

About the Book

An adventure romance, taking place in England in 1920. When Jasper Blake returns to the small Cornish mining village where he grew up, after making a fortune prospecting in America, he expects life to continue as it did before. To his surprise, many of the people he knew before he left 12 years ago have either died or moved, and there is no one to welcome him. Susie Bassett is one of the few people who eventually recognise him. He had only just turned eighteen and Susie Bassett was twenty-two, but she seemed to him the most wonderful creature that ever breathed. For nearly a year he lived in paradise, and then she married Jim Soper, a farmer who had lost his wife six months previously and who wanted a second Mrs. Soper to take her place. Then ... A week after his arrival he had met his old sweetheart Susie ‒ now the mother of five children ‒ and he received a shock that almost stunned him. At first he did not recognise her. It seemed incredible that this shapeless and uncomely woman was the adorable creature he had worshipped in his youth.

Then Jasper sees this advertisement: Rotherick Grange. To be Let Furnished. Apply to Sleeman & Trapp Solicitors, St. Ivel. Money is no object. He knows that however long he lives he will never be able to spend the vast fortune he made in America. A large country house with servants will be a new experience. It is only when he moves in that he becomes painfully aware of the gulf between the gentry and the educated working man. Sir Wilfrid Courtney, the owner of Rotherick Grange has a young daughter, Enid. Jasper learns that Sir Wilfrid is in major debt to Leopold Strauss, an unpleasant man who is planning to get his hands on Enid Courtney, even though she dislikes him intensely. Sir Wilfrid's only hope of keeping Rotherick Grange is to find a valuable lode of tin in a mine on his estate (the Lost Lode), or offer Enid to Strauss in marriage in return for being freed from the debt. And Leopold Strauss' only hope of marrying Enid is to call in the debt before the lode is found. When Jasper hears of this, he knows that even though Enid would not so much as consider him as a husband, he must at all costs stop Straus carrying out his plan, for Enid deserves better. Much better.

The Lost Lode

By

Silas K. Hocking

White Tree Publishing Edition

Original book first published 1920

This abridged edition ©White Tree Publishing 2019

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-45-2

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

The Lost Lode is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

This book cover is from a vintage postcard of the period, showing the Cornish town of Penzance.

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

About the Author

Publisher's Notes

1. The Lure

2. Jasper Makes an Offer

3. The Experiment Begins

4. Seeing it Through

5. Confidences

6. Food for Reflection

7. The Philosophy of Clothes

8. The Unexpected

9. Playing Host

10. Jasper says "No"

11. Conflicting Emotions

12. Straus Scents Danger

13. Discomfited

14. A Talk by the Way

15. Anxiety

16. Treachery

17. Facts and Inferences

18. Depression

19. At Close Quarters

20. Drifting

21. In the Wood

22. Playing the Game

23. A Crisis

24. Found

25. Cross Purposes

26. Postponed

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About the Author

Silas K. (Kitto) Hocking (1850-1935) was born in Cornwall in a tin mining area near St Austell. His father was a tenant farmer who also had a part share in a tin mine, which is why Cornwall and tin mining feature in several of Hocking's stories, based on first-hand experience. After he left school. Hocking started work as a mining surveyor, but was influenced by a young Methodist preacher who encouraged him to become an ordained minister. He moved from Cornwall to a Circuit in Newport in South Wales, and then to Liverpool.

Liverpool is where Hocking became famous as an author. Wikipedia lists nearly one hundred of his publications, the majority of which are books. In Liverpool, Hocking's appointment was near the docks, in the centre of the city slums. Two years later he married, and wrote his most famous book, Her Benny, published in 1879, based on the street children of the city.

Hocking devoted more and more time to his writing, and in 1895 he retired from the Methodist ministry to devote his time to writing. He was a committed pacifist, and hated all wars, something that comes out in many of his stories. Some of Hocking's books contain a clear Christian message, and others are adventure stories and romances without any strong religious teaching. Although many are quite dark, with descriptions of violence, they have a standard of morality to be expected from a Methodist minister.

Silas K Hocking is a much neglected author today, and White Tree Publishing has selected a small number of his books with storylines and plots that have not dated.

Silas Hocking had two sons, of whom one died young, and two daughters. He was not the only author in the family. His brother Joseph, and his sister Salome, both became bestselling writers of novels.

Hocking once met Conan Doyle, the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Discussing Holmes's problem with disposing of Moriarty, Hocking writes that he told Doyle, "Why not bring him out to Switzerland and drop him down a crevasse? It would save funeral expenses!" Doyle is reported to have laughed, but said it wasn't a bad idea. Hocking wondered later if he had influenced Doyle, because shortly afterwards Doyle did indeed cause Moriarty to disappear over the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland. Sherlock Holmes also fell, as Doyle had decided to end the stories – although Holmes reappeared later when Doyle realised he had made a mistake!

Unedited copies of many of Hocking's books are available as modern reprints, or as scans from a variety of internet sites, as well as some original titles from sites like AbeBooks. White Tree Publishing only publishes carefully selected older titles, edited with modern punctuation, shorter sentences and paragraphs, and abridged where necessary in order to make them much more readable today.

Silas K. Hocking died in September 1935, in London.

Publisher's Note

There are 26 chapters in this book. In the back are advertisements for our other books, so this book may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please write a short review and take a look at the other books we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

THE LOST LODE

Chapter 1

The Lure

Jasper Blake paused on the crest of the hill, and looked long and searchingly at the little grey Cornish town that nestled in the valley below.

Twelve years before, he had paused on the same spot and looked back ‒ looked back with a heavy heart and eyes that were too dim to see very clearly.

He was leaving home then ‒ going out into the great world alone and unfriended to seek his fortune. Now he was back again, and it seemed for a moment as if he had never been away. Nothing had changed. The trees and hedges and fields were just as green as when he left, the river rippled and flashed in the valley as it had always done, the old church tower stood square and defiant as ever. It might even be the same cuckoo that was calling from a neighbouring wood.

A little back from the town was the house in which he was born, the fields in which he had worked, the coal yard and store shed which had been his father's pride. Then suddenly the illusion vanished. He had come back, but he had not come home. He had no home. His father was dead, his stepmother had removed to some other part of the country, and the little homestead had passed to other hands. No one knew of his coming. There was no one to welcome his return.

Brushing his hand hastily across his eyes, he picked up his bag and started down the hill. Half an hour later he was seated before a substantial tea of bacon and eggs in the parlour of the Red Lion. John Juliff, the landlord, had eyed him enquiringly. Strangers were not often seen in Pengowan, and Jasper was unmistakably a stranger. Moreover he made a striking figure anywhere ‒ tall, straight, broad-shouldered, with crisp, wavy hair, clear grey eyes, a firm jaw, and skin deeply bronzed by wind and sun. People did not usually pass him without a second look.

"Stranger in these parts?" Juliff enquired.

"Not exactly," Jasper answered.

"Don't remember to 'ave seen 'ee before."

"Very likely. I've not been in Pengowan lately."

"Staying long?"

"Not quite certain. Depends, you know...." And Jasper smiled up into the landlord's face.

"We can make 'ee comfortable at the Red Lion ‒ that is, you don't seem to have much luggage," he added suddenly.

Jasper smiled again. A Cornishman is nothing if not inquisitive. Also the implied doubt was unmistakable.

"Luggage is coming on by carrier," he said. "I walked here from the station."

"Did 'ee now? A longish walk, and a warm afternoon, too."

Jasper was busy with his food at the moment and did not reply.

"Been in furren parts, p'raps?" Juliff suggested pleasantly, after a considerable pause.

"Yes."

"Done well, I 'ope?"

"Middling."

"Lots of young men go abroad from these parts, but most of 'em don't ever come 'ome again."

"Is that so?"

"Seems a pity, but mining is nothing as good as it used to be. Plenty of maidens 'bout 'ere don't ever get a chance of finding a man."

Getting no reply to this, Juliff at length walked slowly out of the room to discuss the stranger with his wife.

When Jasper had satisfied his hunger, he donned his broad rimmed wide-awake hat and sauntered out into the street. The day was drawing to a close, and very few people were about. Of these, no one recognised him. He passed the church, and the schoolhouse, and the Methodist chapel, and came at length to the bridge that spanned the river.

For a while he leaned over the parapet and contemplated the silently flowing water. Then he turned back and struck up another street until he came to the coal yard that once had belonged to his father. A man was busy locking up, but Jasper did not recognise him, and so passed on. He came at length to the house in which he had been born. For some time he stood still with his hands deep in his pockets. Beyond the house were fields, every one of which he knew so well. It seemed as if time had stood still. Nothing had changed. He was still a youth. The great world beyond the hills was unexplored.

Then with a deep intake of his breath he turned away and slowly retraced his steps.

It was dark when he reached the Red Lion. The evening had turned chilly, and Mrs. Juliff had lighted a fire in the parlour.

Pulling up an armchair he began to feel unaccountably depressed. During all the years of his absence he had looked forward to this day ‒ to this homecoming. What he had expected he did not quite know. For a dozen years he had dreamed of Pengowan. It was saturated with the passion and romance of youth. There was no other place on earth that could compare with it. Memory had hallowed it and glorified it. He had looked back on it through a golden haze. And now....

His life seemed to pass before him in a series of pictures. His childhood. The death of his mother when he was twelve. The coming of his stepmother two years later: her iron rule and bitter tongue. His work in the fields and in Trelogan tin mine beyond the hill: his growing unhappiness, and then the dawn of love, or what he imagined was love. He had only just turned eighteen and Susie Bassett was twenty-two, but she seemed to him the most wonderful creature that ever breathed. For nearly a year he lived in paradise, and then she married Jim Soper, a farmer who had lost his wife six months previously and who wanted a second Mrs. Soper to take her place.

When Jasper pleaded and expostulated, she laughed at Jasper's troubled face. A month later his father gave him forty pounds and his blessing, and told him to go out and seek his fortune.

He recalled his landing at Quebec half dead from seasickness, and then his steady drift westward ‒ ever westward. It took him eleven years to reach the Yukon, and during these years he had tried his hand at nearly everything. He had worked on railroads and on farms and in lumber mills. He had been tram conductor and cowboy. He had hunted for pelts in the great forests, and trapped salmon in the rivers. He had slept in the open and wintered in wooden shacks. Had listened to stories by camp fires and fallen asleep to dream of home. He had suffered from frostbite and hunger and blistered feet. He had tramped days on end over mountain passes and through interminable forests. He had given up hope more than once and lain down to die.

As he listened to the crackling of the fire in the grate, those years seemed like a dream. Or was he dreaming now?

He leaned forward and picked up the poker and stirred the fire. Evidently he was wide awake. That long and bitter trail across the mountains with scores of others was real enough. Real, too, the staking out his claim at haphazard, and then....

How the desperate fellows who had been his companions on the long trek had envied him. Luck had come at last. In a day, he was rich beyond anything he had ever dreamed.

To other fortunate ones gold had spelt Seattle, or 'Frisco, or Los Angeles, or the cities back east: Toronto, or Chicago, or Washington, or New York. To him it spelt Pengowan. There was only one thought in his mind, one desire in his heart ‒ he must get back home. His Cornish hills called to him across ocean and mountain and plain; the lure of his native land was in his blood; it had never left him during all the years of his absence. Nothing would ever satisfy him until he had seen again the little grey town lying in the lap of the hills. It was a homesickness that only the sight of home would cure.

What would happen to him when he got home he had not stopped to enquire. He would probably be disappointed. He knew his father was dead, and old home had passed into other hands ‒ so much in a brief letter his stepmother had condescended to inform him. He had no relatives ‒ at least none that counted ‒ and such friends as he once had would probably have forgotten him. Yet the lure held him, dominated him, drove out every other desire. As soon as he had settled his affairs and banked his gold he turned his face eastward, and for nearly a month he travelled almost continuously.

And now...?

He settled himself farther back in his chair, his eyes narrowed in earnest thought. Pengowan had been his objective, and beyond it he had not troubled to look. And yet now, within a couple of hours after his arrival, he was up against the truth that this was no end to his journey, there was still something beyond. But what?

He need never work again. He had more money than he would ever spend. He could travel where he liked, see what he liked, do what he liked, and without thought of expense. He had no ties, no cares, no responsibilities. He ought to be the most satisfied man in the world, and he had suddenly realized that he was not satisfied.

Till a few hours ago, Pengowan had been the paradise of his dreams, the climax of his ambitions, the sum of his desires; and yet an hour's ramble through its streets and lanes had convinced him that he had been entirely out in his reckoning. Pengowan was not an end in itself, it was only another stage on the journey.

Once more he was up against the constantly recurring question, "What next?"

Chapter 2

Jasper Makes an Offer

IT is often seemingly trivial things that determine the course of life. Jasper was scanning in a desultory way the advertisement pages of an illustrated paper, when his eyes caught the words:

Rotherick Grange. To be Let Furnished. Apply to Sleeman & Trapp Solicitors, St. Ivel.

Below was a picture of the house. Jasper remembered it well. He had passed it once as a boy and had pushed his head between the bars of the gate to get a good look. That not satisfying him, he had climbed a tree, and for ten minutes had feasted his eyes on the fairest picture he had ever seen. The house itself was a wonder. He had never before seen anything half so fine. Its massive porch, and quaint gables, dormer windows and twisted chimneys fascinated him.

He tried to imagine how supremely happy the people must be who lived in such a glorious house, and who could feast their eyes on lawns, and flower beds, and park lands, and a lake shining in the valley below. In the years that followed he had always pictured heaven as a sort of magnified Rotherick Grange.

And now it was to be let furnished. He wondered why. For a while he closed his eyes and gave himself up to reflection.

How would it feel to live in Rotherick Grange? To live as the gentry lived. To have servants to wait on him. To eat dainty meals three times a day. To wander unchallenged over close-shaved lawns and among banks of flowers. To have a library of perhaps a thousand books ‒ books full of interest and information. To dress in soft clothes on working days as well as holidays. To have comfortable chairs in which to sit, and the softest bed in which to lie. To be whirled to St. Ivel or to Truro in a motor car if one wanted a change.

The mere contemplation of such a life almost made him gasp. Riches, so far, had only meant to him the end of hardship and toil, and the beginning of ease and quietness and peace. His ambition had carried him no farther than a little homestead such as his father had, with a few meadows, an orchard and a kitchen garden, and a cow or two to give him an interest in life.

The gentry were a class apart. They had been to the manner born; had passed through school and university as a matter of course. Their mode of life was an inheritance. They were the descendants of generations of gentlefolk. That meant everything.

Well not everything perhaps. After all, they were only men and women. Surely it was not what was outside a man that made him a gentleman, but what was inside ‒ not riches nor fine clothes, nor a big house, but the temper of mind, the spirit which he possessed. The rest was but a veneer which might be acquired.

To some men, ease and grace and good manners came naturally. He had seen that out in the wilds of the Yukon. These thoughts did not come to him clear cut and explicit. They were vague and undetermined. He felt, rather than reasoned.

In any case here was the chance of an experiment. He already had a variety of experiences ‒ mostly experiences in hardship and poverty. Why should he not purchase an experience of an entirely different kind? It would be interesting ‒ perhaps amusing ‒ perhaps instructive. He had no desire to ape the gentry. He could not play the part if he tried,

But just to live in a fine house for a few months, to browse in a big library, to feel the comfort of soft carpets and expensive furniture, to loiter in green pastures and beside the still waters, to have all his wants attended to by well-trained servants

"Hey now," he exclaimed to himself, "its worth trying. I shall make an awful ass of myself no doubt, but what does it matter? I've had hardship all my life, now for the other thing."

On the following morning, he walked to Pengowan-road station and took the train to St. Ivel, and in due course presented himself at the office of Messrs. Sleeman & Trapp.

Mr. Trapp eyed him dubiously. Trapp was the working partner, and interviewed all the clients. Jasper lost no time in stating the object of his visit. Trapp took off his spectacles and proceeded to wipe them, wondering meanwhile whether this young man was trying to play a practical joke on him.

"I presume you are acting for some other person?" he asked at length in dry tones.

"Oh no, I am acting for myself," was the quick reply.

Mr. Trapp replaced his spectacles and looked him up and down. Jasper was wearing a suit of rough tweed which he had purchased at a ready-made store in Calgary on his way home. It did not fit him particularly well, and already showed signs of wear. Mr. Trapp felt ill at ease and a little suspicious. This young man, to put it plainly, did not look the part, and yet he knew it was not wise to judge wholly by appearances. In these democratic days one never knew exactly who was who.

"Your idea is to live at the Grange yourself," he asked slowly.

"That's about the size of it," Jasper answered bluntly.

"You have a family, I presume?"

"No, I'm a bachelor."

"Rather a big house for a bachelor, don't you think?"

"That's as it may be. There's no law against it, is there?"

"No law against it, of course. You can give references, I presume?"

"What do you mean by references?"

Mr. Trapp smiled a little indulgently. It was evident already that this young man was not the kind of tenant that could be accepted for Rotherick Grange.

"Surely, Mr. Blake," he said stiffly, "you will understand that in a case of this kind we require unexceptionable references. Sir Wilfrid Courtney would not be likely to allow any man to take possession of his house, even for the briefest period, unless he was perfectly satisfied as to his bona fides."

"You mean he would have to be sure of his money?"

"Not only sure of his money, but also absolutely satisfied as to the character and standing of his tenant."

"Well as to that, I am prepared to pay the four months' rent in advance. As to character and standing I'm afraid I should have to be taken on trust. I don't know anybody who'd be likely to go bail as to my good conduct."

"Then I think that settles the matter."

"You mean I'm not to be trusted not to run off with the spoons."

"I am not calling in question your honesty for a moment. Please understand that: but you see‒‒"

"Oh yes, I see right enough. The trouble is I'm pretty much of a stranger in these parts."

"You are an American, I presume?"

"Oh no, you bet I am not. I'm an Englishman ‒ or rather a Cornishman ‒ born and bred. But I have spent the last twelve years in Canada, and there you have me. So in the little matter of references I see clear enough I'm up a gum tree ‒ that is unless your Sir Wilfrid would be willing to strain a point. I don't reckon I'd be likely to do any harm to his property, or run away with his household furniture. The truth is, I've just a fancy to live in a house like Rotherick Grange for a few months and see how things pan out. As for the money part of it, I'll give the gentleman any guarantee he likes. I can't say fairer than that, can I?"

