“I got well, and after that stayed in the North for a year. Then I passed down the continent to Mexico and South America. There I got a commission to go to New Zealand and Australia to sell a lot of horses. I did so, and spent some time in the South Sea Islands. Again I drifted back to the Rockies and over into the plains; found Jacques Brillon, my servant, had a couple of years’ work and play, gathered together some money, as good a horse and outfit as the North could give, and started with Brillon and his broncho--having got both sense and experience, I hope--for Ridley Court. And here I am. There’s a lot of my life that I haven’t told you of, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s adventure mostly, and it can be told at any time; but these are essential facts, and it is better that you should hear them. And that is all, grandfather and grandmother.” After a minute Lady Belward rose, leaned on her crutch, and looked at him wistfully. Sir William said: “Are you sure that you will suit this life, or it you?” “It is the only idea I have at present; and, anyhow, it is my rightful home, sir.” “I was not thinking of your rights, but of the happiness of us all.” Lady Belward limped to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have had one great tragedy, so have we: neither could bear another. Try to be worthy--of your home.” Then she solemnly kissed him on the cheek. Soon afterwards they went to their rooms. CHAPTER IV. AN HOUR WITH HIS FATHER’S PAST In his bedroom Gaston made a discovery. He chanced to place his hand in the tail-pocket of the coat he had worn. He drew forth a letter. The ink was faded, and the lines were scrawled. It ran: It’s no good. Mr. Ian’s been! It’s face the musik now. If you want me, say so. I’m for kicks or ha’pence--no diffrense. Yours, J. He knew the writing very well--Jock Lawson’s. There had been some trouble, and Mr. Ian had “been,” bringing peril. What was it? His father and Jock had kept the secret from him. He put his hand in the pocket again. There was another note--this time in a woman’s handwriting: Oh, come to me, if you would save us both! Do not fail. God help us! Oh, Robert! It was signed “Agnes.” Well, here was something of mystery; but he did not trouble himself about that. He was not at Ridley Court to solve mysteries, to probe into the past, to set his father’s wrongs right; but to serve himself, to reap for all those years wherein his father had not reaped. He enjoyed life, and he would search this one to the full of his desires. Before he retired he studied the room, handling things that lay where his father placed them so many years before. He was not without emotions in this, but he held himself firm. As he stood ready to get into bed, his eyes chanced upon a portrait of his uncle Ian. “There’s where the tug comes!” he said, nodding at it. “Shake hands, and ten paces, Uncle Ian?”