"God bless ye, sir!" "Indeed I hope He may. Heaven knows I have been a sufficing failure hitherto, a sorrow to myself and my friends. But you, Tom Martin, have inspired me to attempt a notable good action--perhaps the noblest of my life. So good-bye, Tom; let me hasten to perform the best act I ever did!" Hurrying into the inn I called for pens, ink and paper, and sitting down forthwith, wrote this: MY DEAR ANTHONY: The wind has whispered, a bird has sung to me, and an ostler, by name Tom Martin (long may he flourish) has shown me a man's work. For who am I, poor finite wretch, to judge my fellows and condemn such as work me evil (and, inadvertently, themselves also, since Evil is double-edged and cuts both ways?) Who am I to despise or dislove them for the pain they cause me to endure (and, inadvertently, themselves also?) Should I not rather seek to forget past wrongs, to cherish and comfort such as despitefully use me? Is not this the secret of true and abiding happiness? My two uncles (whom God eternally bless!) waked in me the desire to be a true man; and what is there more manly than to forget a wrong, to forgive past trespasses and cherish the hand that has hurt us? So to-day, dear Anthony, instead of awaiting you here, I do a better thing; to-day at last, I go seeking my manhood in the achievement of a nobler act than I ever thought possible of my accomplishment; to-day I go to Diana. Your devoted friend, PEREGRINE VEREKER. This letter despatched, I ordered a horse to be saddled; very soon, thanks to Tom Martin's zeal, the animal was at the door and, though the day was far advanced, I mounted forthwith and galloped away for Wyvelstoke Towers. CHAPTER II I GO TO FIND DIANA Birds were calling their melodious complaint on the passing of another day and the shadows were lengthening when I came to a cross-roads where stood a timeworn finger-post beneath which sat a solitary figure in weather-beaten hat and coat, head bowed over the book opened upon his knees. Now at sight of this lonely figure I reined in so suddenly that this solitary person glanced up and I saw the white hair, keen eyes and pale, aquiline features of the Earl of Wyvelstoke. At sight of me he closed the book and rose, and in stern features, in every line of his slender, shabby figure was a stately aloofness that chilled me. "My lord?" said I interrogatively, and taking off my hat, I bowed. "Ah, Mr. Vereker," he answered, with a slight inclination of his head. "So you come at last. A charming evening. I wish you as well of it as you deserve!" And turning his back, he began to limp away; but in a moment I was off my horse and, hastening after, ventured to touch his arm, then fell back in sheer amazement before the ferocious glare of his eyes; yet his voice was as politely modulated as usual when he spoke: "Sir, were you any other than Peregrine Vereker--old as I am, I would call you out--and shoot you with peculiar satisfaction--"