When Rupert reached Homewood he rode direct to the stables, expecting to find a groom waiting his arrival.

Disappointed in this expectation he hitched the mare's bridle to a hook in the wall, flung a cloth over her, and walking round the house entered it through the conservatory doors, which always remained hospitably unlocked.

As he entered the hall, Esther was crossing from the direction of the kitchens. At sight of him she started back with a "Lor', Mr. Rupert, how you did frighten me; who ever would have thought of seeing you!"

"Why, who did you expect to see?" retorted Mr. Rupert, "and where, when all that is settled, is Fisher?"

"He left at seven, sir. He came in to do up the horses as usual, and he said, sir, when he was going out that he should not be back again, for that Hankins had seen you on the road to Elm Park, and you were sure not to be back such a night as this."

"I wish Hankins would attend to his own business and not attempt to manage mine," muttered Rupert. "Get me a lantern, Esther. I must see to that unfortunate mare myself."

Esther fetched him a lantern, and one of the men in possession, who had himself formerly been the owner of some livery stables, offered to see to the well-being of Madam Bess, but Rupert would not hear of it.

"You can bring the light if you will be so good," he said, for it was no part of the policy at Homewood for the inhabitants to give themselves airs above those sent to keep watch and ward over their chattels.

"But I will rub her down myself; I should not care about it, only I am so confoundedly wet," he added, with his frank pleasant laugh.

"However, she is wetter, poor beast;" and as he spoke he passed his hand over the mare's neck and shoulder, which attention she acknowledged by trying to get it in her mouth.

"Frisky still, old lady," Rupert remarked; "I should have thought your journey to-night might have taken that out of you. Come on," and he slipped off her bridle, and holding her mane walked beside her into the stall, where he put on her halter.

"It is too wet still to make your toilette out of doors," he went on; "so you must be quiet while I rub you down here."

And after having taken off his hat and coat and waistcoat, Rupert set too and groomed that mare "proper," to quote the expression of Turner, the man who held the light.

And then he brought her a warm mash, and forked her up a comfortable bed, which Bess at once devoted herself to pawing out behind her; having accomplished which feat, and vaunted herself to her stable companions about the evening's work she had performed, she lay down to sleep on the bare pavement.

This was her pleasant fancy, which is shared by many a dog.

After all, there was much of a dog's nature about Bess--notably as far as faithfulness and affection were concerned.

Rupert walked back to the house and asked Esther to make him some coffee. Whilst she was preparing it, he went softly to his own room, changed his wet clothes, washed, brushed his curly hair, and otherwise made himself presentable; then he went downstairs again and entered the library, where he found coffee awaiting his arrival.

"My sister is gone to bed, I suppose," he said to Esther.

"Yes, sir, Miss Halling was very tired, and thought you would not be back to-night."

"And Mrs. Mortomley?"

"She is up still, sir."

"I must see her to-night. Will you tell her that I want to speak to her very particularly."

"Yes, sir."

"What have you been crying about?" asked Rupert suddenly, but the girl turned her head away and made no answer.

"Has Mrs. Mortomley been scolding you?" he persisted. At this question Esther broke down altogether.

"It--it--is--th--first time my--mistress ever spoke cross to me, sir--,"

she sobbed.

"Well, you needn't allow that fact to vex you," Rupert answered, "for if things go on as they have been doing, you may be very sure it will not be the last. Now go and give her my message, and you will sleep all the better for seeing your mistress again. Depend upon it, she is far more sorry than you by this time."

"What a spit-fire temper Dolly is developing," thought the young man, looking uneasily into the blazing fire. "Though it is rather turning the proprieties upside down, I fear I must lecture my aunt," but when Mrs.

Mortomley came into the room there was an expression on her face which changed his intention.

She had taken off the elaborate dress in which he last beheld her, and exchanged it for a dressing-gown of brilliant scarlet, confined round the waist by a belt of its own material, and showing, in every fold and plait which hung loosely about her figure, how the plump shapeliness which once needed no padding, no adventitious assistance from her dressmaker, had changed to leanness and angles.

She had unloosed her hair, she had taken away the great pads and enormous frizettes in which her soul once found such pleasure, and the straight locks fell over her shoulders in a manner as natural as it was unwonted.

"Good Heavens, Dolly," exclaimed Rupert, at sight of her, "why do you ever wear scarlet, it makes you look like a ghost, or a corpse."

"It is warm," she answered, "and I was very cold. You wanted to see me and I wanted to see you; but tell me your story first."

"I have been to Elm Park," he replied, "in order to make up friends with that whited sepulchre, Mr. Dean; and I have succeeded. So much for that which immediately concerns Antonia and myself. After I left Elm Park, I rode round by Leytonstone and called upon Mr. Gibbons. He says that Swanland must act fairly by you and all the creditors; that, in fact, so far as that goes we need feel no uneasiness."

"Then, where is the cause for uneasiness?" she enquired.

"Nowhere so far as he can see," Rupert answered evasively, "but I will tell you what I have been thinking as I came home. Of course, once this order, whatever it may be, is taken out, we shall have no more trouble from writs and so forth, and we need not be anxious about the business, but we shall, I fear, want ready money. Of course there will be an allowance to Archie, but we may not be able to get that immediately. Now we had better look this matter in the face. How much money is there in the house?"

Dolly put her hand in her pocket and pulled forth her purse, turning its contents out on the table.

"I had the June interest from my money on Friday night," she remarked.

"For the first time I wrote to ask for it, and I was so thankful it came, as otherwise the wages here could not have been paid yesterday."

"Surely, Dolly, you never paid them out of your money?"

"Not the whole amount. Lang told me he was five-and-twenty pounds short, so I sent him to town to get the cheque changed, and gave him what he required."

"I must see Lang about this the first thing to-morrow," Rupert remarked.

"Dolly, give me your money and let me keep it."

She gathered up the notes and gold and handed them to him. He counted both over. "Why, Dolly," he said, "there is only thirty pounds left."

She laughed, in reply, that frank guileless laugh which never rings out save when a woman has concealed nothing--has nothing she wishes to conceal.

"Oh! I paid off such a number of worries yesterday. Of course, had there been enough to get rid of even one of our distinguished visitors, I should have done so, but as there was not, I killed such a host of gnats. See," and going to her desk she produced a perfect packet of receipts. "I am so thankful those little things are settled," she went on, "if I had kept the money it would only have gone somehow--not this 'how,' I am quite certain."

"Will nothing teach her common sense?" but even as he thought, Dolly's eyes suddenly uplifted surprised his--her brown eyes looking out from a very white face and a confused mass of dark hair.

"What is the matter," she inquired; "of what are you thinking?"

"Of you," he answered; "I wish you were more prudent."

"I wish I were--perhaps I shall be some day," she said humbly.

Thinking of the manner in which she had without question turned her money over to him Rupert felt doubtful.