"I quite appreciate your position, Mr. Blake," the lawyer said, wrinkling his forehead and speaking in rather milder tones, "but ... well you see‒‒"

"Oh yes, I see your point of view," Jasper interrupted. "You don't know me and you think I'm not just the kind of man to fit in with the scheme of things. I may be a rogue for all you know, and there's nobody hereabouts to say I am not ‒ and it's not a bit of use me saying I'm honest. I see all that as clear as you do, but at any rate you might put my offer before Sir Wilfrid and let him judge for himself."

For several seconds Mr. Trapp did not reply. There was something in the suggestion that appealed to him. It was the first genuine offer he had received, and the offer to pay all the rent in advance was not to be ignored. Sir Wilfrid wanted the money, he knew, or it would never have occurred to him to let the Grange. He might be willing to stretch a point in the young man's favour.

Blake was undoubtedly a rough diamond, and yet by no means uneducated. On the whole he spoke correctly, and his appearance was in many ways in his favour. On the whole, the lawyer confessed to himself that he rather liked him.

"Very good," he said at length, "I will mention your application to Sir Wilfrid, but I do not anticipate for a moment‒‒"

"Very likely you are right," Jasper broke in, "Anyhow my address for the present is The Red Lion, Pengowan," and picking up his hat he left the room.

On his way back he made the discovery that he wanted the Grange badly. The idea had got a greater hold on him than he had realized, and the more the chances against him, the more he wanted it. What was the use of money unless he could get something out of it?

For a couple of days he wandered about Pengowan feeling more and more depressed. His homecoming had disappointed him. Nearly all the old people he had known were dead. The young men and women were scattered or had got married, the children had grown out of recognition. He was alone. A stranger in his own land.

On the third day he got a letter from Mr. Trapp to say that Sir Wilfrid would see him in his office on the following Monday at noon.

Jasper fished out of his trunk the best suit he had, gave his hair an extra brush, saw that his tie was properly knotted, and set out on his journey. Punctually as the clock struck the hour he entered the lawyer's office.

Trapp introduced him to the baronet and then turned and looked out of the window. Jasper and Sir Wilfrid regarded each other for a long moment in silence. The baronet was the first to speak.

"I understand that you wish to take Rotherick Grange for the summer?"

"That is so."

"And your reason?"

"Well, I have no home at present. I return after twelve years and I find myself a stranger in the town in which I was born. Also I am curious to know how it feels to live in a mansion. I've had lots of experiences. I've roughed it out west I can tell you. Now I want a change. Something entirely different, and I'm willing to pay for it. You may think I am foolish or presumptuous or worse. I can't help that. You asked for reasons and I've given them."

"Do you understand that in addition to the rent you would have to take over the servants and pay their wages?"

"That's all right. The money does not worry me a bit."

"I wish it did not worry me," Sir Wilfrid said uneasily, "but won't you be seated, Mr. Blake?" for Jasper had been standing all the time.

"Thanks. I don't mind if I do," and he dropped into the nearest chair. For the best part of the next hour they talked ‒ the one asking questions, the other answering them. Jasper was quite frank and yet at the same time hesitant. He had a streak of shyness in his nature which he found difficult to overcome. He struck the baronet as being unusually modest and yet he knew what he wanted, and held to his purpose with great tenacity.

When Sir Wilfrid had exhausted his stock of questions he retired with Mr. Trapp to an inner room, and for half an hour Jasper sat twirling his hat and wondering what the upshot would be.

Chapter 3

The Experiment Begins

ON the first of May, Jasper took possession of Rotherick Grange. Sir Wilfrid and his daughter Enid had left the previous morning. Jasper was not sorry to leave Pengowan. A fortnight had cured him of his homesickness. He recognised that there was no going back and picking up the threads he had dropped twelve years previously. The place had not changed, but he had changed, and the people whom he had known had changed.

A week after his arrival he had met his old sweetheart Susie ‒ now the mother of five children ‒ and he received a shock that almost stunned him. At first he did not recognise her. It seemed incredible that this shapeless and uncomely woman was the adorable creature he had worshipped in his youth.

During all the years of his absence he had unconsciously enshrined her in his heart. Susie had been his ideal, and the mental picture of her which he carried had never changed.

And now....

"Why, don't tell me you don't know me?" she laughed in a harsh voice. "Why, I should have know'd you in the dark. Why have 'ee come home again?"

"I don't know," he answered.

"I should think not. A purty slow hole this to come home to, and your father dead and all.... Made any money out there?"

"A little."

"I'd better 'ave waited," she laughed. "Marryin' Jim Soper ain't been all bread and cream and honey I can tell 'ee. Jim is still as poor as a rat."

"I thought you had an excellent farm."

"Oh, the farm's right enough, but Jim's lazy ... no enterprise ... sticks in the old ruts ... just jogs along as his father did afore him. And then five brats take a lot of keepin'... I s'pose you'm married?"

"Not yet."

"Well, my advice is keep out of it. You'm wise to remain a bachelor," and she laughed again.

Jasper was not sorry to get away from her. Another illusion had gone by the board. If time brought its compensations it also brought its revenges. The earth remained the same, but the generations changed and passed.

Juliff drove Jasper to the station in his horse and cart and tried his hardest to discover his destination, but Jasper was not to be drawn. The fewer the people who knew of his venture the better. He did not want his affairs discussed by every gossip in Pengowan. The secret would leak out in time no doubt, and he would be the subject of a good deal of unfriendly criticism. He already heard himself being called an upstart and a fool. Very likely he was the latter, but he was determined to carry through the experiment to the end.

At St. Ivel he hired a cab for the drive to the Grange, nearly five miles away. It was a lovely day and all the countryside looked at its best, but he was not conscious of the greenness of the trees and fields, or of the brilliance of the sunshine. He was conscious only of a miserable feeling of nervousness, and the nearer he got to Rotherick the more nervous he became.

When at length the cab turned into the park he was strongly tempted to tell the driver to turn the cab back again. What business had he to be in a place like this? It required an effort to get out of his seat when the cab swung round in front of the house.

His knees shook frightfully when at length he stood on the doorstep, and to add to his consternation the door was suddenly pulled open, and a portly well dressed gentleman stood before him. The portly gentleman ordered the cabman to take the luggage round to the side door and then looked at Jasper.

Jasper bowed and raised his wide-awake hat. It seemed the proper thing to do in presence of so much dignity.

"You are Mr. Blake, of course," said the portly gentleman.

"Blake is my name," Jasper answered and bowed again.

"We expected you a little earlier. Tea is waiting for you in the 'all."

Jasper wanted to say "Who on earth are you?" but felt unable to say anything. The portly gentleman indicated with a wave of the hand that the door was open, and stood aside for Jasper to pass.

A minute later he found himself in a richly panelled and decorated hall, from which sprang a wide staircase, with a stained-glass window at the first landing, and a gallery running round three sides of the space overhead.

Near the fireplace was a table already set for tea. A moment later a maid entered apparently from nowhere with a steaming hot teapot which she placed on a silver tray, and then proceeded to light the lamp under the kettle.

When she had disappeared, the portly gentleman said, "You will no doubt be glad of a cup of tea, sir," and he waved toward a chair drawn close up to the table.

Jasper obeyed awkwardly and shyly as a small schoolboy might have done. He was no doubt ready for a cup of tea, but the presence of this portly and dignified gentleman rather overawed him. He felt at a disadvantage.

This well-groomed gentleman was evidently at ease in the large house. He knew the ropes as it were. His movements proclaimed the finished article. By contrast Jasper felt himself a clown.

But who was this man? What was he doing here? These were elements in the situation that wanted clearing up, and when a moment later the portly gentleman proceeded to pour out tea, Jasper felt that a crisis had arrived. He would have to get to the bottom of the business somehow, and without further delay.

"You are very kind, sir," Jasper said nervously, "but won't you take a seat?"

"I hope I know my place, sir," came the dignified reply.

"No doubt you do, but there you have the advantage of me."

"Yes, sir."

"I said that you had the advantage of me."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything else you would like, sir?"

"You are awfully kind, but the fact is I don't quite grasp the situation. You see, I'm new to this kind of thing."

"Yes, sir."

"And I was given to understand that there would be only servants in the house."

"Quite correct, sir."

"Then ... then ... excuse me ... I don't want to seem rude, but where do you come in?"

"I've been with Sir Wilfrid ever since he was married, sir."

"Oh, a relative, I presume."

"Oh dear no. Not at all, sir. I'm the butler."

"I see," Jasper said slowly and reflectively. He was rather hazy as to what "butler" meant, but was anxious not to betray his ignorance more than necessary.

"Parsons my name is," the butler continued. "I'm afraid I've been somewhat remiss, sir."

"Not at all, Mr. Parsons. I ought to have frozen to the idea at once; but you see this place is a bit off my beat. I'll get the hang of things later."

"Yes, sir, but not Mister Parsons if you please, sir. Just Parsons."

"Oh, nonsense. You are too modest altogether."

"In the servants' 'all it is proper enough, but not here, sir."

Jasper raised his head as if to speak again but thought better of it, and after a few moments Parsons withdrew. Jasper felt better when he was alone, and poured himself out another cup of tea and finished what remained of the bread and butter. But he had an uneasy consciousness that he had not started well, and that it would be more difficult than he had expected to fit himself into the new conditions.

Parsons was a factor he had not reckoned on ‒ Parsons with his well brushed clothes, his mutton-chop whiskers, and his easy assurance made him feel badly-dressed and clumsy. Out of place. It might be true that for the next four months he was master; but "when in Rome do as the Romans do" was a safe motto, and Parsons was the man who could give him any number of wrinkles if properly approached.

While he was considering this, Parsons reappeared. "What hour would you like to dine, sir?" The question was shot at him suddenly and unexpectedly.

"Dine? Oh I am not particular," he answered, speaking with forced indifference. "Usually I get a bit of dinner about one o'clock."

"Yes, sir." But the butler's face underwent a subtle change.

"Rather make it twelve perhaps?" Jasper said hastily.

"Sir Wilfrid usually dined at seven, sir," Parsons said stiffly.

"Seven! Hey, that's...." Then he suddenly remembered that he had heard or read somewhere that the gentry always dined in the evening.

"Oh, all right, Mr. Par ‒ that is ‒ I beg your pardon ‒ any time that is most convenient. I hope you won't find me difficult to please in the matter of meals."

"Yes, sir. And Eliza wished me to say, sir, that she had not been able to find your dress suit, sir. She thinks you must have left it behind."

Jasper raised his eyebrows and stared. "I'm bound to say, Mr. Parsons, that you've got a real hunch on me this time," he said with a drawl.

"Yes, sir. It's a bit awkward, sir. There's not another portmanteau that Eliza has overlooked by any chance, do you think?"

"But what the deuce has Eliza to do with it?" Jasper demanded in a tone of irritation.

"She sorted out your clothes as is her duty, and put them away in their place‒‒"

"Do you mean to say she has been looking into my trunk?"

"Why yes, sir. What else, sir? You left it unlocked for that purpose I presume, and she was going to lay out your evening clothes for dinner."

"Did she expect I was going to eat my clothes?"

"Well, 'ardly that, sir," and Parsons made a desperate effort to keep his face straight but not with entire success, "but you see‒‒"

"That's just the trouble, I don't see," Jasper interrupted. "Why should anybody meddle‒‒" Then he stopped suddenly. It was clear he was out of his depth. The ways of the gentry were beyond him. He had evidently a lot to learn. He would have to take Parsons into his confidence and get to know the hang of things.

"Now look here," he said, making an effort to smile, "about that dress suit as you call it‒‒"

"Yes, sir. It seems hevident, sir, that you won't be able to dress this evening for dinner."

"Great Scott! Do you think I am going to have my dinner in bed?"

For several moments Parsons' face was a study, but the training of a life-time came to his aid. "Not at all, sir," he said at length, "by no manner of means. It is for you to give orders and we will do our best to obey," and turning quickly, he disappeared through a door behind the stairs.

Jasper picked up his hat and went out on to the terrace. Trying to live like the gentry was evidently no joke.

Chapter 4

Seeing It Through

JASPER retired to bed early, but he did not sleep for several hours. His brain was in a whirl, and every nerve in his body seemed to be on edge. He felt he had made an unpromising beginning. He ought to have listened and said nothing ‒ or at least as little as possible. He should have taken things for granted and asked no questions. He could have felt his way cautiously, and not so flagrantly betrayed his ignorance. As it was, he had put his foot in it at every step ‒ frequently both feet ‒ had made, as he expressed it, "a blooming ass of himself."

His evening meal ‒ supper as he called it ‒ had been a nightmare to him. The food was good and plentiful and cooked to perfection, and the table appointments beautiful. That was one of the troubles: they were too beautiful. And the number of knives and forks and spoons bewildered him. He suspected that there was a recognised order of procedure, but he did not know what it was. He would not have minded so much if Parsons had only kept out of the way, but that suave and officious gentleman seemed to be always on the spot. If he disappeared it was only for a moment, and directly Jasper had finished a course his plate was whipped away and another laid in its place. The chicken was exceptionally toothsome and he wanted a second helping, but he was afraid to protest lest he should be doing the wrong thing.

He would have been glad to engage Parsons in conversation, but never got a chance. Parsons saw to it that he was kept busy all the time. He had a horrible fear that the brute was sniggering behind his back, and that thought added to his discomfort and irritation. He wanted to get up and take him by the scruff of his neck and fling him out of the room. He hated the feeling of someone standing behind his chair. He supposed it was the correct thing. The gentry appeared to have curious customs, and as far as he had gone he was not enamoured of them.

When he thought he had finished, Parsons laid in front of him a beautiful dessert plate on which was a filmy mat, and on that a cut glass bowl in which was half an inch of water. This was too much for Jasper. It was the last straw. He hadn't the remotest idea what the bowl was for, or the water, or the lace mat, or the plate, or the silver knife and fork. If he was expected to perform some mysterious rite in lieu of grace, he wasn't having any. If this was living as the gentry lived, he had had enough of it ‒ at least for the present. He was determined to end the performance, and he did. Pushing back his chair he rose suddenly to his feet and faced his tormentor.

"I guess, Mr. Parsons, you have performed this ceremony all right," he said with a drawl, "but if you don't mind we'll end it here and now. It's a bit too elaborate for my taste, but that's neither here nor there. If you wouldn't mind showing me the way to that little room I saw just now, where I can sit more comfortably, I'll be much obliged."

"You'll not have dessert, sir?"

"For the present no."

"Yes, sir. This way, sir."

"The Snuggery" as it was called, was Sir Wilfrid's favourite room. It was comparatively small and typically masculine. There was a thick pile carpet on the floor. The furniture was upholstered in dark green leather. Before the window was a large writing table, and against the wall opposite the window was a deep chesterfield couch.

Before dinner, Parsons had shown Jasper over the house, but he was still a little dubious as to the geography of the various rooms. They had started with the drawing room, then they had inspected the dining room, then the library, then the billiard room, then the cloak room, then the morning room, and last the snuggery.

The snuggery had caught Jasper's fancy in a moment. Here was a room that was not too big, that was simple in its furnishing, and had a pleasant outlook. He decided at once that that room would have more of his company than any other room in the house.

Parsons threw open the door and stood aside for Jasper to enter. The curtains were drawn and a cheerful fire was crackling in the grate, for although the month of May had come, and all the trees were in leaf, and the chestnut and apple trees were pink and white with blossom, the evenings were still chilly.

Jasper dropped into an armchair in front of the fire with a sigh of relief. Parsons for the moment had disappeared, for which he felt profoundly thankful, but in a few minutes he was back again bringing coffee.

For the next quarter of an hour Jasper sat in peace and sipped his coffee; then Parsons returned again to fetch away the tray.

"Anything else I can do for you, sir?" Parsons enquired deferentially.

"Not a thing," was the abrupt answer.

"You can find your way to your bedroom, sir?"

"I'll try anyhow."

"Then I'll say goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight and‒‒" But he did not complete the sentence. He had no right to be irritable, he knew. Parsons had done his best, and he ought to be grateful, but he was not in a grateful mood. He felt to the soles of his feet that he had begun badly, and then gone from bad to worse.

Even his comfortable bed did not soothe him. He had never been used to scented sheets, and eiderdown pillows, and a spring mattress. For twelve years he had roughed it in true pioneer fashion. A wooden bunk with a straw mattress had been the height of luxury. Hence this large and lofty room, with its soft carpet, and panelled walls, and gleaming mirrors, and richly polished furniture, oppressed him. Indeed, the whole house oppressed him. It was too big, too stately, too silent. He felt out of place, he did not fit his environment. In a word, he never ought to have come. He saw that clearly enough now.

How could he live as the gentry lived when he did not know how they lived, when he was ignorant of their habits, their social customs, their rigid conventions? It was easy enough to take possession of a big house and plant himself in the midst of refined surroundings, but what if he himself was unrefined, uneducated, unused to the thousand and one little things that made their life different from his?

He had jumped suddenly from poverty to wealth. He supposed that as far as money went he could buy up Sir Wilfrid and all he possessed, and still have plenty to spare. But he could not buy culture and refinement and good manners. Such things would have to be won by effort, by observation, by patience, by strenuous endeavour.

And what then? Would he be any the better, any the happier, any more useful?

He pondered that for a moment or two, and then decided that such questions were foolish. He might as well ask if civilisation was any better than savagery. If to be attired in good and well-fitting clothes was any better than being clad in sheepskins? If beautiful furniture was any better than rough-sawn deal?

Of course all culture must be good. Every step in refinement was an advantage. From the dawn of history mankind had ever been struggling to higher planes. He might be a gentleman at heart and in spirit, but if he behaved like a clown and spoke like an ignoramus, the inward grace would be discounted in the sight of everyone. While these thoughts were filtering slowly through his brain he fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes again someone was knocking at his door, and the light of a new day filled the room. For a moment he felt bewildered and could not imagine where he was. Then everything came back to him. A voice outside the door was saying something about hot water and his bath being ready.

"All right," he called, and got slowly out of bed. His bath was delightful and his shaving water piping hot, and for a few minutes he felt the pleasure of having things done for him, instead of having to do everything for himself. But when he came to get into his clothes the old irritation came back again. He had only three suits, and all of them had seen their best days.

He selected the best of them, but when at length he stood before a tall mirror he felt that he did not harmonise in the least with his surroundings. His trousers were baggy at the knees, and his jacket rubbed at the elbows; his tie was stretched and crumpled, and his carpet slippers against the soft pile on which he stood made a hideous contrast.

