“First, so far as my poor memory goes, my mother’s lady’s-maid informed me of the fact; then I think my sister’s governess,” he replied, ticking off his informants on his fingers with a half-abstracted air. “After that came a number of more or less reliable individuals, and lastly the Lady Alicia à Fyre.” “Me? I’m sure I never said——” “None of them ever _said_,” he interrupted. “But what have I done, then?” she asked, tightening her reins, and making her horse fidget a foot or two farther away. “You have begun to be a most adorable friend to a most unfortunate man.” Still Lady Alicia looked at him a little dubiously, and only said, “I—I hope I’m not too friendly.” “There are no degrees in friendly,” he replied. “There are only aloofly, friendly, and more than friendly.” “I—I think I ought to be going on, Mr Beveridge.” That experienced diplomatist perceived that it was necessary to further embellish himself. “Are you fond of soldiers?” he asked, abruptly. “I beg your pardon?” she said in considerable bewilderment. “Does a red coat, a medal, and a brass band appeal to you? Are you apt to be interested in her Majesty’s army?” “I generally like soldiers,” she admitted, still much surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. “Then I was a soldier.” “But—really?” “I held a commission in one of the crackest cavalry regiments,” he began dramatically, and yet with a great air of sincerity. “I was considered one of the most promising officers in the mess. It nearly broke my heart to leave the service.” He turned away his head. Lady Alicia was visibly affected. “I am so sorry!” she murmured. Still keeping his face turned away, he held out his hand and she pressed it gently. “Sorrow cannot give me my freedom,” he said. “If there is anything I can do——” she began. “Dismount,” he said, looking up at her tenderly. Lady Alicia never quite knew how it happened, but certainly she found herself standing on the ground, and the next moment Mr Beveridge was in her place. “An old soldier,” he exclaimed, gaily; “I can’t resist the temptation of having a canter.” And with that he started at a gallop towards the gate. With a blasphemous ejaculation Moggridge sprang from behind his tree, and set off down the drive in hot pursuit. Lady Alicia screamed, “Stop! stop! Francis—I mean, Mr Beveridge; stop, please!” But the favorite of the crack regiment, despite the lady’s saddle, sat his steed well, and rapidly left cries and footsteps far behind. The lodge was nearly half a mile away, and as the avenue wound between palisades of old trees, the shouts became muffled, and when he looked over his shoulder he saw in the stretch behind him no sign of benefactress or pursuer. By continued exhortations and the point of his penknife he kept his horse at full stretch; round the next bend he knew he should see the gates. “Five to one on the blank things being shut,” he muttered.