in a low, tender voice, 'I think you may
trust him, dear George,' and she left off
struggling out of his arms, as if she was
not afraid of my knowing everything that
there was between them. I shall never forget
her—never!"

Here the ex-groom fell into a reverie
and walked his pony on in silence for
several minutes; breaking occasionally into
a market-trot, to keep up with the striding
mare. Lost in the contemplation of
the leading remembrance of his early life,
he had, for the last half-hour, allowed me to
commit every sort of equestrian misdemeanour;
until, at last, something dreadful he
caught me doing, with my toes and knees,
awakened him to a sense of duty; and, after
mildly rebuking me, proposed a canter.
"Shorten your left curb bridle, and give
her a touch with your left heel," he said,
"There! she springs off into a canter like
a rocking-horse; doesn't she?"

We had, by this time, turned our faces
homeward; having skirted the Moor,
and reached Crookston-Withers, after a good
ten-mile circuit. I asked my excellent
reminiscent to show me the cottage at which
his master used to keep him waiting so long
after his visits to Stonard Abbey.

"You're right! " he remarked, looking up
at me slily from under his hat. "The young
lady under the tree, with my master, was
Miss Levine. That's Corner Cottage!"

He pointed to an ivy-grown cottage at the
junction of three roads; the main road from
Matlock and Nottingham coming straight
up to it, and then branching off under its
triangular garden; the right, branch leading
past Stonard Abbey over the Moor.
A pretty hatch covered with a penthouse
led, through the churchyard, to the church;
which was only separated from the cottage
by the left-hand road.

"But you have not told me how the
younger Mr. Calder's wedding went off," I
remarked, as we were about to ascend the
Crookston side of Linney Hill.

Mr. Hockle's answer was: " You'll never
get your legs right, unless you keep her bit
level in her mouth, sink your heels, and keep
the stirrup-irons under the joints of your feet."

"But about the wedding?"

"Well, it was the grandest thing ever seen
in this county: eighty horsemen and horse-
women, besides carriages. The ball and
fireworks at night were wonderful. As for the
sup— Well sat, sir!"

It was a miracle that I had not tumbled
off; for old Rufa, without the faintest warning,
shied right across the road, a man on
horse-back having suddenly leaped, through
a gap in the hedge, close before her nose.
The unexpected horseman trotted up the
hill a few paces; then turned, and slowly
came back. His nag was lean and
meagre; but well-grown and strong-limbed.
The rider sat bolt upright. His hat,
intensely brushed, and narrow-brimmed; his
trousers pulled tightly down with a thin
strap; his straight, brown surtout,
buttoned to the throat; his neat collar-band
turned over evenly all round the cravat,
gave to his figure a slim and youthful
appearance. But, as he approached, I perceived,
by the strong furrows in his face, that he
was much above the middle age. In passing
Hockle, the hard, brown face was puckered
up to express a smile; but the eye remained
cold and glassy.

"What is your friend? " I asked, when he
had ridden out of hearing. "A Jesuit or a
horse-dealer?"

I dare not repeat the expletive with which
my instructor prefaced his information.
"What is he? Why what he has no more
right to be than the man who was hanged
for murder last week. He is, or pretends
to be, the Squire of Crookston." Hockle's
face, which generally wore a smiling,
respectful expression, was now contracted.
He switched his whip over his pony's
mane, savagely, as if he were cutting
down imaginary enemies with a broadsword.
Pulling his hat over his brow, he said,
"Let us push on. I daren't think of the
villain!"

We trotted into Mr. Hockle's yard in
silence; for, from that moment, no
expostulation, no entreaty, could induce him to
utter one syllable in continuation of the story.
At last he said, musingly:

"No, no. I've told you quite enough of
other people's secrets; for," he continued,
as we dismounted, looking me almost sternly
in the face, "We're a'most strangers, as
yet."

"Not to remain strangers long, I hope,
Mr. Hockle. I trust you will give me another
call." Having said this, I stalked stiffly and
painfully to my lodging.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

GENTLEMEN, even in good health, who are as
little used to the saddle as I am, will
readily understand why I was unable to take
exercise of any sort next day. About noon,
the tedium of my imprisonment was relieved
by Mr. Hockle; who came to give the
homoeopathic advice of curing my complaint
with its cause, by taking another ride with
him. I declined very decidedly.

"The fact is, sir," he said abruptly, and
without any sort of context, as he stept up
close to the sofa I was lying upon, "when
things were as bad with him as they could
be—"

"With whom?"

"With my master, Mr. George Dornley,"
he answered.

"Oh, then you will do me the great favour
of finishing the story!" I interrupted.

"Yes, I will," he rejoined frankly. "There
are some people we draw to at first sight,