While he was lacing his boots, the gong sounded for breakfast and he hurried downstairs at a breakneck pace. In the hall he paused for a moment and then made his way to the morning room. He expected to find Parsons, but Parsons was not there, and as far as he could see there was nothing to eat except a bowl of fruit, and a rack of dry toast.

He waited for a while, but no one appeared. He opened the door and listened, but not a sound was to be heard. Then his eye caught the glint of silver dish covers on the sideboard, and he advanced cautiously and nervously to have a look. Bacon and eggs under one, grilled pilchards under the second, and a little patty of fried potatoes under the third ‒ and all steaming hot. This was satisfactory at any rate, but where was Parsons? Had he offended his mightiness, or was he up against another custom of the gentry?

The night before, he had been irritated by the butler's constant presence, now he was irritated by his absence. If he paid for servants to wait on him he ought to have value for his money. Why was he being neglected? Finally he decided he had better take things as he found them and ask no questions. Possibly it was the custom of the gentry to wait on themselves at breakfast, or wait on each other.

On the whole he enjoyed himself. He was hungry, and the food was good and abundant, and waiting on himself was quite in his line. Yet all the while he had an uneasy feeling that they were laughing at him in the kitchen. And if they were, it only served him right. He had no business to put himself in such a ridiculous position. If he wanted to try experiments. he ought to have experimented in some other direction.

When he had finished his breakfast, he got up and squared his shoulders. "Well I'm in it," he said to himself with a broad smile, "and what is more I'm going through with it."

Chapter 5

Confidences

AFTER considerable cogitation Jasper decided to take Parsons more or less into his confidence. He was the only man in the house except himself, and he wanted someone to talk to. Also he was anxious to be initiated into the "tricks of the gentry." If there were things worth learning he might as well learn them, and the sooner the better. And Parsons was the man who could "put him wise."

Parsons also knew the family history. He said he had been with Sir Wilfrid ever since his marriage, and the baronet was now past middle life. Jasper was curious to know something about the baronet and his family. From the first he had been intrigued as to why a man in his position should let his house and go away for four months.

The house puzzled him. It was beautifully and expensively furnished. Everything in it was of the best ‒ or at any rate had been of the best ‒ but even to his inexperienced eyes there were signs of decay. Repairs were needed in many directions ‒ carpets here and there had been worn threadbare, and some of the doormats were in holes.

Out of doors also there were evidences of the same thing. The gardens were beautiful and extensive, but they were under-stocked, and showed signs of neglect. Grass and weeds grew in some of the paths, and the long carriage drive especially was sadly in need of repair.

The stables were locked and empty, and if ever there had been a brougham or a wagonette in the coach house it had disappeared. The only vehicle he could discover of any description was a small two-seater motor car.

The whole place seemed to him to be understaffed. The gardens were left to the tender mercies of an elderly man called Jonas and a boy, and he knew, however industrious they might be, it was impossible for them to do all that needed to be done. A little later he meant to give a hand to Jonas, for he loved gardening and wanted to see the place looking its best. Meanwhile he had other things to attend to, and having made up his mind, he was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet.

One evening when Parsons came to the snuggery to take away the empty coffee cup Jasper turned round in his chair and said abruptly, "Don't go, Parsons, I want to talk to you."

"Yes, sir," and he stood at attention, his face perfectly expressionless.

Jasper still felt considerably in awe of the butler. He was always so well groomed, so dignified, so impassive, that he occasionally wondered if he was entirely human.

"You had better take a seat," he said. "I may keep you some considerable time."

"Yes, sir. If you particularly wish it, sir."

"I do wish it, or I should not say so."

Parsons sat down on the edge of a chair and waited.

"It seems, Parsons," Jasper went on, "that you and I are the only two male creatures in the house."

"That is so, sir."

"And as the servants' hall and the kitchens are out of my beat, you are the only living creature I have to talk to."

Parsons bowed his head solemnly but did not reply.

"You will have discovered also that this kind of life is new to me. I am not posing as an aristocrat, and swank is a thing I have no use for. Taking this house is a whim of mine. You understand that?"

"I hear what you say, sir."

"Very good. Being here, I want to run the show properly, and I want to make as few mistakes as possible. For twelve years I have roughed it out west. Consequently I am not wise to your pleasant and interesting conventions. You are up to all the little tricks, and could give me a wrinkle or two. No man wants to make a fool of himself if he can help it, and I have an impression that I have given you a good deal of entertainment. We are both men, and for the time being I am master here, but I don't claim to be any better than you. It is true I made a bit of money out west, but that was just accident, or a streak of luck ‒ call it what you like. I don't figure it out that I am any better man on that account. Now you understand what I am driving at?"

"Yes, sir. I think so, sir."

"And being much older than I am, and knowing your way about, you can give me a bit now and then?"

"If you won't take no offence, sir?"

Jasper laughed. "Then there is just one other matter, Parsons," he said.

"Yes, sir."

Jasper waited a moment before replying. He did not want to appear inquisitive if he could help it. If he could get what he wanted to know in a round-about way, so much the better.

"It is about the garden, Parsons."

"Yes, sir."

"It isn't kept up to the mark. It looks neglected, and more or less run to seed."

"Yes, sir. It was a great trouble to Sir Wilfrid, sir, and especially to Miss Enid."

Jasper pricked up his ears suddenly. "Oh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Terrible fond of flowers is Miss Enid, and she worked in the garden herself like a Trojan, but of course weeds grow like mad."

"Miss Enid is Sir Wilfrid's daughter, I presume," Jasper said casually.

"Why, yes, sir. Have you never heard of her?"

"Can't say I have," was the reply. "Or if so, I have forgotten."

"A young lady in ten thousand, sir," and Parsons' eyes sparkled. "Not her equal between Saltash and the Land's End. Bright as they make 'em, and pretty as a flower, and clever too. There's nothing she can't do if she makes up her mind to it. Rode to hounds when she was twelve; and there's no kind of horse she couldn't tame. Oh, bless you, sir, a horse knew her by instinc' and loved 'er. She'd only to call and they'd come galloping across the field in a moment. Hathletics, sir! She's up to all of them. Swim like a fish, and play billiards better than her father. And as for golf, they say she's a wonder. You ought to see her, sir."

"You draw an alluring picture certainly," Jasper remarked.

"Yes, sir. But no words of mine could do her justice, sir. It was a terrible trouble to her when the horses went."

"Why did they go?"

"That's the question, sir," and Parsons' eyes grew troubled. "He told me he had to cut down expenses. He reduced the staff all round, sir. Outside and in, horses, carriages, coachman, groom, stable boys, two gardeners and three maids ‒ all went‒‒"

"A sudden fit of economy, I suppose?"

"Oh, no, sir, it was more than that. Sir Wilfrid was always free with his money when he had it. Nothing mean or stingy about him. Too generous, some people said. But I figure it out this way. He spent more money than he could afford in trying to find that tin lode. Thousands and thousands he must have spent‒‒"

"What lode is that?" Jasper asked with quickened interest.

"The Wheal Tilley main lode, sir. You've heard of Wheal Tilley, sir?"

"You mean the mine over the hill?"

"Yes, sir. The richest tin mine in the district, and by all accounts the main lode ought to run through the Rotherick Estate."

"Well?"

"It can't be found, sir. As I said, Sir Wilfrid has spent thousands and thousands, and at last he had to give it up. It was a terrible blow to him and to Miss Enid as well."

"I see," Jasper said reflectively. "So that explains, I expect, why he decided to let the Grange."

"I expect so, sir. I don't know for certain, of course, but I reckon that's what it means. If he could have found that lode it would have made all the difference in the world."

"But the lode must be somewhere," Jasper said, as if speaking to himself.

A melancholy smile stole over Parsons' face. "That's what the master used to say," he replied. "I've heard him talk to Miss Enid about it again and again. 'By every geological law,' he would say, 'the lode ought to be there.' And Miss Enid would agree with him. But all the same, they've never found it, sir."

"Did he ever attempt to explain why?"

"Well, he used to talk about a geological fault. What the miners called 'a horse.' I don't understand anything about such things myself, but that's what I've heard him say."

"A fault's the devil," Jasper jerked out a little savagely.

"Is that so, sir? Then it must be a terrible bad thing." And Parsons rose slowly to his feet and turned toward the door. Jasper did not attempt to detain him longer. He had got all the information he wanted, and a good deal besides.

For the moment he was not greatly interested in Sir Wilfrid or his daughter ‒ he had no doubt whatever that though their means were straitened they were well able to look after themselves ‒ but the story of the missing lode intrigued him vastly. He knew something about mining. As a youth and young man he had worked in Trelogan Mine and more recently still he had had a brief experience of gold mining in the Yukon.

He knew what a "fault" meant, and how a lode was occasionally deflected from its course. Scientifically he knew no more than the average miner. He was only aware of the fact that "faults" existed, and that when encountered they caused a great deal of trouble to the miner and to the management.

But as far as his knowledge and experience went ‒ and neither of them went very far ‒ "faults" did not destroy a lode. A movement of the rocks deep under the round might deflect it considerably to the right or left, but it still existed and could be found again if searched for long enough.

The Wheal Tilley main tin lode was famous, reputed to be one of the richest in the county. It was not a mere tributary vein that might peter out. It was what the miners called a "main" lode, broad and well defined.

Jasper found he could not get the story of the lost lode out of his head. It held him like a magnet, thrilled him, fascinated him. He did not wonder that the baronet had spent a fortune searching for it. There was not only adventure in such a search, but romance. The more he thought about it the more excited he grew.

"Hey now!" he exclaimed, "that lode has got to be found!"

Chapter 6

Food for Reflection

ON the following morning, Jasper made his way through the wood that stretched up the hillside north of the house. He was feeling particularly cheerful. The Grange no longer oppressed him as at the beginning. The library had already become to him a place of enchantment, and the gardens, in spite of their neglected appearance, a scene of delight.

He had slept well and eaten a good breakfast, and as he was now a stranger to aches and pains, and had not a care in the world, he naturally brimmed over with the joy of life. The morning was glorious, with a soft west wind blowing across the valley, making music in the trees.

The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with last year's leaves, and high overhead the thrushes were pouring out their gratitude in bursts of song. It was a morning to make any man cheerful whose soul was not dead to the beauties of the earth. To a young man in the full strength of his life, it possessed a quality of delight that could not be put into words.

On the top of the hill he passed out of the wood onto a wide plateau of uncultivated land that he knew was known as Rotherick Downs. It was mostly covered with gorse already breaking into bloom. Beyond the Downs the ground dipped suddenly into a rocky glen, and beyond again rose the chimney stacks and tall "Shears" of Wheal Tilley Mine.

At the edge of the glen Jasper paused and looked about him. On all hands were evidences of Sir Wilfrid's enterprise. Shoading (prospecting) pits marked the Downs for almost its entire length. From the foot of the glen a tunnel had been driven, and not far away was an open shaft which, judging by the extent of the rubbish tip, was of considerable depth. How far the workings extended underground he had no means of knowing. It was clearly to be seen where Sir Wilfrid's thousands had gone.

Jasper began to feel a profound sympathy for the baronet. The story of his hopes and disappointments was written in characters too plain to be misunderstood. Month after month, and year after year, the baronet had poured out his money, and with each fresh expenditure hope had no doubt sprung anew in his heart ‒ to be met only with disappointment at the end. It was a pitiful and even tragic story. He could appreciate the dogged determination with which Sir Wilfrid had conducted his enterprise ‒ always hoping and yet always fading ‒ and he could also understand something of the bitterness of his regret when at length, through lack of funds, he had been compelled to abandon his quest.

From the foot of the glen Jasper made his way up the hillside in the direction of Wheal Tilley. It was a considerable climb, and when he reached the top he was surprised to see the shining waters of the Atlantic not far away. He had no idea that he was so near the sea, though he knew in Cornwall it is never far distant.

Near the "Sump" shaft of Wheal Tilley he came face to face with Thomas Nancarrow, the underground captain, familiarly known as "Cap'n Tom."

"Good morning, cap'n," Jasper said with a pleasant smile.

Nancarrow eyed him curiously for a moment and then replied in the quaint intonation of the native, "Good mornin' to 'ee: but 'ow ded 'ee know that I was cap'n?"

"I don't know for certain, but I thought you looked like a cap'n."

"You be a stranger in these parts, I reckon?" Nancarrow observed, evidently pleased at Jasper's compliment.

"I was never at Wheal Tilley before, if that is what you mean."

"But you'm not Cornish?"

"Oh, yes, I am. I was born at Pengowan, though I have spent the last dozen years in Canada."

"Then you are not on the look-out for a job?"

"Not exactly."

"Made a bit maybe?"

"A trifle."

"An' come back 'ome to spend it?"

"One has to spend a bit if one is to live," Jasper observed with a smile.

"Ay, for sure. That's the pity of it."

"And how's Wheal Tilley looking?" Jasper asked.

"Well, fair to middlin'. Caan't find no fault bearing the main lode; but we're gettin' a bit far out under the sea."

"What about the landward direction?" Jasper asked.

"Oh, we've worked 'er out that way. Nothin' doin' this end of 'er at all."

"How's that?"

"Earthquake I reckon. She runs straight enough up to about the glen yonder, then she kicks. Sir Wilfrid Courtney's been tryin' to find 'er over in his Downs ‒ spent 'eaps and 'eaps of money, and never got a sign of 'er."

"But she ought to be over there."

"Oh, ay, she ought to be right enough. You come over 'ere with me an' look along atween the legs of the shears ‒ that'll show 'ee the line of 'er."

Jasper followed Nancarrow, and looked in the direction indicated.

"Now you see where she ought to hit Sir Wilfrid's Downs. You see all them shoading pits? They ought to be on 'er back everyone of them, but the funny thing is she ain't there."

"But allowing for a fault, or an earthquake, she ought to be somewhere in the neighbourhood?" Jasper asked.

"Oughts often stand for nothin' as I reckon it," Nancarrow observed reflectively. "Nature as I say is amazin' curious. You never know what tricks she's up to. Haaf 'er time she's bent on foolin' us ‒ takes a kind of pleasure in upsettin' our calcerlations ‒ covers the apple trees with blossom an' then sends a frost to spoil the crop‒‒"

"But she keeps up the average pretty well, all the same," Jasper remarked.

"P'raps; but I feel terrible sorry for Sir Wilfrid. A good man 'e is an' a gentleman. As for his little maiden she's a clipper, but you've seen 'er p'raps."

"No."

"Well, Miss Courtney is as good as they make 'em, but I fear there's rough times in store for 'er."

"Why?"

"Well, they do say Sir Wilfrid have mortgaged the estate to Mr. Straus down at Polgarrick, an' the estate 'e's after is Sir Wilfrid's young daughter."

"Oh!"

"Pm only tellin' you what's common talk, mind you. Straus may be right enough. Terrible rich by all accounts, an' not bad lookin', but ... well, 'e's not the sort of man I takes to."

"But if Miss Courtney likes him‒‒"

"Exactly. But people do say as she 'ates the sight of 'im, an' that she and 'er father 'ave gone away for a bit to be out of 'is reach. One thing is certain, Sir Wilfrid 'ave let the Grange furnished for four months. Been took by an American it's said, who's got more money than manners."

"Is that so?" Jasper said with a wry smile.

"I'm only sayin' what I've 'eard. A good few Rotherick men work at Wheal Tilley, and they naturally talk a bit."

"Naturally," Jasper replied with a short laugh; and then the conversation drifted away to other topics.

Jasper returned to the Grange in a decidedly reflective mood. Captain Tom Nancarrow had furnished him with considerable food for thought. That he was reputed to have more money than manners did not surprise him, though he could not help feeling a little displeased. He would have to try to live down his reputation. Up to the present very few people had seen him. He had avoided the village and kept strictly within the grounds. Today's excursion was the first of its kind, and he hoped Cap'n Tom would not discover who he was.

From thinking of himself, his thoughts wandered off to Sir Wilfrid and his daughter. He wondered if it were true that the baronet had mortgaged the estate, and if Miss Courtney was the price to be paid for its redemption. On the face of it, it did not seem impossible, or even improbable.

For some reason which he could not quite understand, the idea was distasteful to him. Something within him seemed to rise in revolt. It was not fair that a woman should be a mere pawn in the game of life. From what he had heard, Miss Enid Courtney was young and apparently beloved by all who knew her. It seemed to him nothing less than tragic that she should be sacrificed to save her father from ruin.

Of course it was no concern of his. They did not belong to his world. He had never seen the young lady in question, nor was he likely to see her. It was not likely that Sir Wilfrid would return until he was safely off the premises. Hence the less he bothered his head about the matter, the better for his peace of mind. But in spite of reason and logic, his thoughts kept constantly reverting to the subject. In case of need he was quite prepared to be her champion ‒ not that the need was ever likely to arise, and even if it did, she was not likely to look in his direction for help. All the same, he was on her side whatever might happen. Distressed maidenhood appealed to all that was chivalrous in his nature. No man who was worthy of the name could stand by and see a woman unfairly treated.

He found himself quite unconsciously making mental pictures of her. His fancy built her somewhat on the lines of Susie Bassett ‒ not the Susie of today, but the Susie of a dozen years ago ‒ plump of figure and round of face.

He knew that all this was exceedingly foolish; for evidently, from all he had heard, Miss Courtney was quite capable of looking after herself. A girl who could ride, and swim, and play billiards, and drive a motor car was not likely to need assistance from anyone. If she chose to marry Mr. Straus in order to save the family fortunes she would no doubt do so, and feel herself amply justified.

Quite unwittingly Jasper conceived a profound dislike of Mr. Straus. He was convinced that he was not playing the game ‒ that he was seeking to gain his own ends by unfair means, and that he was a danger to the well-being of the community.

This also he knew was foolishness. He was allowing a mere prejudice ‒ and a prejudice built on the slenderest foundation ‒ to run away with his reason and common sense. He knew nothing of Mr. Straus. He might be, and probably was, a most estimable gentleman, and free from all unworthy designs.

