"No, sir, I wasn't; I'm sure I saw him. I stepped on my gown and tore it as I was going up to bed last night, and I went to the housemaid's room to borrow a needle and cotton to mend it. I was going back across the passage when I saw Mr. Rupert at the end of the corridor turn into his chamber." So far, true. Bridget did not think it necessary to add that she had remained a good half-hour gossiping with the housemaid. Mr. Chattaway, however, might have guessed that, for he demanded the time, and Bridget confessed it was past eleven. Past eleven! The whole house, himself excepted, had gone upstairs at half-past ten, and Rupert was then not in. Who had admitted him? "Which of you servants opened the door to him?" thundered Mr. Chattaway. "I shouldn't think any of us did, sir. I can answer for me and cook and Mary. We never heard Mr. Rupert ring at all last night: and if we had, we shouldn't have dared let him in after your forbidding it." The girl was evidently speaking the truth, and Mr. Chattaway was thrown into perplexity. Who _had_ admitted him? Could it have been Miss Diana Trevlyn? Scarcely. Miss Diana, had she taken it into her head, would have admitted him without the least reference to Mr. Chattaway; but she would not have done it in secret. Had it pleased Miss Diana to come down and admit Rupert, she would have done it openly; and what puzzled Mr. Chattaway more than anything, was the silence with which the admission had been accomplished. He had sat with his ears open, and not the faintest sound had reached them. Was it Maude? No: he felt sure Maude would be even more chary of disobeying him than the servants. Then who was it? A half-suspicion of his wife suggested itself to him, only to be flung away the next moment. His submissive, timorous wife! She would be the last to array herself against him. But the minutes were passing, and Mr. Chattaway had no time to waste. The fair commenced early, its business being generally over before mid-day. He went round to the stables, found his horse ready, and rode away, the disobedience he had just discovered filling his mind to the exclusion of every other annoyance. He soon came up with company. Riding out of the fold-yard of Trevlyn Farm as he passed it, came George Ryle and his brother Treve. They were bound for the same place, and the three horses fell in together. "Are you going?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway to Trevlyn, surprise in his tone. "Of course I am," answered Treve. "There's always some fun at Whitterbey fair. George is going to initiate me to-day into the mysteries of buying and selling cattle." "Against you set up for yourself?" remarked Mr. Chattaway, cynically. "Just so," said Treve. "I hope you'll find me as good a tenant as you have found George." George was smiling. "He is about to settle down into a steady-going farmer, Mr. Chattaway." "When?" asked Chattaway. George hesitated, and glanced at Trevlyn, as if waiting for the answer to come from him.