Mr. Hodson stared at him for a second or two in silence. ’Well,’ said he, slowly, ’I don’t know. Different men have different ways of looking at things. I think if I were of your age, and had your intelligence, I would try for something better than being a gamekeeper.’ ’I am very well content, sir,’ said the other placidly; ’and I couldna be more than that anywhere else. It’s a healthy life; and a healthy life is the best of anything—at least that is my way of thinking. I wadna like to try the toun; I doubt it wouldn’t agree wi’ me.’ And then he rose to his feet. ’I beg your pardon, sir; I’ve been keeping ye late.’ Well, Mr. Hodson was nothing loth to let him go; for although he had arrived at the conviction that here was a valuable human life, of exceptional quality and distinction, being absolutely thrown away and wasted, still he had not formed the arguments by which he might try to save it for the general good, and for the particular good of the young man himself. He wanted time to think over this matter—and in cool blood; for there is no doubt that he had been surprised and fascinated by the intellectual boldness and incisiveness of the younger man’s opinions and by the chance sarcasms that had escaped him. ’I could get him a good opening in Chicago soon enough,’ he was thinking to himself, when the keeper had left, ’but upon my soul I don’t know the man who is fit to become that man’s master. Why, I’d start a newspaper for him myself, and make him editor—and if he can’t write, he has got mother-wit enough to guide them who can—but he and I would be quarrelling in a week. That fellow is not to be driven by anybody.’ He now rang the bell for a candle; and the slim and yellow-haired Nelly showed him upstairs to his room, which he found to be comfortably warm, for there was a blazing peat fire in the grate, scenting all the air with its delicious odour. He bade her good-night, and turned to open his dressing-bag; but at the same moment he heard voices without, and, being of an inquiring turn of mind, he went to the window. The first thing he saw was that outside a beautiful clear moon was now shining; the leafless elm-trees and the heavy-foliaged pines throwing sharp black shadows across the white road. And this laughing and jesting at the door of the inn?—surely he heard Ronald’s voice there—the gayest of any—among the jibes that seemed to form their farewells for the night? Then there was the shutting of a door; and in the silence that ensued he saw the solitary, straight-limbed, clean-made figure of a man stride up the white road, a little dog trotting behind him. ’Come along, Harry, my lad,’ the man said to his small companion—and that, sure enough, was the keeper’s voice. And then, in the stillness of the moonlight night, this watcher and listener was startled to hear a clear and powerful tenor voice suddenly begin to sing—in a careless fashion, it is true, as if it were but to cheer the homeward going—