And yet in spite of reason and logic he scented drama as a dog scents a thunderstorm. He felt it gathering silently and irresistibly. It might be tragedy or it might be comedy, or it might be only farce. But the stage was being set ‒ of that he was sure ‒ and somehow he had been cast for a part from which there was no escape.
Chapter 7

The Philosophy of Clothes

DURING the next two days it rained almost continuously, and Jasper spent nearly all his time in the library. He had made a rough calculation that he ought to read fifty books during his four months' stay. He had seen in a newspaper a list of a hundred books which it said "every man ought to read." Most of these books he discovered in Sir Wilfrid's library, but when he came to sample them he discovered that many of them were entirely beyond his comprehension. He came to the conclusion that a taste for some kinds of literature ‒ like a taste for tomatoes ‒ had to be cultivated.

Philosophy, for instance, made no appeal to him, while anything bordering on science fascinated him. Theology sent him to sleep, but history and biography often kept him up half the night. Biology, sociology, and political economy interested him mildly, but poetry not at all. Fiction he avoided ‒ not because he did not like it ‒ but because he was out for instruction rather than pleasure.

On the whole, he realized he did not choose badly. He read carefully and intelligently and made notes of what he was most anxious to remember. Day by day he not only added considerably to his store of information, but his mind expanded to an extent of which he was only dimly aware.

Meanwhile Parsons had "put him wise" on little points of etiquette. His table manners became quite satisfactory, though his clothes from the butler's point of view left everything to be desired.

"Never mind, Parsons," he laughed one evening when he sat down to dinner in a suit of "reach me downs" much the worse for wear, "I'm going to St. Ivel soon for a complete rigout, and I want you to make out a list of everything I require. Do you think you can manage it?"

"I'll try, sir," and he kept his word.

Jasper read the list and raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "Good lord, Parsons," he laughed. "You don't mean to say I want all these things?"

"Yes, sir. Every one of 'em, sir."

"But man alive, why?"

"Because, sir, if you'll excuse me saying so, the clothes you're wearing are not fit to be seen."

"Not fit to be seen?"

"Well, not becoming to a gentleman, sir, if you will pardon me remarking it. I've wanted to say so before, but you seemed rather fond of 'em."

"Well, I am fond of them. I bought them ready-made in Calgary, and there are months of wear in them yet."

"Yes, sir. They look ready-made, sir. The fit is what I call atrocious ‒ in fact, if you will pardon me saying so, they don't fit at all, and your other suits are a shade worse if anything."

"Oh, come, Parsons, that's rather strong, isn't it?"

"You asked for my opinion, sir, and I'm a-givin' it."

"Quite right, I want you to be perfectly frank."

"Well then, sir ‒ if I may so put it ‒ outside clothes aren't everything. To put it plainly, your wardrobe is ‒ or perhaps I ought rather to say is not ‒ well sir, there is not any word for it...."

"You mean it is so bad?"

"Well, practically speaking so to speak, sir, there isn't any, or in other words, it isn't there."

"Not there? Do explain yourself, Parsons."

"The list I've made out I hope, sir, explains itself."

Jasper ran his eye down the list again. Socks, ties, collars, slippers, dress shirts, ordinary ditto, underwear, gloves, boots, hats, pyjamas.

"But, Parsons," he insisted, "I don't want to set up an outfitter's shop."

"No, sir. I leave the matter to you, sir," and Parsons turned and walked slowly out of the room.

A day or two later, Jasper got out the motor car and checked it over it. During his twelve years in Canada he had learned to do most things, and amongst the rest he had learned to drive an automobile, and not only to drive it, but to repair it if necessary.

When he was convinced the little car was in running order he changed into his best suit, put his cheque book and Parsons' list into the breast pocket of his coat, tucked himself into the low seat and set out for St. Ivel.

It was the first time he had been outside the lodge gates since he took up his residence at the Grange, and naturally all the people in the village stared at him. They recognised Miss Enid's car in a moment, and rightly concluded that this was the "furren" gentleman who lived all by himself in the big house.

He spent on the whole a very miserable day in St. Ivel. He hated shopping, hated being measured for clothes, and positively loathed having to choose such things as ties and fancy shirts, but he went through the business with a kind of desperation. It had to be done, and the sooner he got to the end of it the better.

As far as his outer garments were concerned he put himself completely in the hands of the most fashionable tailor in the place. He had no confidence in his own judgment either as to style or material.

"Don't make a guy of me," was his only stipulation. "And remember I'm not a 'toff ' and I hate anything loud."

He returned to Rotherick Grange almost snowed under with parcels, and utterly exhausted both in mind and body.

"I hope, sir, as 'ow you have enjoyed yourself?" was Parsons' greeting.

"Enjoyed myself?" he snapped. "I've had the most grilling day I've known for years. Another such day would send me to a lunatic asylum."

"Yes, sir."

Jasper glared at him. "Perhaps you think I'm a lunatic already," he ventured in a tone of sarcasm.

"Not at all, sir. By no means, sir. Shall I order tea, or will you wait for dinner?"

"I'll wait. And directly after dinner I'll go to bed. I'm worn out."

"Yes, sir." And Parsons disappeared.

He did not go to bed directly after dinner, however. He became so interested in several books in the library that he remained up till after midnight.

A fortnight later he donned the first of his tailor-made suits that had been delivered that day from St. Ivel, and when he surveyed himself in the tall mirror of his wardrobe he received something like a shock. Not only did he look different, but he felt different. For the first time he was conscious of fitting into the picture ‒ his appearance harmonised with his surroundings. It might be vanity or it might be "swank," or it might be something else equally contemptible, but there was no doubt about the fact ‒ he did feel different.

For the first time in his life he considered seriously the philosophy of clothes. Did the outward sign contribute to the inward grace? Would a man, if he were dirty and ragged, lose his self-respect? Did good and well-fitting clothes assist a man in his upward endeavour?

He gave up the problem at length as being beyond him and went out to interview the new gardener he had recently engaged. Then he went on to the kitchen garden to have a look at Jonas and the boy Billy.

Was it mere fancy, he wondered, or did Jonas and Billy treat him with more deference than they had hitherto done?

That he was conscious of his new clothes was an undoubted fact. He liked the "feel" of them. They sat on him comfortably and easily. He had less disposition to slouch and to hunch his shoulders.

"My goodness, I shall be putting on 'side' next," he said to himself contemptuously. "I'm behaving like a little girl with a new frock. I'd better go on wearing my 'reach-me-downs.'"

On the following morning he donned his old clothes again and then surveyed himself in the mirror.

"Well, just look at that," he said to himself at length, "I not only look mean in these rags, but I feel mean ‒ that is‒‒" but he did not complete the sentence.

For a while he hesitated and seemed undecided what to do. Then he hurriedly stripped off the old clothes and threw them into a comer of the room, and with as much haste as possible got into another of his new suits ‒ a grey tweed ‒ and without glancing at the mirror hurried downstairs to breakfast.

That morning he received his second visitor. The vicar had called a week previously and got a donation out of him for his renovation fund. Mr. Leopold Straus called for quite a different purpose. He wanted first to gratify his curiosity, and second to get some information if possible as to the whereabouts of Sir Wilfrid and his daughter.

"Just a neighbourly visit," he explained, smiling affably. "Polgarrick you know is only two miles away. Sir Wilfrid and I are great friends ‒ a most charming man. I presume he writes to you occasionally."

"No, he does not."

"No?" raising his eyebrows. "But of course you know where he is?"

"Not the remotest idea," Jasper answered indifferently. "He may be in China for all I know, or Timbuktu."

"You have taken the Grange I understand for four months?"

"That is so."

"And at the end of that time, Mr. Blake...?"

"I go somewhere else."

"Of course.... A delightful place, don't you think?"

"Very."

Straus was satisfied that Jasper possessed no conversational gifts, that his manners left much to be desired, and that his acquaintance was not worth cultivating, and so did not prolong his visit.

Jasper was relieved to see him go, and hoped he would not call again. His suave manner and his oily black hair irritated him.

"I hope it isn't true," he said to himself as he went off to the library to get a book.

His thoughts had returned again to Sir Wilfrid and his daughter, and to his talk with Cap'n Tom Nancarrow. "No, I hope it isn't true," he repeated. "If Sir Wilfrid and his daughter have got into that man's clutches, they are to be pitied."
Chapter 8

The Unexpected

THE days passed with disquieting rapidity. Almost before he was aware, Jasper found himself in the last month of his stay. It hardly seemed possible that he had been three months at The Grange. He recalled how at the beginning of his residence the days had seemed interminable, now the weeks slipped away like a dream.

Whether or no he lived like the gentry no longer troubled him. He knew that life was amazingly pleasant. After his years of toil and hardship and suffering, the present was a dream of delight. He had nothing to worry him. Everything ran on oiled wheels. He had slipped into new ways of living with scarcely a jar. To come down to a daintily served dinner in evening clothes seemed the most natural thing in the world.

He certainly didn't feel vain or "stuck up" or proud of his appearance. He was just Jasper Blake as he had always been. Only, as he told himself, having discovered that certain things were pleasant, he had adopted them. The refinements of life appealed to him. The smooth running of a big house was in every way more agreeable than the rough and tumble of a wooden shack. And since he had more money than he could spend, and there was no virtue in sanded floors, and ill-cooked food, and shabby clothes, he saw nothing against his present mode of life, and everything in its favour.

He did not believe he was wasting his time or his money. On the contrary he was improving his mind, adding daily to his store of knowledge, and broadening his mental horizon. That he was spending a good deal of money he knew, but he decided it was being usefully spent. At any rate he was providing employment for a few people who were very happy in their work.

But now the question began to force itself on his attention: what was he going to do with himself at the end of the month? On the thirty-first he would have to remove himself bag and baggage. On the first of September Sir Wilfrid Courtney and his daughter Enid would again take possession. That they would be profoundly thankful to get back home again, he had little doubt.

His first thought was to go right away to some other part of the country and look out for another furnished house. There was only one thing that held him ‒ at least he declared to himself that there was only one thing ‒ and that was the lost lode of Wheal Tilley. From the first it had intrigued him in a way and to an extent he could not understand. Scarcely a week had passed since his visit to Wheal Tilley that he had not strayed over the Downs and measured with his eyes the distances and the lie of the country, and searched for any outcrop of rock that might indicate the existence of the lode.

On the face of it, it seemed a little absurd that he should feel so much interested in the matter. It could make no difference to him if the lode was never discovered.

But all the while there lay at the back of his mind the unexpressed thought that it would make all the difference in the world to Sir Wilfrid and his daughter. Also, it would make a great deal of difference to the neighbourhood. It would find work and wages for a great many people who at present had very little to do.

Had he been given to introspection or to self-analysis he would have discovered that there was another factor in the case, and that was Mr. Leopold Straus and the relation in which he stood to Miss Enid Courtney. Rumour was persistent in coupling their names. Some people said that they were definitely engaged, but the general impression was that there was no engagement at present, that Miss Courtney frankly disliked him, that she would never marry him if she could help it, but that in the end the financier would win because of his hold on the baronet.

Jasper was inclined to think that this was the true version of the case. That the baronet was hard up was known to everyone, as well as the reason of it, but how far he was under the thumb of Straus was of course only a matter of speculation.

In any case, he never thought of the matter without a feeling of indignation. During the last few weeks he had met Straus several times in his rambles. Once when he had been making a few rough measurements on the Downs he felt almost certain that he had espied the money-lender watching him from the shadow of the wood.

The more he had seen of Straus the less he had liked him, and he knew that nothing in the world would give him greater pleasure than to spike his guns.

His mental picture of Enid Courtney was always of a girl in distress, hunted by a man she loathed, and living in constant terror lest in the end she would have to yield.

The more he thought about the matter, the more clear it appeared to him that her salvation lay in the discovery of the lost lode. But how was it to be discovered? Sir Wilfrid had given up the quest ‒ not because his faith in its existence had given out, but because he had spent all his money. What then? Suppose someone came to Sir Wilfrid's assistance and encouraged him to try again?

It was around this question that Jasper's thoughts circled like a moth round a candle. It was this that pulled him up suddenly when he considered the question of going away to some other part of the country.

He was convinced that the lode existed, and that it could be found if the search was continued long enough. So the thing held him like a magnet, and drew him up through the wood and over the Downs again and again.

He was careful, however, to say nothing to anyone of what was passing through his mind. Nothing could be done or even suggested until Sir Wilfrid came back.

Three days before the month came to an end, Jasper went to see a cricket match two miles away. He was feeling distinctly depressed. He had got to love the Grange ‒ every nook and corner of it. Nearly every day he had put in an hour's work in the gardens. He had planted scores of rose trees with his own hands, watched through the joyous months of summer the bourgeoning of the plants and trees, spent long evenings wandering along its newly gravelled paths, and revelled in the smooth beauty of the lawns. And now in three days he would have to leave it all. He hoped that the cricket match would help to raise his spirits.

Parsons and his wife and all the housemaids were busy getting the house in readiness for the master's return. Beds were being aired, the covers taken from the drawing room furniture, and a mighty dusting and polishing in Miss Enid's boudoir.

Jasper felt that he had become of no account. He was only an interloper ‒ an outsider who had been tolerated because he kept the machinery going. Now he was no longer wanted. All the servants, he expected, would be glad to see his back.

Most of his trunks were already packed, and in three days would be taken to the Rotherick Arms where he had secured rooms for a week. What would happen after that he did not know. He was in no mood to look far ahead. For four months he had dwelt in paradise ‒ now the time had nearly come when he would have to go out into the desert again.

Yet at the back of his mind there was a vague and undefined thought that something was going to happen. It had been there ever since his talk with Cap'n Tom Nancarrow. It was too formless to be expressed in words, and yet he had never been able to shake himself free of it. It had more to do with his decision to remain for a week or two longer in the neighbourhood than he was aware.

He started for the cricket match soon after breakfast, and spent the day watching the game. He walked back slowly, for the day was hot, and arrived home tired and dusty with only just sufficient time to get a bath and dress before dinner.

He entered by means of a latchkey and ran lightly upstairs to his room without meeting anyone. He had just finished dressing when a knock came to his door.

"Yes?" he called.

"May I come in, sir?"

"That you, Parsons? Come in, of course."

The door was pushed slowly open and the butler advanced a couple of steps into the room and stood still.

Jasper turned round with hair brushes in his hands. "Yes, Parsons," he asked. "What is it?"

"I was not sure you were in, sir, until I heard the bath running."

"Well? Anything gone wrong?"

"No, sir. I should not say as anything was gone wrong. But I thought you ought to know, sir, before you came downstairs."

"Know what?"

"Well, sir, soon after you went out this morning I got a telegram from Sir Wilfrid to say as how he and Miss Enid were returning at once."

"At once?" Jasper gasped. "Do you mean that they are returning today?"

"They are here now, sir. They arrived about two hours ago."

"Great Scott!" and Jasper dropped a brush and stood for a moment staring at it, as it lay on the floor.

"They seem amazing pleased to be home again," Parsons continued, "and they hope‒‒"

"No doubt they are pleased," Jasper interrupted with a bewildered look in his eyes, "but what the dickens am I to do?"

"They hope as how it will not inconvenience you in any way, sir. I have laid the table for three."

Jasper walked to a chair and sat down. Whatever he had thought or imagined, he certainly had never expected this. If Sir Wilfrid had returned alone he would not have minded. He had looked forward to a talk with the baronet. There were one or two things he wanted to discuss with him: but to have to face the daughter....

"They will be waiting for you in the 'all, sir, when you come down," Parsons added, and then backed silently out of the room.

Jasper sat still for several moments staring at the closed door.

"Well I'm jiggered," he said at length.

Presently he got up, picked up his hair brush and finished brushing his hair. Then he slipped on his dinner jacket and stared at himself in the mirror ‒ stared at himself and yet was unconscious of his reflection.

It was of the two people waiting for him in the hall that he thought. He was constitutionally rather a shy man; moreover he was acutely conscious of his limitations. Once more he realized that he was out of his element. He knew nothing of society or its ways. Why the dickens had they come back before their time? Did they want to spy on him ‒ to see how a clown would behave in a gentleman's house?

He grew hot to the soles of his feet. Then the gong sounded for dinner.
Chapter 9

Playing Host

JASPER descended the stairs slowly, feeling as though his heart were in his shoes. He was conscious when he reached the first landing that there were people in the hall, but he had not the courage to look at them.

Sir Wilfrid, who watched his descent, could scarcely believe his eyes. Was this the young man he had interviewed in Sleeman & Trapps' office four months ago? It scarcely seemed possible. Outwardly at any rate the transformation was complete.

Enid was nearly as much surprised as her father. Sir Wilfrid had told her that their tenant was a better class of working man ‒ intelligent but unpolished ‒ a man who had made a fortune by a happy chance, and had come home to spend it; but who was entirely without culture and who dressed atrociously.

"At any rate," she reflected, "during the four months he has been here he has learned how to dress." She was also compelled to admit that he was singularly good-looking. Tall, straight and well-built, he made rather a striking figure as he descended the stairs. She was not inclined, however, to attach much importance to outward appearances. Clothes could not make a gentleman, and if the truth must be told she looked forward to being vastly amused.

The very fact that he had elected to live at Rotherick Grange had impressed her unfavourably. To her mind, it indicated vulgar swank ‒ there was no other word that would express it. It had been a good thing for them that he had been willing to take the place on her father's terms. It furnished them with a few hundreds in ready cash which they very much needed, but it did not raise him in her estimation. On the contrary, it lowered him. People ought not to pretend to be something other than they were. For a man to set himself up as a country gentleman who had neither education nor training, revealed a spirit ‒ a temper of mind ‒ the opposite of admirable.

She had not wanted to come back to the Grange until Mr. Blake had left it. In consequence of a mistake made by the owners of the bungalow they had occupied in Torquay, they had been compelled to leave a week sooner than they anticipated. She had suggested going to a hotel for a few days, but Sir Wilfrid was eager to get home. There might be advantages in arriving a few days before their tenant left. It might be well to see that everything was in order while he was on the spot. Also it was not worthwhile packing and unpacking for a couple of days. So at the last moment Enid yielded to her father's wish, and a telegram was despatched to Parsons announcing their return.

Sir Wilfrid advanced to meet Jasper when he reached the foot of the stairs and held out his hand. Jasper took it in silence. He still felt perturbed and not a little suspicious.

"Allow me to introduce my daughter," Sir Wilfrid said pleasantly.

Jasper looked up for a moment and bowed stiffly. He could not have spoken if his life depended on it. His mouth felt dry, his tongue paralysed. In all his life before he had never seen so dazzling a vision. In books and in illustrated papers he had seen pictures of women in evening dress, but never in flesh and blood had he seen a woman so beautifully gowned. The whiteness of her neck and arms seemed to dazzle his eyes. The rich mass of her hair, coiled low on her neck, gleamed in the light as though dusted with gold. The swift glance of her wonderful eyes seemed to pierce him through and through. He felt stupid, dumbfounded, bewildered.

