In view of these coming changes, the two college chums had resolved in this springtime of the year to carry out an oft-proposed plan for a journey in Kent, Surrey, and Hampshire, of about three weeks’ duration, on horseback, and unattended, carrying what luggage they required in their knapsacks on their saddles. Hilary Pritchard on “Black Bess,” and Lord Carthew on a chestnut cob, had therefore started some ten days previously from a country seat in the Isle of Wight, belonging to the latter’s father. They had had lovely weather, and a very enjoyable tour, but so far no adventures worth mentioning, and the only point which had particularly struck Lord Carthew was what he considered as the unnecessary deference and snobbish attentions paid to him by hotel servants and chance strangers, solely because he was a son to Lord Northborough. After riding on without speaking a short time, Claud suddenly turned in his saddle, and addressed his friend with twinkling eyes, and a look of great satisfaction. “Look here, Hilary!” he exclaimed, “you won’t believe me on this subject of the disgusting sycophancy shown toward a title? You won’t admit that everybody treats me much better than they do you? Very well. I have a proposal to make. We have planned out about a fortnight longer of wandering. For the remainder of the time we will change _rôles_. You shall be Lord Carthew, and I will be Hilary Pritchard.” “Nonsense!” “No; but I mean it seriously. In the first place, to convince you that I am right; then again for the humor of the thing. My third reason will sound so ridiculous that I can hardly put it into words. One of my favorite theories is that events happen to us, and opportunities come in our way, just when we are ripe for them. Sometimes a premonition warns us beforehand. Often enough we disregard it, and miss the opportunity. There’s more than you think in the old Jewish notion of being ‘warned in a dream.’ My grandmother was a Scotchwoman, you know, Lady Kate Douglas, and great at second sight. Before I could speak plainly, she had communicated some of her beliefs to me.” “You’re just like the rest of these very clever fellows,” said his friend, indulgently. “When you’ve left off believing in everything else, you’re bound to have faith in some superstitious fad. Well, and what have you been dreaming about now?” No one had ever yet succeeded in laughing Lord Carthew out of any idea, however erratic. “I started this tour,” he said, quietly, “in search of adventures, you know, and so far we haven’t had any. But you must remember I am also in search of a wife, and I have a rooted conviction that if I find one to my liking it won’t be in the beaten track, but that I shall have to go out of my way to seek her out.” “My dear Claud,” Hilary began, in a tone of some alarm, “does this mean that your radicalism is going to land you in the arms of a milkmaid? A rustic countess, with red elbows and a strong dialect?”