'In these little matters, my good man, you are rather at variance with Colonel Hawker.' 'Who the devil is Hawker?' said Sharpe. 'A great authority on all such matters, sir,' said young Skene, 'and not to have heard of him argues that you are--well, imperfectly up in the subject.' 'Which we had better drop,' said Roland, with a dangerous sparkle in his dark eyes; 'but pass the decanters, Jack--they stand with you.' Mr. Hawkey Sharpe gave an audible sniff of contempt, meant, doubtless, for Elliot, whose cool stare at him was now blended with a smile indicative of curiosity and amusement, that proved alike enraging and baffling. When the gentlemen rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room, whence came the distant notes of the piano and the voice of Annot Drummond with her inevitable '_Du du_,' Hawkey Sharpe, with an unpleasant consciousness that he had been somewhat foolish and had the worst of his arguments, withdrew to his sanctum in the Beatoun wing to growl and smoke over his brandy and soda, and was seen no more for that night. Pausing in the entrance-hall, Elliot said: 'Pardon me, Roland, but who is that unmitigated cad who contradicted me so at table?--seemed to want to fix a quarrel, by Jove!' Roland coloured. 'Why, you redden as if he was a bailiff in disguise--a man in possession!' said Elliot, laughing. 'You forget, Jack, that such officials are unknown on this side of the Border.' 'Then who or what is he?' persisted Elliot. 'My overseer--steward.' 'Steward--the devil! and you have a fellow of that kind at table.' 'Mrs. Lindsay has--not I,' replied Roland, with growing confusion and annoyance. 'There are wheels within wheels here at Earlshaugh, Jack--a little time and you shall know all, even before the pheasants you disputed about are ready for potting.' But before that period came, or the opportunity so lightly referred to, much was to happen at Earlshaugh that none could at all foresee. CHAPTER XVIII. 'MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.' The First of September came in all that could be wished for the shooting, in which, to Roland's disgust and Elliot's surprise, Hawkey Sharpe took a part, but attired in accurate sporting costume, and duly armed with an excellent breech-loader. The corn was yellow in some places, the stubble bare in others; there were rich 'bits' of colour in every field, and silver clouds floating in the blue expanse overhead. In such light, says a writer with an artistic eye, 'the white horses seem cut out of silver, the chestnuts of ruddy-gold; while the black horses stand out against the sky as if cut in black marble; and what gaps half a dozen reapers soon make in the standing corn!'