Fortunately Sir Wilfrid came to his rescue. "We must apologise for this intrusion," he said, "but we were compelled to leave sooner than we expected."

Jasper pulled himself together with an effort. "The house is yours," he said simply.

"Oh, no," Sir Wilfrid replied with a smile, "until Saturday it belongs to you. I hope our presence will not inconvenience you very much."

"I can arrange to leave tomorrow, Sir Wilfrid."

"Certainly not," Sir Wilfrid caught him up quickly. "Why should you leave? I could not hear of such a thing."

"You and your daughter would be much more comfortable by yourselves. I have only myself to think of, and a day more or less will make very little difference."

"It is very kind of you to put it in that way, Mr. Blake," Sir Wilfrid said with knitted brows, "but if you leave before your time is up, we shall think you resent our coming."

Jasper fidgeted from one foot to the other and felt distinctly uncomfortable. He was anxious if possible not to convey a wrong impression. He did not want to appear selfish or inconsiderate, and yet he was quite certain that he would be much happier out of the house than in it. He could not quite rid himself of the suspicion that they had come back to spy on him ‒ to see how he behaved himself ‒ to be amused perhaps at his mistakes. He was not of their breed, he lacked their culture, their ease and grace of manner.

If Sir Wilfrid had come home alone he would not have minded, but the dazzling creature by his side overawed him and made him feel a fool. He knew nothing about women of the class to which she belonged. He felt certain he would make an ass of himself ‒ perhaps he had done so already.

"It is for you to decide, Sir Wilfrid," he said at length in a strained voice. "Your comfort and convenience, and the comfort and convenience of Miss Courtney, are the only things that count."

"That is very nice of you, Mr. Blake," Enid broke in, and Jasper started as though he had been shot.

"Then for a day or two we will consider ourselves your guests," Sir Wilfrid added with a smile, "and I hope our better acquaintance will be a pleasure to us all."

To this gracious little speech Jasper could think of no reply; and just then Parsons threw open the dining room door and announced that dinner was served.

Jasper gave a gasp. The dining room had never been used during his occupancy of the Grange. He had preferred to take all his meals in the morning room. In honour of the homecoming of the master, however, a special dinner had been provided, with special table decorations, and of course the big dining room was the only proper place for the meal to be served in.

Jasper had only the vaguest idea about what he ought to do. Subconsciously he realized that for the moment he was host, and Sir Wilfrid and his daughter his guests. It was a ridiculous kind of topsy-turvydom, and in spite of his trepidation he wanted to laugh outright. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he saw only the humorous side of the situation. He was bound to make a fool of himself ‒ that, he decided, was a foregone conclusion ‒ so he might as well make the plunge first as last. He had a vague idea that he had either heard or read that in big houses gentlemen took ladies into dinner. Well there was only one lady, and as he was host it was his business to blunder through his part as well as he knew how.

Hardly knowing whether he was on his head or his heels he advanced toward Enid with his arm slightly crooked. He did not look at her. He felt sure that she was laughing at him, but he could not help that. How he got into the dining room he was never quite certain. Fortunately they sat at a round table so there was neither head nor foot, and his role of host seemed much easier in consequence.

During the whole of the meal he was painfully self-conscious and gloriously conscious of the nearness of Enid Courtney. He talked very little for fear of saying the wrong thing, but it was pure joy to listen while she talked. Now and then he darted at her a timid glance, but he never met her eyes frankly and fully. He admired the ease and grace of both father and daughter. What cost him a tremendous effort was to them perfectly natural, and he envied them their unselfconsciousness.

He could only hope neither of them guessed how nervous he felt, how completely out of his element. He made sure his face and manner betrayed nothing. He had set himself doggedly to go through with the business to the end, and he was not the man to be turned from his purpose.

It was Enid who in the end got him to talk. "Have you not felt very lonely here?" she asked.

"Not in the least," he answered. "I have been used to living alone."

"But surely in the evenings you must have wanted someone to talk to?"

"You see I have had books ‒ as many as I could read. That has been something new in my life."

"And you have enjoyed their companionship?"

"More than I can say. Generally speaking, the evenings have not been long enough."

"So you will want to be left alone directly dinner is over?" she asked with a deliberate smile.

He raised his eyes and met her glance for a moment. "Now you are poking fun at me," he said seriously. "I shall be grateful if you and Sir Wilfrid will let me sit in the same room with you."

"But neither of us is as entertaining or as instructive as a good book." And she smiled again.

"I love hearing people talk," he answered, "especially people who know so much more than I do. Don't you think listening to educated people is an education in itself?"

"I'm afraid I have never thought of it in that way," she laughed. "What do you think, father?"

"It depends, I should say, on the subject talked about," he answered.

"I was not thinking so much of the matter as the manner," Jasper interposed. "Of course I am thinking of myself and of what educated talk means to me. You can see I am not educated. I don't always know how to use words, or understand their values. I learnt grammar, of course, as a boy, but I mean more than that."

Enid looked at him with quickened interest. She had heard many educated people express themselves much worse. This was not the rough and uncultured man she had been led to expect.

Jasper and Sir Wilfrid lingered over their coffee. The sound of a piano came through the open door from the drawing room across the hall. A little later a clear contralto voice broke into song.

Jasper sat still and listened. If Sir Wilfrid went on talking he did not hear him. There was a quality in the voice that held him spellbound, that lifted him above all commonplace things, that awoke in him an emotion he had never known before.

Suddenly Rotherick Grange had become a different place. No longer empty, and lonely, and silent ‒ but full of music, and light, and perfume.

The coming of a woman had changed everything.
Chapter 10

Jasper Says "No"

WHEN Jasper came down to breakfast next morning he found Enid already sitting behind the tea tray, and Sir Wilfrid Courtney helping himself to bacon and eggs at the sideboard. Enid gave him a smiling good morning and asked him if he would take tea or coffee.

"Tea, please," he said a little nervously. He was still self-conscious and on his guard.

"Milk and sugar?"

"No sugar, thank you," and he helped himself to cold ham and then sat down at the table.

He did not look at her face but he noticed that her hands were beautifully shaped and yet looked strong and capable. He was conscious also of a subtle perfume that seemed to surround her. Indeed, as on the previous evening, her presence changed the whole atmosphere of the room.

He wanted to have a good look at her. She was something new and strange in his experience. He had never in all his life before come near anyone so fresh and dainty and alluring. She seemed to belong to a race apart, or to some higher development of the species.

He kept himself well in hand, however, and talked intermittently to Sir Wilfrid across the table, mainly about the weather, and the crops, and the tin mining industry. After breakfast he went into the garden with baronet. He was beginning to feel quite at home with the man. There was in his manner and tone no hint of superiority, no slightest trace of patronage.

After a few minutes Enid joined them, and Jasper retired into his shell. They walked slowly up and down the gravelled paths, and Enid was quick to notice how well the gardens looked, and how many new rose trees had been planted. Then she caught sight of the new gardener, and looked significantly at her father.

Jasper, who had been glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, caught the look and began to explain. He stumbled a good deal in his speech and grew confused.

"Perhaps I had no right to engage him," he said, "but he was out of a job, and I wanted the gardens to look their best. You see, I was getting all the pleasure of it."

"But only for a short time, Mr. Blake," Enid's voice broke in. "And now you are leaving all the pleasure to us."

"I suspect that most pleasures are only for a short time," he said hesitantly, "so one may as well make the most of them while he has the chance."

"So you won't regret spending your money on father's garden?" she queried.

"Not if it gives you pleasure," he answered quietly.

She turned her head and looked him full in the face, and his eyes fell. He felt as though he had committed some grave breach of propriety.

"Morgan, of course, leaves tomorrow," he stammered. "I only engaged him to the end of my term."

Sir Wilfrid's face looked troubled and he lifted his head once as if to speak, but evidently thought better of it, and remained silent.

A few minutes later Enid turned and went back to the house, while Jasper and Sir Wilfrid walked on side by side saying nothing. They came at length to a small arbour under a spreading laburnum.

"Let us sit down," the baronet said abruptly. "I want to talk to you."

For several minutes they sat in silence. Jasper began to wonder if Sir Wilfrid had some complaint to make.

"I am bound to say, Mr. Blake," Sir Wilfrid began at length, "that you have behaved with great generosity. You were under no obligation whatever to spend money on the place."

"You must not forget that it was for my own pleasure," Jasper answered.

"So you have said before. I will not therefore labour the point. You are aware, of course, that I have been pressed for money, or I should not have let the house. Everyone hereabouts knows that I have dropped a small fortune in searching for a tin lode that apparently does not exist."

Jasper's heart gave a sudden thump. It was the very question he wanted to discuss, and he had been wondering how, or in what way, he would be able to approach the subject without appearing impertinent or inquisitive.

"It must exist, sir," Jasper said. "Such things do not evaporate."

"You think so?" Sir Wilfrid asked with a wan smile. "At any rate, Mr. Blake, I have not been able to find it. I have sunk shafts and driven tunnels in all directions. It has been a great disappointment to me as you can readily understand. And that is not all. It has landed me in serious financial difficulties."

"I am sorry to hear that, sir."

"I fancy most people have a shrewd suspicion how it is with me, but of course it is a matter I cannot very well discuss with my neighbours."

"It is kind of you to take me so far into your confidence," Jasper said.

"Not at all. I am discussing the matter from a purely business point of view. I understand that you are well off. You have spent money on the place already. The truth is, I cannot afford to keep it up except ... except on conditions I am not at liberty to mention. The rent you have paid me has given me a few months' reprieve but...." The baronet shrugged and spread out his hands. "The point I want to get at is this. Would you care to take the place for another term, say six months, or a year."

"And you would go away again?"

"I see no help for it except.... But we will not go into that. My daughter and I can live cheaply in some small hotel or boarding-house ‒ especially during the winter months."

"And suppose you remained away a year and I paid you the same rental. How then? Would you...?"

"It would be a year's reprieve, Mr. Blake, and in a year many things might happen."

"The lode might be discovered for instance," Jasper smiled.

"Oh, no, Mr. Blake, I have given up hope of that."

Jasper reflected for some time in silence. He would be glad enough to live on at the Grange for another year, but what his heart revolted against was the thought of this man and his daughter being condemned to vegetate ‒ and worse than vegetate ‒ in cheap lodgings in some obscure part of the country. He recalled the dazzling vision of the night before. He thought of their evident delight in being home again, the thrill of joy that rang in Enid's voice when she sang to the accompaniment of her own piano ‒ of her rapture this morning as she wandered among the flower beds and smelt at the roses. Must these two refined and cultured people be sent away again to hardship and discomfort, and mean and sordid economy?

It was not difficult to read between the lines in what Sir Wilfrid had said to him. Not difficult to guess at the "conditions that he was not at liberty to mention." Gossip was evidently right. Sir Wilfrid was in Straus's net, and Enid was the price of his freedom.

Jasper felt his anger rising as this thought passed through his mind. The idea had always been hateful to him, but it was doubly hateful to him now that he had seen her, spoken to her, glimpsed something of her loveliness.

Also had he not seen Straus, talked to him, measured him up, sensed the relentless cruelty that lurked in his dark beady eyes?

To give a girl like Enid Courtney to his oily embrace would be sacrilege and worse; and yet he could well understand that a girl of her type would be ready to sacrifice herself to save her father.

Sir Wilfrid waited impatiently for Jasper to speak, but the latter remained silent with his eyes upon the ground.

"You are not prepared to consider my proposition?" he asked presently.

"No, Sir Wilfrid."

"I am sorry. You like the place?"

"I love it. I should think there is no more delightful spot in England."

"You have other plans?"

"Yes."

"That settles it then. Perhaps I may be able to get someone else to take it, though I am bound to confess that people who are prepared to take a place like this are few and far between," and he sighed heavily.

"May I ask you a question, Sir Wilfrid?"

"Why yes, of course," and he raised his eyes and waited.

"I hope you will not think me impertinent or unreasonably inquisitive," Jasper said, speaking slowly, "but may I ask ‒ and I do so for a reason ‒ is your daughter aware that you intended to lay this proposition before me?"

"Well no, Mr. Blake. No," and Sir Wilfrid flushed slightly. "To be quite frank with you, I did not mention it to her. Naturally she hopes that we have come home for good."

"Then she does not understand your financial position?"

"Not to the full extent. I have not found the courage yet to tell her the worst. She knows I am hard up, of course. Has known it for a long time past. We have had to cut down expenses to the lowest. She has been very brave over it, and never complained once."

"But to go away again would be a cruel blow to her?"

"It would, no doubt. The last four months have been very trying to her ‒ very trying to us both ‒ but she has been wonderfully patient."

"She thinks perhaps that the self-denial of the last four months has placed you on your feet again?"

"I fear that is so. The young are naturally hopeful, and then as I told you she has never fully understood my real position."

"Then why undeceive her?"

The baronet smiled sadly. "My dear sir," he said, "how can I help it? God knows I would shield her from every trouble if I could. She is the apple of my eye, and a better daughter was never born. Alas, I was too optimistic about that lode. I felt certain I should find it sooner or later, and so I kept throwing good money after bad in the hope of retrieving my position. I fear if I had another fortune I should begin the search again!"

"I am not surprised to hear you say that," Jasper smiled. "I have known the fever myself. But let us get back to the question I asked just now. Why undeceive your daughter?"

"Why? For the very simple reason there is no way of avoiding it."

"I think there is."

The baronet turned his head and stared at him. "You think...?"

Jasper nodded and smiled.

Chapter 11

Conflicting Emotions

SIR WILFRID Courtney waited with every nerve strung up to the highest point of tension. The mere thought of freedom from his present difficulties was like the hint of a reprieve to a condemned man. Jasper was usually simple and direct in his speech, but this morning he found it extremely difficult to put his thoughts into words.

He was convinced that the baronet had kept back the more important facts. Also he had a vague fear that he did not yet fully realize the danger of his position.

"You placed before me just now," Jasper said speaking slowly and deliberately, "a proposition which I declined."

The baronet bowed his head slightly.

"I declined it for several reasons," Jasper went on, "the chief reason being that I have ‒ in my own judgment at any rate ‒ a much better plan to suggest."

"Yes?" with an eager questioning look in his eyes.

"My plan, Sir Wilfrid, divides itself into two parts. You hinted just now that I am well off. That of course I don't deny. By a lucky fluke shall I say, I hit suddenly on a big fortune. I have more money than I really know what to do with. I am alone in the world, I have no near relatives, no one dependent on me. So much by way of explanation. Now I am keenly interested in the lost lode of Wheal Tilley. I have talked with Cap'n Tom Nancarrow about it. I have been over the ground again and again, and I am convinced that the lode exists, and that it may be found.

"Moreover, Sir Wilfrid, it ought to be found. It would not only benefit you, but it would be of immense benefit to the whole neighbourhood if it were. That being so, I am prepared to put money into the thing to reopen the search until we have explored the whole neighbourhood. If nothing comes of it, you will be no worse off. If we strike the lode, well it will be yours ‒ it is in your land. You will be able to recoup yourself for all you have spent and, if you like, you can pay me my out-of-pocket expenses."

Sir Wilfrid sprang to his feet, his face aglow, his eyes shining. "My dear sir," he exclaimed, "this is too much ‒ too generous. No, no, I could not accept so much. If you find the lode, at least half of it must be yours. We will share and share alike."

"Anyhow, that is a matter that can be discussed later," Jasper interposed with a smile, "but I have only indicated the first part of my plan."

"Please go on," Sir Wilfrid said, "but you almost take my breath away," and he sat down again.

"I am supposing," Jasper went on, "that you have arranged with someone for a loan ‒ with your bank perhaps ‒ and that if the interest is paid regularly‒‒"

"If the interest is paid regularly, I am quite safe as I understand it," Sir Wilfrid interrupted. "And if I let the house furnished, I can do that easily and with something to spare."

"You are quite sure on that point?"

Sir Wilfrid turned slightly pale. "Oh, yes, I think so," he said. "Indeed I feel practically certain. A mortgagee surely could not foreclose as long as the interest was paid?"

Jasper looked grave. So it was true after all. Sir Wilfrid had mortgaged the estate. He did not know of course the terms and conditions of the mortgage deed, and he did not like to enquire too closely, but he very much feared that Sir Wilfrid was in a cleft stick.

Since he heard the rumour that the baronet had mortgaged the estate to Mr. Straus, he had been reading up the law on the subject in some of the law books in the library, and his reading had removed none of his fears.

"I hope you are right," he said at length, "but it is just as well to be prepared for accidents. May I ask when the next payment becomes due?"

"Not until December."

"Oh, that is all right. Long before then I hope we shall have struck the lode, and you will be able to snap your fingers at everybody."

"Yes, yes," Sir Wilfrid said eagerly, "but ... but in case ... in case ... that is, if ... if...."

"I understand," Jasper interrupted with a smile. "And that brings me to the second part of my plan. We must be prepared for all contingences, and my proposal is that you let me finance the whole show until the lode is found. It won't be for very long, I feel certain of that."

"But it may be, Mr. Blake. Suppose‒‒"

"It is my risk anyhow," Jasper laughed. "And I'm not a bit afraid of it."

"But why, Mr. Blake? I am almost a stranger to you. Why should you take risks on my account?"

Jasper smiled. "Four months ago you trusted me. You took me at my face value. You let me occupy this beautiful place without references or credentials. Also, you never patronised me or looked down on me. You have treated me as an equal, though I am nothing of the kind."

Sir Wilfrid Courtney rose to his feet again and turned his head away to hide the moisture that had suddenly gathered in his eyes. He wanted to speak but could not trust himself.

"Then I am not forgetting," Jasper went on, "what the finding of the lode would mean to this neighbourhood."

He could have given the other reason ‒ that he wanted to spike Straus's guns and prevent Enid Courtney from falling into his hands. But that was a matter he kept to himself.

"You overwhelm me," Sir Wilfrid said presently, still keeping his face turned away and speaking with difficulty. "I do not know what to say. My pride has been terribly humbled of late. You must give me time to think. The obligation is so great. So ... so...."

"Oh, no, not so great," Jasper interposed quietly. "Just a temporary accommodation, that is all. I am convinced that your land contains great wealth, and I should be a poor sort of man if I did not help you to find it when I have the chance."

