"That is my business," said Sir Reginald, haughtily. He went into the inn. "Is there a room in which I can dry my coat?" he asked at the bar. He had only lately become aware of a drizzling rain which had been falling, and had soaked through his hunting-coat. "Were you with the Horsely hounds to-day, sir?" asked the landlord. "Yes." "Good sport, sir?" "No," answered Sir Reginald, curtly. "Show the way to the parlour, Jane," said the landlord to a chambermaid, or barmaid, or girl-of-all-work, who emerged from the tap-room with a tray of earthenware mugs. "There's one gentleman there, sir; but perhaps you won't object to that, Christmas being such a particularly busy time," added the landlord, addressing Reginald. "You'll find a good fire." "Send me some brandy," returned Sir Reginald, without deigning to make any further reply to the landlord's apologetic speech. He followed the girl, who led the way to a door at the end of a passage, which she opened, and ushered Sir Reginald into a light and comfortable room. Before a large, old-fashioned fire-place sat a man, with his face hidden by the newspaper which he was reading. Sir Reginald Eversleigh did not condescend to look at this stranger. He walked straight to the hearth; took off his dripping coat, and hung it on a chair by the side of the roaring wood fire. Then he flung himself into another chair, drew it close to the fender, and sat staring at the fire, with a gloomy face, and eyes which seemed to look far away into some dark and terrible region beyond those burning logs. He sat in this attitude for some time, motionless as a statue, utterly unconscious that his companion was closely watching him from behind the sheltering newspaper. The inn servant brought a tray, bearing a small decanter of brandy and a glass. But the baronet did not heed her entrance, nor did he touch the refreshment for which he had asked. Not once did he stir till the sudden crackling of his companion's newspaper startled him, and he lifted his head with an impatient gesture and an exclamation of surprise. "You are nervous to-night, Sir Reginald Eversleigh," said the man, whose voice was still hidden by the newspaper. The sound of the voice in which those common-place words were spoken was, at this moment, of all sounds the most hateful to Reginald Eversleigh. "You here!" he exclaimed. "But I ought to have known that." The newspaper was lowered for the first time; and Reginald Eversleigh found himself face to face with Victor Carrington. "You ought, indeed, considering I told you you should find me, or hear from me here, at the 'Wheatsheaf,' in case you wished to do so, or I wished you should do so either. And I presume you have come by accident, not intentionally. I had no idea of seeing you, especially at an hour when I should have thought you would have been enjoying the hospitality of your kinsman, the rector of Hallgrove."