great grey eyes flashed out a look of yearning. "Arthur! you have been starving yourself for us—that we may have plenty!" "Don't be indiscreet; there's no Arthur here," returned Mr. Henry, with a light smile. "I am eating bread and milk to-day, George, because I feel ill: that's all. Run home." Easily reassured—as it was in his age and nature to be—George Paradyne went flying off. In turning the angle by the chapel at a sharp canter, he came full tilt against Sir Simon Orville, who was walking towards his home. "Holloa, young sir! Don't run me down. I am not a ship." George laughed, begged his pardon, and was passing on, when Sir Simon stopped him. "Here, George; don't fly off again as if you were wound up to go on wheels. What is this matter about your not going up for the Orville?" "I don't understand you, Sir Simon." "Are you going up for it?" "Of course I am, sir. I should like to get it, too. And I don't say I shan't," he concluded, laughing. "Why, what did those young simpletons mean, then?" cried the knight. "I met a lot of them just now, and Dick Loftus whispered to me you were not going up for the Orville." "It is a mistake," said George. "Not that I should go up if the fellows could prevent me. But they can't, you know, sir. Good-bye, Sir Simon." Sir Simon went on, the matter passing from his mind. Turning into his own grounds, he had been busying himself for some time amidst his cherished autumn flowers, when a servant came out, having apparently just seen him from the house. "A gentleman is waiting to see you, Sir Simon." "Bless me," cried Sir Simon, who was too kindhearted, too simple-minded ever to keep people waiting unnecessarily, gentle or simple. "Who is it, Thomas?" "I don't know, sir. He came in a cab with a portmanteau. He looks like a traveller." Sir Simon went trotting off as fast as his short legs would go. The servant went after him. "It is not Mr. Loftus, Thomas, I suppose? You'd know him." "Oh dear no, sir, it's not Mr. Loftus. It is somebody older than Mr. Loftus." Thomas went forward and held open the door for his master to enter. In the tesselated hall, with its bright painted windows gleaming in the sunlight and throwing out their rich colours, Sir Simon saw a portmanteau and a cloak. He turned to the door on the right, and entered. The traveller sat in the shade of the spacious room, the green blinds being closely drawn behind him, and for a moment Sir Simon did not recognise him. The stranger: a slight elderly man, wearing silver-rimmed spectacles: rose quietly and offered his hand. "Don't you know me, Simon?" "Why—my goodness me! It's Robert Trace!" CHAPTER XX As if Ill-Luck followed him.