Sir Wilfrid did not reply for several seconds. He continued to look out across the garden and park, but with unseeing eyes. He was not a vain man, nor did anyone ever accuse him of being proud. He was always approachable and friendly, and invariably treated his tenants and dependents with kindness and consideration. Yet no man in the county was prouder of his name or of the family tradition than he.

The Courtneys had never been rich, as riches are measured nowadays, but they had always stood high in public esteem, and had never been dependent on the favour or goodwill of anyone. Hence this proposal of Jasper Blake touched him to the quick. Stripped of all padding, it was an offer of charity. To borrow money from a bank, or even from a moneylender was a business proposition. He could offer an equivalent security. Charity was not even remotely suggested. But this.... The humanity, the kindness, the generosity of Jasper were beyond dispute ‒ they moved him profoundly ‒ brought the tears to his eyes with a rush ‒ but could he, a Courtney, humble himself so far?

"Let me have time to think," he said, and moved toward the house.

Jasper was on his feet in a moment. "One word more, Sir Wilfrid," he said.

Sir Wilfrid halted but did not turn his head.

"I should like to suggest if I may," Jasper continued almost in a tone of apology, "that you say nothing to your daughter of what has passed between us."

"Certainly, certainly. I should not think of doing so," and he continued his walk.

At lunch, the baronet seemed preoccupied and not altogether at his ease, so Enid turned her attention to Jasper ‒ much to his discomfiture. She tried her best to draw him out, questioned him about Canada and his experiences in the far west, and rallied him gently on his modesty and reticence.

Jasper did his best. He was anxious to please this bright and beautiful creature, but his effort was not very successful. She seemed to bewilder his faculties and to tie his tongue into knots.

To look at her was a delight. She was so dainty, so graceful, so alluring. So bewildering in her appeal to his highest manhood that he could conceive of nothing better than to live constantly in her presence. On the other hand she was so cultured, so bright of intellect, so sure of herself, so completely "it", that he wanted to get away and hide his coarse and common self, and never come into her presence again.

That evening at dinner both Sir Wilfrid and Enid urged Jasper to stay as their guest at least till Monday.

Jasper felt torn in two by conflicting desires. He wanted to remain, and yet he wanted to escape from what had already become a disturbing element. To go, he knew would seem ungracious. They were his guests at the present moment. They had not only accepted, they had taken for granted beforehand his hospitality, and if he were to decline theirs he knew that Sir Wilfrid in any case would feel hurt. He could not feel certain about Enid. Her manner was graciousness itself, her appeal had sounded genuine and sincere, but the look she flashed at him out of those wonderful eyes of hers seemed to turn his heart upside down. Whether it meant mockery or appeal he could not determine, and he had lacked the courage to look her fairly and squarely in the face.

"It is very kind of you," he said, "but I have made all my arrangements to go tomorrow."

"But a day or two longer or shorter can make no difference," Enid said, laughing. "You said so, you remember, only yesterday."

Jasper knew he was beaten. It was impossible to resist. Even had he been sure that Enid was laughing at him up her sleeve he would have remained. He did not believe that any normal man could resist this bright imperious creature.

"Will you play and sing again tonight?" he asked, with a sudden accession of courage.

"With pleasure. Are you fond of music?"

"Very."

"Who are your favourite composers?"

"My what?"

He knew he had put his foot in it directly the words were out of his mouth, but then it was inevitable that he should betray his ignorance, and the longer he stayed he knew the more ignorant he would be made to appear. He might as well therefore put a bold face on the matter and be perfectly frank. The little laugh that followed his query acted on him like a tonic.

"Please don't laugh at me, Miss Courtney," he said seriously. "I am quite aware of my ignorance, but a board-school education does not run to the arts. And roughing it in the wilds of Canada is not calculated to give a man polish."

Enid felt his rebuke and flushed to the tips of her ears, and yet she admired him all the more for his outspokenness.

"I can assure you I never thought of laughing at you," she said with equal seriousness. "If you will come into the drawing room I will play you selections from different composers, and then perhaps you will tell me which you prefer."
Chapter 12

Straus Scents Danger

A FEW days later, miners were again at work in the disused tunnels of Rotherick Downs. Sir Wilfrid had swallowed his pride and accepted Jasper's offer. Enid was distinctly puzzled but forbore to ask too many questions. It was gratifying, however, to see her father his old cheerful self again. He seemed to have shaken himself entirely free from financial worries.

Occasionally she wondered what part Jasper Blake had played in the change. That in some way or other he was behind her father she felt certain, but she had no suspicion that he was the hope and mainstay of Rotherick Grange.

Jasper had settled himself without any fuss into a couple of badly furnished rooms at the Rotherick Arms. In the old days they might not have seemed badly furnished. Indeed there was a time, and not so long ago, when they would have seemed the height of luxury: but four months in Rotherick Grange had changed his point of view ‒ had changed many things in fact. He missed the spacious rooms, the costly furniture, the orderly routine, the well appointed tables, the regularity of his meals, the absence of bustle and confusion. As he looked about his small rooms and took stock of their furnishings he marvelled at the amount of crudity that had been achieved in so small a space ‒ nothing matched, nothing harmonised.

Sam Cobbledick the landlord, or else his wife, had a passion for vivid colours. The armchairs and sofa were upholstered in green, the tablecloth was blue, the carpet had a ground work of mustard yellow. The wall paper appeared to be a study in contrasts. It embraced all the primary colours in a design that might be described as unique. The bedroom if anything was rather more ambitious in the way of contrasts.

Jasper wondered why these crudities worried him. He had not usually been fastidious ‒ so he told himself. It was his habit to take things as they came and make the best of them. After all, what did it matter so long as there was a comfortable chair in the room in which he could sit at ease? Yet somehow it did matter. He had learnt a good deal during the last four months without being aware of it until now. To go back to the old ways and the old conditions would cost him more than he had realized. He almost regretted that he had not fallen in with Sir Wilfrid's suggestion and taken the Grange for another year. He felt as he was quite sure Adam and Eve must have felt when they looked back on Paradise.

He had been wonderfully happy at the Grange, there was no doubt about that. Everything ran so smoothly. There had been no upsets, and the few irritations he had experienced at the beginning seemed now in retrospect only to have heightened the general sense of comfort and peace.

As the days passed away he missed so many things ‒ little things in themselves and yet the sum total of them was great. Above all he missed the garden, the banks of flowers, the smooth lawns, the winding paths, the cool shade of the trees.

He missed Parsons ‒ his dignified ways, his impassive face, his soft and solemn tread, his everlasting "Yes, sir." He was part of the place, and he would never be able to think of the Grange without him.

He missed something else ‒ the fragrance of a presence. That was the strangest and the most permeating thing in the whole retrospect. Only for the last five days had she been there. Before that she had been merely a name ‒ no real part of it. Now she was the light and glory of the place. It had been beautiful before and abundantly satisfying. But her coming had been like a burst of spring sunshine after months of rain and cloud. It transfigured everything ‒ gave a new richness to all the appointments, a brighter colour to the flowers, filled every room with perfume, and turned the silence into music which he would never forget.

He sometimes wished that he could forget. Since his early love for Susie Bassett, he had never troubled himself about women. No second Susie had crossed his path to beguile his senses or stir his blood. Out in the far west the women who ventured into the mining camps were the reverse of adorable. He had given them a wide berth, and never wanted to cast on them a second look.

Enid Courtney belonged to a different order. He knew that, the first moment he came into her presence. There was nothing shadowy or ethereal about her. She was all woman ‒ woman incarnate and glorified. Her voice, her manner, her ease, her grace, her laughter, her vivacity, all united in throwing a spell over him. Here was something of which he had vaguely dreamed ‒ a woman at her highest and best. It was not her beauty only ‒ a thousand other women might be just as good to look at. It was something else ‒ some quality of allurement, of appeal. Call it charm ‒ personality. Names did not matter. The subtle thing was as elusive as an electric spark. It set all his nerves thrill, threw him into an ecstasy of delight, and the next moment filled him with utter abasement and contempt.

Never had he known such moments of mingled joy and pain as when in her presence. She drew him like a magnet, and scorched him like a flame. He wanted to be near her, and he wanted to get away from her as far as possible.

He had never been given to self-analysis, and the word "love" did not occur to him. Sorcery would more nearly express the thought that was in his mind. She fascinated him, hypnotised him, bewildered him, drove him back upon himself. The idea of possessing her was as remote as that of possessing a star.

He quite expected that this perplexing unrest would leave him directly he got away from the Grange, but in this he was disappointed. He would sit staring at a blank wall, and see her wandering among the flower beds, and smelling at the roses he had planted. He would lie awake at night, and the silence would become vocal with her songs. He would wander across the fields, or through the woods, and the flutter of a white skirt in the distance would set his heart pounding against his ribs.

Fortunately, the new enterprise in which he was engaged saved him from dreaming overmuch. He had to engage skilled miners, purchase fresh tools and winding gear, and decide in which direction levels should be driven.

Sir Wilfrid did not appear much in evidence, and the rumour got into circulation that he had granted Jasper Blake a lease of the Downs, and that in case the latter struck the lode Sir Wilfrid would only get a royalty on the tin.

That Jasper was the mainspring of the whole concern was evident from the first. Sir Wilfrid was no longer boss. Jasper paid the piper and called the tune; and in a very short time operations were in full swing. Levels were extended north and south from the foot of the shaft. A new shaft was started at the far end of the Downs, and cross-cuts were being driven from the level that opened at the foot of the glen. Every man for whom there was room was set to work.

The day was divided into three "cores" or shifts. The morning core men started work at six and finished at two. The afternoon core men went in at two and came out at ten, and the night core men began at ten and ended at six. Every week the rota was altered. The morning core of one week was the afternoon core of the next.

Jasper paid good wages, and the men worked with a will. They were nearly all as anxious to find the lode as Jasper was himself. A new mine would mean to them steady work and regular wages. Jasper's reach-me-down suits came in handy once more. He had no longer to consider the preferences of Parsons or the ways of the gentry. The Grange with its ordered service was a thing of the past. He had left the green pastures and the still waters for the stony desert. He made no attempt to return even for a visit. When Sir Wilfrid wanted to consult him he had to make his way to the Rotherick Arms.

Now and then, as the days slipped away, Jasper got his moments of depression. After all, was it worthwhile? With the best will in the world, there were constant hindrances, and annoyances, and delays ‒ delays that frayed his nerves and made him angry with the stupidity of this man or that.

After his ordered life at Rotherick Grange, it seemed almost insane to give it up for the worry and fret of an enterprise such as he had undertaken. Why could he not have left well alone? He had made his fortune. He never need worry again about ways and means, and yet here he was subjecting himself to laborious days, and often sleepless nights, and all for what?

Fortunately such moments were not frequent, nor were they of long duration. He was not wasting his days in inglorious ease and selfish sloth. He was doing something he believed to be for the good of the community, and keeping bright his best ideals. More satisfactory than all, he was spiking, so he believed, the guns of Leopold Straus, and saving the most splendid woman he had ever seen from the clutches of a man who was not worthy to tie her shoe strings.

That she would marry sometime was more than probable. It was not in the nature of things that such a woman would remain for long unmated. His hope was that when that time did come she would marry a man who was worthy of her ‒ if such a man existed, which he very much doubted.

He sometimes wondered in a vague remote way what she thought of him. He knew in some things he was exceedingly sensitive, and he hoped she did not think ill of him. Nothing would hurt him so much as her contempt. He had not been at his best in her presence ‒ perhaps he had been at his worst. She had overawed him ‒ intoxicated him with her beauty and charm, made him feel stupid and "gormless." Still, he did hope that she did not utterly despise him.

Not that it mattered, of course, in any vital sense. She was out of his world. She moved on a higher plane than he could ever hope to reach. Possibly she would never speak to him again, but if he could save her from falling into the hands of Straus he would feel he had not lived in vain.

Meanwhile, Leopold Straus was fully cognisant of what was happening. The news that prospecting operations were again on foot was like a blow between the eyes. He was not only interested, he was seriously alarmed. It was true he had not much faith in the existence of a tin lode in Rotherick Downs; but then one never knew; and it was often the unexpected that happened.

His hold upon Sir Wilfrid, and consequently upon his daughter, was purely financial. He could see clearly enough that if by any chance the lode should be discovered, his game would be up. He had made up his mind to marry Enid, and every card he had played had been with that end in view. The more money he lent to Sir Wilfrid, the better he was pleased. He had encouraged him to borrow, when Sir Wilfrid would have cut his losses and retired. When at length he did retire he was so hopelessly involved that Straus felt the game was completely in his hands. He could afford to be patient ‒ afford to wait. Time would only strengthen his position. The prize he coveted was bound to fall into his hands sooner or later.

But the new development changed the whole aspect of things, The long searched-for lode might be discovered any day. He could not afford to waste any more time. He must strike at once. And he did.

Chapter 13

Discomfited

LEOPOLD STRAUS was not the man to do things by halves ‒ at least that was the flattering compliment he paid himself. When he made up his mind to do a thing he did it, or at any rate he set about doing it without waste of time. Neither was he the man to be daunted by difficulties. Difficulties existed that they might be overcome. People valued the things they had fought for, and he was a born fighter ‒ that was another flattering anointing he had laid to his soul.

He fell in love with Enid Courtney almost at sight, and there and then made up his mind to marry her. It was part of his creed that any man could marry any woman he wanted ‒ so long as he was determined and refused to take no for an answer. Enid had said no to his proposal frankly and emphatically, but that did not daunt him in the least. Women were like that. They never really knew what they wanted. They had to be mastered, and they respected a man all the more for mastering them.

Of course there were risks. Women were creatures of impulse. They sometimes took a sudden step from which there was no retreat ‒ bolted as it were from under the very noses of the men who thought they had them safe. He did not think, however, Enid was likely to do that. She was self-willed no doubt, but she was of more than average intelligence and knew on which side her bread was buttered.

What appealed to women was money, and the things that money could buy ‒ diamonds, pearls, furs, motor cars, and luxuries of all kinds. Enid he had no doubt, like all women, had expensive tastes ‒ tastes which she had never been able to gratify, for the Courtneys in spite of their social position had never been rich. Hence he would tempt her, bribe her, or if needs be carry her off by force.

He was not troubled by any ethical scruples. By fair means or by foul he meant to win her. He would rather she came to him of her own free will, but he had no exalted conception of love. He wanted to marry, mainly for social reasons. He had money in plenty, but the best people were inclined to give him the cold shoulder. As the son-in-law of Sir Wilfrid Courtney his position would be assured.

For more than a year he had cultivated Sir Wilfrid with great diligence and had paid court to Enid at the same time ‒ not obtrusively or impulsively. He meant to wear down her opposition, or if driven to extremes ... well, a way could be found.

Before Sir Wilfrid let the Grange he was quite satisfied that he had discovered the way. Sir Wilfrid had begun to gamble on the chance of finding the missing lode when Straus first made his acquaintance. Straus encouraged him, promised him financial assistance to any amount, posed as the most disinterested and unselfish of friends.

He would have tried to prevent the letting of the Grange if he had known in time. He did not want to lose sight of Enid. Closeness often meant a good deal to women. However, he made the best of what could not be helped, and resolved that on their return he would begin gently to put on the screw.

He did not intend to be impatient. Time was on his side, but little by little the screw must be tightened, Enid should be brought gradually to see that there was no way of escape for her father, except through her marriage with him. Now, however, in face of this new turn of events the screw would have to be put on at once. Enid would have to see without further waste of time exactly where she stood. She would have to be brought to her senses with a jerk. He rather enjoyed the prospect. It would be a pleasure to humble her pride.

He had called at the Grange the day after Jasper left, and had been informed by Parsons that Sir Wilfrid and Miss Enid were not at home. He believed that Parsons lied. He was as certain as he could be certain of anything that they were both at home. They had only just returned after a four months' absence. Was it likely they would both be away again? He was on the point of telling Parsons to his face that he was a liar, but checked the words in time, and turned away feeling wrathful and indignant.

He did not intend to be put off a second time, so when Parsons opened the door in response to his ring he pushed past him into the hall.

Parsons looked astonished, and his face flushed angrily. He disliked Straus intensely and had always done so.

"Sir Wilfrid is out," he said with dignity.

"I came to see Miss Courtney," was the reply.

"Miss Enid is engaged, sir."

"Take her my card and tell her I am waiting to see her."

Parsons hesitated for a moment, then approached the drawing room door and knocked.

"Come in," was the answer.

Parsons pushed open the door and entered, and Straus, with the tread of a cat, followed close behind him.

Enid turned her head then sprang to her feet, her face flushing hotly.

"You can go, Parsons," Straus said insolently, and a venomous smile distorted his face.

Enid gasped, feeling too astonished to speak. Parsons looked helplessly from one to the other for a moment, then took his departure.

Straus stood hat in hand, his sleek black hair looking as though it had been flat-ironed, his thick lips twisted with a cynical smile.

Enid drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashed, her bosom heaved. "To what am I indebted‒‒" she began, her voice vibrant with emotion, but Straus did not allow her to finish the sentence.

"Sit down, Enid," he said quietly. "I want to talk to you."

"How dare you call me Enid!" she flashed indignantly, her whole attitude one of scorn and contempt.

"I dare anything," he laughed. "Why shouldn't I? You are Enid to me, and always will be."

"Indeed!" And if scorn could have withered him he would have shrivelled like a leaf.

"Don't be angry," he smiled, "but by Jove you look lovelier than ever when you lose your temper."

"This is insulting, Mr. Straus."

"Not a bit of it," he said genially. "All is fair you know in love and war."

"Even in war some things are not allowed," she flung at him. "And this intrusion‒‒"

"You refused to see me the other day," he interrupted mildly. "Sent word by your butler that you were not at home. I could not afford to take risks today. The matter is important."

"I am not aware‒‒" she began icily.

"Perhaps not," he interrupted her. "It is time you were made aware. I came here today for that purpose. You think you can treat me as dirt, but I can assure you it is not safe for you to do so. You and your father are in my power ‒ completely in my power. I want you to understand that, and make no mistake about it."

Her face paled for a moment and her hands trembled. "I do not understand‒‒" she began.

"Exactly," he cut in with a sinister gleam in his eyes. "You have been living in a fool's paradise. I courted you honestly and honourably. I asked you to be my wife, and you refused."

"Of course I refused."

"I am going to ask you again, and I doubt if you will refuse me a second time."

"Why not?"

"Now you are talking," he smiled. "Won't you sit down? You had better."

"I prefer to stand, thank you."

"As you will," he said quietly. "I want to tell you that I would have preferred some other method than the one I am pursuing. You know I love you ‒ have loved you from our first meeting. I want you as I have never wanted anything else on earth. I believe I could make you happy. I could give you everything that your heart could desire. You would never find me ungenerous or unkind. Well, I tried persuasion with you and failed."

He waited for her to speak but she made no response.

"I have been very patient," he went on at length. "I have waited week after week and month after month, and you have shown no sign of relenting. Now I can wait no longer. My patience is exhausted, but my love burns like a fire. I want you and I mean to have you."

"Go on," she said scornfully.

"I am going on," he smiled. "Persuasion having failed, you drive me to force."

"Really!"

Thick-skinned as he was, the amount of scorn she threw into that simple word stung him like a wasp.

"Yes, really," he snarled. "Either you marry me or you and your father leave this place beggars."

"Is that so? How very interesting!"

For a moment he staggered as though he had received a blow. Then he pulled himself together with an effort. "I don't think you will find it in the least interesting," he said bitingly.

"How little you know me," she smiled. "I adore changes."

This seemed like another blow straight and staggering. What did it mean? He had expected that she would collapse into a chair ‒ that she would be terror-stricken ‒ that she would reach out appealing hands to him.

Was she really indifferent? Or had she become engaged during his absence and so was not concerned about the Grange? Or ... or had the lost lode been found? For a moment his eyes bulged and the perspiration came out in beads on his swarthy forehead. His look of consternation gave her the cue and she acted upon it.

"You don't seem to realize," he said, showing his teeth, "that the Rotherick estate has been mortgaged to me. You think I am lying."

"Oh dear no," she smiled sweetly. "You are as incapable of lying as you are of meanness."

He winced visibly. His hands clenched, the tables were being turned on him with a vengeance. Her mockery stung him almost to madness. Had he known how alarmed she really felt he would not have been so utterly discomfited.

"It is business with me," he snapped. "And you may be assured of this: I will show no mercy."

"Of course not, Mr. Straus," she smiled. "I am sure no one would expect it of you. When will you turn us out?"

"Tomorrow if I could," he snarled.

"Ah, but you can't do that," she said convincingly. "You must give proper notice." She knew little or nothing about it, but she shot her arrow at a venture.

"Twenty days only," he snapped, "and not a moment longer."

"Let me see," she mused, "that's nearly three weeks, isn't it? That will give us time to get a caravan. Did you ever live in a caravan, Mr. Straus?"

He had great difficulty in keeping back an oath that leaped to his lips. Her quiet scorn and biting sarcasm scorched him like a flame. What lay behind this apparent indifference he could not imagine. Evidently she had some card up her sleeve. He wished he dared use violence. If he could only terrorise her by physical force into giving her promise he would gladly do so, but that was out of the question ‒ for the present anyhow.

"This is not the end by a long chalk," he struggled to say at length.

"No? Only the end of this pleasant interview, Mr. Straus? Well, it was kind of you to come all the way from Polgarrick to tell me where I stood. Good morning," and she touched the bell at her side.

Instantly the door was thrown open and Parsons appeared.

"You will show the gentleman out, Parsons," she said pleasantly.

Straus flung at her an angry look and strode out of the room.

Directly the door closed, Enid sank suddenly into a chair as if utterly exhausted.

Chapter 14

A Talk by the Way

STRAUS did not leave by the main entrance. As soon as the door closed behind him he turned to the left toward the stables and then strode up through the wood toward the Downs. He was in a towering rage and wanted time to recover himself. Never had he been so scorned and humiliated and yet never had he desired Enid Courtney more passionately. That she had been bluffing never occurred to him, and if it had he would have dismissed the idea at once. No woman could bluff to that extent. No, she had some card up her sleeve, the nature of which he did not understand.

If the lode had been found that would explain matters, but that seemed scarcely possible. The search was only restarted a few days ago, and it hardly seemed likely that after a year of vain searching it had now been discovered under their very nose.

And yet why not? The perspiration broke out on his forehead again and he took off his hat and carried it in his hand. If the lode existed at all it might be found at any moment. At any rate he would enquire.

When he reached the Downs he saw two men some distance away standing one at each end of a windlass. He picked his way gingerly between banks of furze and heather until he reached the shaft. A wooden "sollar" or platform had been laid down each side the pit, leaving an oblong hole above which the windlass stood. The men were evidently waiting for orders to "wind up."

"Well, my men," he said pleasantly, "have you struck the lode yet?"

"No, not yet, zur," one of them answered.

"Ah that's a pity," he said in a well-feigned tone of regret. "I hope you will discover it soon."

"We do all 'ope that, zur," and then the signal was given for them to commence winding again.

Straus walked away across the Downs in the opposite direction from whence he came, and soon disappeared in a dip of the ground.

Ten minutes later Jasper Blake came to the surface by an iron-staved ladder that was clamped to the side of the shaft. One of the men gave him a hand as he stepped on to the sollar.

"Any luck, zur?" he asked.

"Not yet, Sam," he answered pleasantly.

"Ah, that be a pity."

"All in good time," Jasper laughed. "Rome you know was not built in a day."

"So I s'pose. That there Maaster Straus was along enquirin' a few minutes ago."

"Indeed?"

"'E seemed like the rest of us, a bit anxious like. Said as 'ow 'e 'oped we would 'it it soon."

"Very kind of him," Jasper answered with a crooked smile, and then walked away in the direction of Rotherick village.

Meanwhile, Enid was having a hard battle with herself. Her interview with Straus had left her not only spent and exhausted, but horribly distressed in mind. That Straus had told her the truth she did not doubt. She understood now as she had never understood before the nature and extent of her father's anxiety. She did not blame him for having kept the truth from her. She did not blame him even for mortgaging the estate. He had acted for what he believed to be the best. He had been confident of discovering the lode. If she blamed him at all it was for trusting a man of the type of Leopold Straus. She had never liked him, never believed in him.

It was of no use, however, crying over spilt milk. The question was, what was to be done? As far as she could see at present the alternatives were extreme poverty ‒ or marriage. If she had only herself to consider she would not hesitate a moment. She would rather go bare-foot and live on charity than marry a man for whom she felt such utter contempt. It was her father, however, she had to consider. Could she see him reduced to want?

Beyond the estate he had not a penny. There was no way in which her father could earn his living. The aristocracy were the most helpless people in the world if thrown suddenly on their own resources. Could she earn enough to maintain them both?

She smiled bitterly at that question. She was as helpless as he. She might possibly act as housekeeper to somebody if she had the chance, but she was by no means sure that she would succeed in that capacity. She had left the domestic arrangements of the Grange in the hands of Mrs. Parsons. She realized she was just an educated butterfly, helpless when left to face the world alone.

Why then had she bluffed Straus as she had done? Why had she angered him instead of trying to conciliate him? Why had she not temporised and manoeuvred for position in this deadly game she had been called upon to play?

She had no rational answer to these questions, and yet subconsciously her hope somehow or other lay in Jasper Blake. It was altogether too vague and nebulous to be shaped into words. It would not bear bringing forward and looking at. It would fall into dust if touched. It was but a shadow at best. And yet but for that shadow she could never have withstood Straus as she had done.

In spite of her misery, she could not help smiling when she thought of that interview. If only the lode were discovered in Rotherick Downs she would be able to defy him to the last.

Once again the dim hope peeped at her. Jasper Blake was throwing all his strength and energy into the work. What a brave man he was ‒ how fine in his reserve and humility, how unconscious of his worth. He might fail, of course. No one could find the lode if it did not exist ‒ yet so long as he believed in its ultimate discovery it was impossible to despair.

She said nothing to her father of the visit of Straus until after dinner. She approached the matter in the most casual way, and wondered if he would take her fully into his confidence.

"Let me see. I did not tell you I had a visitor this morning?" she asked.

"No, Enid."

"Mr. Straus called."

"Oh! What did he want?"

"The usual," she laughed. "Seems to imagine that I should look well at Polgarrick."

"He seems to be very persistent."

"I don't think he will call again. He was in anything but a pleasant temper when he left. Threatened all manner of horrible and impossible things."

"Threatened, eh?"

"Sounded very much like it, anyhow," and she laughed again.

Sir Wilfrid, however, did not rise to the bait. She watched his face narrowly. For a moment or two it clouded but it quickly cleared again. If her father was alarmed he managed very successfully to hide the fact.

This further increased her hope, and she resolved for the present to keep her own counsel and wait quietly on events.

A week later she came face to face with Jasper Blake. She was sitting on a tree trunk in an open space in the wood. Jasper was taking a short cut to the village. Had he seen her in time, he would have made a wide detour and kept out of her way. To begin with, he had just come up from under the ground. His hands and face were earth-stained, and his shabby suit of reach-me-downs bore abundant evidence of its contact with mother earth. In the next place he was quite convinced that the less he saw of Enid Courtney the better it would be for his peace of mind.

There was no escape for him, however, on the afternoon in question. Almost before he was aware, she was smiling into his eyes. "You are a stranger," she said brightly. "You have not been to see us once since you left."

"No," he said a little unsteadily, and again, "No."

"Why don't you drop in occasionally?" she asked with a little laugh. "You need not be afraid that we will eat you."

"No, I am not afraid of that," he said bluntly, "but you see, I am scarcely company for such as you."

"Oh, that is all nonsense. But do sit down. I want to talk to you. Do you know that you are rather an elusive person?" and she laughed again.

Jasper looked at his grimy hands and smiled crookedly, then he threw himself on the warm turf a few feet away. "I thought I was fairly substantial," he remarked stiffly.

"Oh, yes, you are substantial enough," she said still laughing. "That is not what I mean exactly. I thought you were fond of the Grange?"

"I love it," he answered simply.

"Then it is the people in it you don't like?" she asked naively.

He flushed slightly and plucked at a tuft of grass. "You are quite wrong there," he said without looking at her.

"I am glad to hear you say that," she responded, "but tell me. What induced you to take the Grange and live alone in it for four months? I know it is a rude question, but you see I am a woman, and women are naturally inquisitive. Honestly, I am dying to know."

"Perhaps it was swank," he replied, raising his eyes to hers for a moment, and smiling crookedly.

"No it wasn't. I am quite sure of that." And she laughed. "I wish you would be quite frank with me."

"Don't you think men are just as inquisitive as women?" he asked.

"Not as a general rule," she replied.

"Anyhow, I was inquisitive," he answered. "I wanted to see things from the inside. Wanted to feel, if possible, what it was like. I am not very good at explaining things, but you see I had roughed it more or less all my life ‒ had lived only in little houses, huts and shacks. Had never known what real comfort and luxury meant, and when I saw the advertisement with a picture of the Grange ‒ well it came over me all of a sudden, and I resolved to make the experiment."

"And you have discovered I suppose that Life ‒ with a capital L ‒ is not what is outside, but what is inside?"

"Partly both, I reckon," he smiled. "I suppose what is inside is the chief thing. For instance, I reckon there is not much beauty in anything if one has no sense of beauty. But if one has a real sense of beauty it rather hurts to be surrounded only by squalid and ugly things."

"Of course," she said. "You know the proverb, 'Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.' And did the Grange satisfy you?"

"For the most part, yes. Its size is a little oppressive. I felt, especially at the beginning, like a pea in a barrel. Parsons kept the dining, drawing, and billiard rooms locked, and I only went into the library when I wanted a book. A real home need not be so very big after all, but the gardens cannot be too big for my taste."

"I quite agree with you," she laughed. "I expect the Courtneys of generations ago were very vain people, or very proud people, and hated being outdone by their neighbours. Father and I have often wished that the Grange were a quarter its size. When we used to keep a lot of company and had weekend parties it was all right, but we cannot afford that now."

"And do you ever feel lonely?" he asked.

"Lonely? I should think I do," she laughed. "Why, this afternoon I felt bored stiff. I'm glad I met you. I feel ever so much better. You should take compassion on us and spend an evening with us occasionally."

"I reckon I'm dull company for anybody," he said quietly, "especially for...." but he did not complete the sentence, and a few moments later he scrambled to his feet, raised his cap stiffly, and walked away.

Enid felt more than ever interested in this shy, reserved man. But was he really shy? Or was he merely obsessed by the stupid notion that she was in some way his superior?

Curiously, she was turning that question over in her mind on the following Sunday when she came out of church, and was suddenly startled by the news that Jasper Blake was missing, and had been missing since the previous afternoon.

Chapter 15

Anxiety

SIR WILFRID stood stock still and his face blanched. "You say that Mr. Blake is missing?" he asked in a hard voice.

"Since yesterday afternoon, Sir Wilfrid." It was the sexton who spoke.

"But ... but how? I do not understand."

"Nobody do as fur as I can make out. Seemin' 'e went out as usual without sayin' nothin' to nobody. Cobbledick is terrible worried they do say," and the sexton stroked his nose reflectively.

"That was yesterday afternoon, you say?" Sir Wilfrid asked.

"'Bout three o'clock by all accounts. Which way he went nobody knows ‒ but there tes."

"But this is serious," Sir Wilfrid said, turning to Enid who stood by his side. "We had better go along to the Rotherick Arms and enquire."

"It looks like a haccident of some sort," was the sexton's parting word, "unless‒‒" but they did not wait to hear the end of the sentence.

Cobbledick had very little to add to what the sexton had already told them.

"I was a bit puzzled," he said, "when he didn't come back to supper. He was always so reg'lar in his 'abits, but I thought likely he 'ad dropped in on some neighbour and had been hinduced to spend the evenin' with 'em. So when bedtime came I didn't worry ‒ there wasn't really nothin' to worry about. He 'ad his latch key, so the missus and me left the side door on the latch and went to bed. This mornin' bein' Sunday we slep' late both of us. When we got downstairs we listened for 'im stirrin' but there wem't any sound, so I went up to his sittin' room. He wasn't there, so I went to his bedroom door an' listened. Not hearin' no movement I knocked ‒ easy first then louder ‒ an' as there was no answer I turned the 'andle and went in. I was fair flabbergasted I can tell 'ee. There was the bed exactly as 'twas made up the day before. It was as clear as daylight that 'e 'adn't been home for the night, and‒‒"

"Yes?" Sir Wilfrid asked.

"All the forenoon I've been runnin' round makin' enquiries of everybody I see, but nobody 'as seen 'im or heard of 'im. An' to tell 'ee the truth, sir, I'm gettin' terrible worried. If 'e was like some young men, I shouldn't think nothin' of it, but 'ee was always so regular to his meals an' everything."

"And can you think of nothing that will account for his absence?"

"Nothin', Sir Wilfrid ‒ absolutely nothin'. If he 'ad been goin' anywhere out of the Common he'd 'ave been sure to 'ave told me or the missus ‒ he was just like that ‒ never gived no more trouble than 'e could 'elp ‒ always considerate of one's feelin's as one may say."

"But there must be some explanation," Sir Wilfrid said in a troubled voice. "People do not get lost in a little place like this."

"That is so, sir. An' that's what makes it so mysterious like. Course he may 'ave been taken sudden ill somewhere, or met with an accident and broke 'is leg or somethin' like that; but then surely somebody would have brought word before this. Dozens of people 'ave been out for hours lookin' for him in all directions."

Sir Wilfrid stroked his chin reflectively for several moments, then turned slowly away. They had nearly reached the park gates when Enid broke the silence.

"Are you feeling greatly worried, father?" she asked.

"More worried than I can tell," he answered. "If ... if ... but let us not anticipate trouble. He will surely turn up all right sometime."

"But if he does not?"

"If he does not ‒ well then we shall have to make the best of it I suppose. In a sense we shall be no worse off than we were before. But I had hoped so much...."

"It would mean the end of the search for the lode?"

"The absolute end," he answered. "I could not carry it on myself. You have guessed perhaps that he is finding all the money?"

"Yes, I have guessed as much, though I have never been quite able to understand why. You have come to some satisfactory arrangement as to the spoils I presume ‒ that is, supposing there should be any spoils?"

Sir Wilfrid hesitated for several moments. Then he said slowly, "Mr. Blake has acted with great generosity all through."

"But why should he be generous? We are nothing to him. People as a rule do not spend their money for the benefit of other people."

"Not as a rule I grant, but there have always been exceptions, Enid. Men of fine spirit and noble impulses. Men who have thought more of others than of themselves."

"And you think that Mr. Blake is a man of that type?"

"I do, Enid. I have conceived for him the greatest admiration. He has seen that the finding of the lode would mean the prosperity of the whole parish ‒ regular work for the people who have now little or nothing to do."

"And you think that that alone has prompted him to risk his money?"

"I think it has been the main factor."

"You don't think he has grown frightened at the cost and has resolved to cut his losses?"

Sir Wilfrid stopped short for a moment and stared at his daughter with a startled look in his eyes. Then his face cleared. "No, Enid," he said slowly. "Whatever may be the cause of his disappearance, it is not that. He is the last man in the world to run away from a task he has undertaken."

"I am glad to hear you say that," she said quietly.

"You think well of him yourself?"

"Yes, I do father," she answered frankly. "From the first I have regarded him as one of nature's gentlemen."

At the gate they paused for a few minutes. Half a dozen men in their Sunday clothes were advancing along the road toward them. Sir Wilfrid knew them all by sight. They were men that Jasper had recently employed, and he saw by their faces that they were troubled.

"You have been making enquiries for Mr. Blake?" Sir Wilfrid asked when they came up.

"We have, sir," they answered in chorus.

"Well?"

"We caan't find out nothin' nowhere," was the reply. "We've been to all the villages round about, an' to all the farm housen, but nobody ain't seen sight of 'en. It's a fair mystery."

"Yes, it's remarkably strange," Sir Wilfrid said, stroking his chin again.

"We be goin' down to Portstress this afternoon," said Sam Buddie who worked at the windlass.

"But why to Portstress?" Sir Wilfrid asked.

"Well, zur, we caan't think of nothin' else. He ain't anywhere 'ereabouts, that's sartin. An' we 'ave been thinkin' 'e may have gone down there for a bathe."

Sir Wilfrid gave a little gasp while a startled look came into Enid's eyes. "In that case..." said the baronet slowly, "why in that case...." But he did not complete the sentence. If he had gone the previous afternoon to have a bathe alone, and had not since been seen, that meant one thing only. He would never be seen alive again.

