"The Marchioness!" cried Belle scornfully, as, having reached the summit of the hill with a long, downward slope before them, they remounted into the cart. "She doesn't count." "Oh, doesn't she?" said the Secretary. "She counts a great deal, as"--he added half to himself--"I ought to know." They had already turned homewards and were rattling down the hill, and at that moment they swung at top speed round a corner, to come upon a wrecked luggage cart, which blocked the whole road. Without hesitation, Stanley pulled the pony up on its haunches, bringing them to a stop with a tremendous jerk, within three feet of the obstacle; nearly throwing them out, and driving, for the time being, all thoughts of their interrupted conversation from the Secretary's head. "Why, Tim!" he said, recognising the driver as one of Mrs. Roberts' servants. "You've had a spill!" "Axle broke, sir. That's what it is, and if it hadn't been as the carrier"--indicating a second cart on the further side--"had happened to come up just now, I don't know as Mister Kingsland would have got his luggage." "Lieutenant--Kingsland--is he going away?" "Why, didn't you know that, sir? Called sudden on the death of his uncle--Miss Fitzgerald there--she----" "Don't spend all the afternoon gossiping, Tim," broke in that young lady, sharply--"but attend to your work. Drive round somehow, can't you?"--she continued, addressing the Secretary--"or we shall be late for dinner?" "Don't you see it's impossible? Besides I want to help Tim." "Nonsense, turn round and we'll drive back--some other way. Tim and the carrier can help themselves," she cried petulantly. "I'm not so sure of that," drawled the driver. "Them chests are powful heavy--for all the Lieutenant said they contained glass picture slides--it's more like lead." "Mr. Riddle's slides, eh?" said Stanley, jumping down, despite his fair companion's remonstrances. "Then we mustn't let Lieutenant Kingsland go without them;" and he seized the handle of one of the boxes, and pulling it off the partially overturned cart, dragged it along the road, while Miss Fitzgerald sat holding the pony, and biting her lips in ill-disguised vexation. "Gad! They are heavy!" admitted the Secretary, as, with the carrier's help, he swung it into the cart, and returned for another. Four were transported safely, but in lifting the fifth chest, whose cover seemed a trifle loose, Stanley turned his foot on a round stone, and losing his grip on the handle, the chest fell to the ground bottom side up. "No great harm done, we'll hope," he said, righting it, and helping the carrier to lift it beside the others. "Why, bless me," ejaculated that official, "if there ain't a bran new sovereign lying in the dust!" The Secretary regarded it critically, and plunging his hands into his trousers pockets, fished out a lot of loose change, which he examined carefully, saying: