She had no intention of making herself known as a relation to the Beachams. As she had said to the Colonel, she had no wish to be questioned regarding her niece’s parentage. Honor had never seen her since she herself was a little child, and need never know that she had spent an hour or two with the upper servants from Sir Richard Pemberton’s place at Danescourt. As far as Mrs. Bainbridge was concerned, she deemed that only shame could accrue to herself and her family from any mention of what had occurred in those old, old days at distant Moyfecken. Honor was happily married, and so it appeared was the man who seemed to entertain so small a share of parental feelings regarding his child. The interview with that unscrupulous gentleman had not been a pleasant one, but it was over now, and Mrs. Bainbridge saw no cause to regret that she had informed Colonel Norcott of the near ties of blood which bound him to the pretty wife of respectable, popular John Beacham. CHAPTER II. THE COLONEL LAYS A PLOT. Musing on this unexpected discovery, Colonel Norcott sauntered slowly onwards under the spreading lime-trees, now in their full gush of sweetness, to that portion of the Park where the scene which was the only one of interest to him in that day’s programme of sports was to be enacted. On a broad portion of level road, about three-quarters of a mile in length, and bordered on either side by a grassy ride, it had been announced that a trotting-match between the respective horses of two sporting farmers would take place. The match had been made at the Bell Inn at Gawthorpe, one social evening after market-day was over; and Lord Guernsey, who was a liberal promoter of all legitimate “sport,” had kindly consented that it should come off on one of the gala-days in Danescourt Park. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the two animals, on whose respective merits, nevertheless, a good deal of money (for such an obscure occasion as the present) had been risked on either side. Colonel Fred--who was an _habitué_ at the Bell, “hanging out,” as he termed it, at that highly-respectable hostelry whenever either filial solicitude or the world-known Gawthorpe races brought him to Sandyshire--took a very decided part in the affair, backing his high opinion of Farmer Scroop’s rat-tailed brown cob for more money than he could well afford to lose. This being the case, and experience on sporting matters--to say nothing of a natural tendency to mistrustfulness--having combined to put him on the _qui-vive_, the Colonel had his eyes well open to ascertain that all was on the square, and that the race, humble though it might be considered, was not going to be “sold.”