Sir Wilfrid and Enid walked in silence through the long drive to the house. Enid was much more troubled than she cared to confess to her father.

Lunch was a very silent meal. Neither had any appetite, and neither wanted to talk. Each felt as though they were in the shadow of some great disaster.

After lunch, Sir Wilfrid retired to his snuggery. Enid went to her own room but she did not stay there long. She felt too restless to sit still, too worried to read. Even music, which usually soothed her, failed to steady her nerves. It was not the mere fact that Jasper Blake had disappeared that distressed her, it was what that fact connoted. Her father had told her they would be no worse off than before ‒ that was no doubt true. But she had not known until her interview with Leopold Straus how badly off they were ‒ now she knew, and that made all the difference.

So long as the precipice was unseen and unsuspected she did not worry; she walked fearlessly and with unfaltering steps. Now that she could see it yawning in front of her, her head swam and all her nerves were on edge.

Jasper Blake had been her hope, she realized that now. She had defied Straus because subconsciously she had believed in Jasper. In some way she did not quite understand, he was behind her father, and in the optimism of youth she was confident they would win through.

But if Jasper was dead, as seemed probable, there was nothing left to hope for. The last prop had been knocked away, and her house of dreams had fallen about her ears.

She walked out into the garden and wandered listlessly among the flower beds. It was a still, windless afternoon. A thin, almost impalpable haze softened the rays of the sun. Here and there a leaf fluttered silently to the ground. Summer was past, though there was scarcely yet a sign of autumn. The flowers were in full bloom, the trees untouched by decay. Yet she felt as though autumn had suddenly descended upon her life, and that for her, spring would never come again.

If Jasper Blake was dead, Leopold Straus was master of the situation. He held her destiny and the destiny of her father in the hollow of his hand. Marriage ‒ or extreme poverty. These were the alternatives. She was face to face with the supreme tragedy of life.

If Leopold Straus had been a different type of man, if for instance he had been of Jasper Blake's type.... Her heart throbbed suddenly and seemed to leap into her throat.

"Merciful God," she moaned, and the tears welled into her eyes.

It would be no tragedy to marry Jasper Blake, even if she did not love him. He was clean and strong and upright ‒ a man whom any woman might trust, and lean upon and cling to in the stress and storm of life. Why was it that the bad man so often triumphed, while the good man went to the wall?

She fell to musing on the contrast between the two men. The one with all the advantages of a good education, moving in what was termed polite society, polished after the pattern of the rich and well-to-do, glib of tongue and easy of address. The other unpolished and uneducated after the conventional standard. Shy and reserved in the presence of strangers: reticent and unobtrusive, and painfully conscious of his defects; and yet upright and honest in word or deed. A man without meanness or cowardice. A big man in the widest interpretation of the word.

She returned to the house when the tea gong sounded and poured out tea for her father and herself, but very few words passed between them. She wished that her father would take her more fully into his confidence. She appreciated his motive. He wanted to save her from trouble as long as possible, but she felt somehow that the trouble would be lighter if they shared it together.

When the daylight began to wane, she went out again alone. It seemed impossible to sit still with this weight of suspense pressing upon her heart. Very slowly she went down the long drive toward the gate. A little wind had sprung up and whispered plaintively in the tree tops, an owl called from the depths of the wood, a dog barked on a neighbouring farm and then everything grew still again. Where, oh, where, in this great silence was Jasper Blake! With something like a shock she realized that it was not her own tragedy that occupied the largest place in her thoughts.

She reached the gate at length and turned toward the village. Then she paused. A man was coming along the road whom she recognised as Sam Buddie.

When he came within hailing distance she spoke. "Any news, Sam?"

"None, Miss. Me and Enoch Ladda 'ave been down to Portstress and searched 'mong the rocks everywhere. No sign of 'im, miss. No clothes, no nothin'."

She heaved a little sigh of relief. "Thank you, Sam," she said, and turned back home.

Chapter 16

Treachery

ON the day of Jasper Blake's disappearance, he had what he called an inspiration. It came to him while he was eating his lunch. Why had he never "dowsed" for the missing lode? Many people he knew threw ridicule on the dowsing rod, while others, they might be few in number, had faith in its merits. There must be a scientific explanation of the natural phenomenon, for it was a fact that all over the country men used the rod for the purpose of locating water, and with remarkable success. Lodes of all kinds were generally channels through which water made its way underground, hence it might be the water that attracted the dowsing rod and not the mineral.

He had a very distinct recollection of experimenting as a youth. He was walking along a road in the company of an old miner not far from Pengowan, when without a word the old man cut a branched hazel twig from the hedge with his pocket knife and trimmed off the leaves.

"Now Jasper, my boy," he said, "I want 'ee to hold this stick in the way I tell 'ee."

Jasper took the two branches of the twig one in each hand the way he was told, the fork pointing upward.

"Now hold it tight," said the old man. "Don't let the fork point downward on no account."

"All right," Jasper answered, "but what's the game?"

"Oh, nawthin' pertickler. You be 'oldin' it tight, bain't 'ee?"

"As tight as a vice," Jasper replied.

"Now walk along the road and be sure an' keep the fork pointin' upward."

"That's easy enough," Jasper answered, and went forward with an easy step.

"It don't feel to twist in yer 'ands?" the old man asked.

"Of course not. Why should it?"

"Howld tight then."

"Oh, but it's beginning to twist," Jasper called out a moment or two later.

"But don't let'n," said the old man.

"But I can't help it," was the reply.

The old miner smiled, and when they had gone some distance beyond the spot where the rod had turned down, he said, "Now Jasper, we must try again. You'm got to howld thickey there stick steady you know."

"But I did hold it as tight as I could," Jasper protested.

"You think you did p'raps," the old man smiled, "but try again," and he adjusted the twig in Jasper's hands as before.

"Now we'll go back along the same piece of road," he continued, "and be sure you howld it tight this time."

So they turned and walked back, and at the same point down went the fork of the twig as before. Several times they tried the experiment and always with the same result.

Jasper recalled all this as he sat at his lunch. Recalled the old man's face, his twisted smile and even his exact words. He recalled also the fact that a few months later the lode indicated by the dowsing rod was opened up and worked for tin ‒ and for all he knew it was yielding its toll of ore to the present time.

He was rather surprised that he had not thought of this before. His anxiety had been increasing day by day. Time was passing all too swiftly and the work progressed all too slowly. As yet there was no sign of what they sought, no indication that they were nearing the Wheal Tilley lode, or any other lode. More than once lately a fear had gripped his heart that they were engaged in a bootless enterprise. The fact that his money was going out in a steady stream did not worry him. What worried him was the fate of Sir Wilfrid and his daughter in case of failure ‒ particularly the fate of the latter.

He did less than justice to his lunch that day. He became so absorbed in the idea of dowsing for the lode that he could think of nothing else. Nothing might come of the experiment, but in any case it was worth trying. He would have to wait, however, until the men had left work. Being Saturday, all operations would be suspended at two o'clock and would not start again until six on Monday morning.

He left the house quietly without saying a word to anyone. No one must suspect that he was going to the Downs. He did not want anyone to see him; he was sensitive to ridicule. On the way, he cut a hazel twig from the hedge and trimmed it carefully. Then he climbed over a fence and took a short cut through Rotherick wood. When he came out on the Downs he saw it was deserted, which was just what he desired.

He made first for the shaft, and for a few moments stood still and looked about him. He thought he heard a twig snap near the edge of the wood, but he paid no attention to it. He noticed the iron bucket, the "kibble," lying wide of the sollar, and that one of the handles of the windlass was hooked by a short chain. A wheelbarrow was turned bottom upward, and the shovels carefully stacked by its side. Everything indicated that the men had left work and taken their departure.

Taking the dowsing rod in his hands in the way the old miner had instructed him, he walked due north from the shaft. Slowly and patiently, with long even strides ‒ on, and on, and on, till he reached the extreme edge of the Downs. But there was not a quiver in the rod. Its fork steadily pointed upward, and manifested not the least tendency to dip. He turned and walked back to the shaft with the rod still poised in his hands, but with the same result.

He drew a long breath which was almost a sigh. He felt bitterly disappointed. He had always held to the opinion that the "fault" had thrown the lode to the north, and that if it was ever found it would be in that direction ‒ though from the bottom of the shaft, tunnels were being driven both north and south, so that no chance should be missed.

For a while he hesitated, then adjusting the twig again he walked south toward the wood. In order to distract his thoughts from the rod he began to count his steps. Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, he ticked off ‒ eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-three ‒ the rod began to quiver in his hands. Eighty-four ‒ the fork was twisting steadily and irresistibly downwards. He tightened his grasp ‒ eighty-five. The fork was pointing to the earth.

He was standing in a little oasis of grass. He was breathing rapidly, his heart was pounding against his ribs. The thing seemed uncanny. He doubted for a moment if he was wide awake. Perhaps he had been hypnotised by the hushed stillness of the lonely Downs.

He pulled himself together after a while and went forward to the edge of the wood, then holding his rod as before, he retraced his steps. He came back slowly, gripping the rod with all his strength. As he neared the little oasis there was the same movement, the same pull. He tightened his fingers, but without avail. The very fibre of the twig had twisted in his grasp. The fork was pointing to the earth.

He did not profess to understand it any more than he professed to understand the movement of the tides, or the pull of the magnetic pole. Of one thing he was certain, there was no trickery in it as far as he was concerned. If it were a matter of his own will he would have willed the thing to move on the north side of the shaft, not on the south. If it indicated the lode, then the lode was where he never expected it to be.

He felt immensely excited. Every nerve in his body seemed to be thrilling. Curiously enough he was not harassed by any doubt. The whole thing might or might not be scientific, that did not trouble him. He felt certain that the lode was here ‒ directly beneath his feet.

He went back to the shaft and measured forty yards to the west, then taking his rod he moved south again. Directly he got into line with the little oasis, the same result followed. He made a third experiment forty yards east of the shaft, and with the same result. Here then without doubt, so he figured it, was the Wheal Tilley lode running almost due east and west, but thrown out of its straight course by some convulsion of the earth in the dim and distant past.

He sat down and made a mental calculation. The dowsing rod had indicated the lode eighty-five paces south of the shaft ‒ roughly, forty-two or forty-three fathoms. He calculated that the south tunnel had been driven already forty fathoms from the bottom of the shaft, in which case they were within two or three fathoms of striking the lode.

He would have the tunnel measured first thing on Monday morning. It might be more than forty fathoms ‒ they might be within a few feet of the lode.

Then a thought struck him. Why wait until Monday? Why not descend the shaft and measure it at once? To think was to act. The fever of impatience was in his blood. He could not wait until Monday; he must know now. Getting to his feet he hurried to the shaft. Seizing a rung of the ladder which projected above the surface, he began the descent. He had an electric torch and matches in his pocket, and there were candles at the bottom.

From the shadow of the wood, Leopold Straus had been watching all his movements. He did not understand them, but he guessed something important was in the wind. He hated Jasper. He felt that in some way or other he had come between him and Enid. Also if Jasper should discover the lode, his power over Sir Wilfrid and his daughter would be at an end.

When he saw Jasper disappear down the shaft he was seized by a sudden, murderous impulse. If Jasper were out of the way, prospecting would cease, the lode would never be discovered, and he would again be master of the situation.

He did not pause to reflect, or to weigh the consequences. The Downs were deserted. There was not a soul within a mile of the place. With a hasty glance about him, he ran to the shaft, unhooked the handle of the windlass, then dragged the heavy kibble forward across the sollar, and tipped it into the shaft.

He heard the kibble rattle and bounce from side to side, saw the handles of the windlass spinning round till they looked like solid wheels, saw the chain swaying and swirling as it was paid out at a rate it had never before known. Then all grew still ‒ awfully, oppressively still. He leaned over the shaft for a moment and listened, but there was not a sound ‒ not a sigh or a moan.

Then he looked about him with a frightened expression in his black beady eyes, but there was no one in sight. No one had seen him, he was utterly alone. With a little gasp of terror he hurried back to the wood and was soon lost in its shadows.

He felt tired and exhausted, and his hands trembled in spite of himself, but he dared not rest. He must get back to Polgarrick as quickly as possible. At the far end of the wood he came out cautiously into the main road. Fortunately from his point of view no one was in sight, so he lighted a cigarette to steady his nerves and then strolled on with an air of apparent unconcern.

He met no one on the road, and congratulated himself on his good luck. He was much too excited yet to think calmly. He moved in a kind of dream ‒ a grotesque and rather horrible dream. He was not troubled as a rule by ethical considerations. He had certainly broken most of the commandments and without compunction, but killing a man was somehow different, even though that man stood between him and his desires.

He slept very little that night, and when he did pass into forgetfulness his sleep was haunted by horrible dreams. Had he suddenly developed a conscience? That was absurd. Yet why did he start at every sound? He tried to pull himself together, tried to reason the matter out. The chances were a thousand to one that anyone had seen him; but there was always the thousandth chance ‒ and it was that which filled his soul with terror.

Chapter 17

Facts and Inferences

IT was Sam Buddie who discovered that the kibble had been thrown into the shaft. After his meeting with Enid Courtney he made his way to the Downs. He had been on the tramp all the day and yet he could not rest. If by any chance Jasper Blake had lost his life, what was to become of him and the other men whom he employed? The hope of a new mine would go out in darkness.

He found several men on the Downs; some peering into furze banks, some looking into "shoading" pits, others searching among the bracken in the glen. Nobody had thought of descending the shaft. A man might stumble into a shoading pit by accident, but the mouth of the shaft was so well protected by the wooden sollars ‒ the opening left being only about three feet wide and the windlass standing above it ‒ that it was practically impossible for a man to fall into it by accident.

Sam noticed in a moment that the chain was uncoiled and that the kibble was missing.

"Hello," he reflected, "what's the meaning of this?" Then he raised his voice. "I say mates, come 'ere ‒ quick!"

They came at once, stumbling awkwardly across the furze.

"See this?" he said, pointing to the empty drum of the windlass. "An' where's the kibble? It was lying back of the sollar yesterday when we left."

"Some mischievous boys' been about, I reckon," someone suggested.

"More likely mischievous men," Sam retorted. "Any 'ow I'm goin' down to see what's come to it. Scat all to pieces I expect, and never fit for nothin' again."

"But why go down now? Tomorrow mornin' 'ull be time enough."

"Feel like it," Sam said abruptly, and he went at once and seized the rung of the outstanding ladder and began the descent.

The others gathered round the shaft and leaned on the windlass and looked down into the darkness. They could hear Sam's footsteps on the iron staves of the ladder echoing round the shaft.

Sam reached the bottom at length and mechanically put his hand into the little cuddy where the candles were kept, then he struck a match and lighted the candle. He was thinking about the kibble, and wondering if it were "scat all to pieces."

As soon as the candle was fairly alight he turned slowly round. The next moment a groan escaped his lips and the candle nearly dropped out of his hand. Directly opposite him, with his back propped against the side of the shaft sat Jasper Blake, his eyes glowing weirdly in the light.

"Oh, lord a mussy, Mr. Blake," Sam exclaimed, "be 'ee dead?"

"Not quite," came the answer, in a voice that did not rise above a whisper.

"Thank the Lord for that," Sam exclaimed. Then he raised his voice to a shout. "Hello up there!"

"Hi hi," came the answer.

"I've found 'im," Sam shouted. "He's 'ere safe enough."

"Who? Who?" came echoing down the shaft.

"Why, Maaster Blake, you buffleheads. Come down some of 'ee, an' send word to Dr. Rich, an' to everybody in Rotherick, and don't stay jawin' up there."

A moment later the shaft was echoing with the click of descending feet, while across the Downs men were running as they had not run since they were lads.

Sam knelt down by the side of Jasper and peered into his face. "Be 'e terrible 'urt now?" he enquired anxiously.

"I'm a bit shaken, Sam." Jasper tried to smile, but it was a pitiful effort.

"Any bones broke, do 'ee think?"

Jasper tried to smile again and his lips moved slightly, then his eyes closed and his chin fell forward on his chest.

It took a full hour to rig up a rough chair of planks in which they seated Jasper as gently as possible, and made him fast. Then the signal was given, and two men at the windlass began to wind slowly and steadily.

A crowd of people had gathered round the shaft, and many eyes were wet as Jasper was lifted tenderly out of the rude chair and carried to a low spring wagon that was waiting. Then the procession moved slowly away under the stars in the direction of the village.

It was getting toward midnight when Jasper recovered consciousness again. Dr. Rich had made his examination, and smiled cheerfully. His left collar bone was broken, which was not a very serious matter. His arm was ripped open from shoulder to elbow as though with a jagged knife. There was also a deep scalp wound at the back of his head. The other hurts appeared to be only superficial. He had evidently, however, lost a lot of blood, which accounted for his weakness.

"Splendid physique," the doctor remarked with a broad smile. "And not an ounce of superfluous flesh. He'll do all right, take my word for it."

When Jasper opened his eyes he asked for a drink. "I'm nearly dead of thirst." And he smiled feebly.

He drank a pint of new milk in a few gulps, and asked for more. Dr. Rich rubbed his hands and chuckled. When at length Jasper had fully slaked his thirst he fell asleep and slept soundly for several hours.

When he awoke, Mrs. Cobbledick gave him more milk, in which a raw egg had been beaten, after which he fell asleep again.

By morning Jasper was able to talk freely. He opened his eyes to see Sir Wilfrid sitting by his bedside.

"Oh, my dear friend," said the baronet in a tremulous voice, "I cannot tell you how thankful I am to see you alive."

Jasper smiled. "I seem to have had a pretty narrow squeak."

"I should think so indeed. But how did it happen? We are all mystified," and Sir Wilfrid blew his nose violently.

"I'm pretty much mystified myself," Jasper answered. "Not as to how it happened, but as to who threw the kibble in after me."

"Some mischievous boys it is suggested," Sir Wilfrid replied, "and surely they would not realise you were there. How could anyone guess that you were there after all the men had left work? My dear friend, what led you to go down the shaft at all?"

"My incurable inquisitiveness, I expect." Jasper smiled. "I had got a hunch on me, as the Americans say, and wanted to take some measurements."

"Yes?"

"Well, I had got nearly to the bottom of the shaft when I heard something scraping on the sollar above, the next moment the kibble came hurtling down with a whiz and a bang, bouncing from side to side, and making no end of a din. Fortunately it missed me, struck the bottom with a crash and bounded up the north level. But the chain kept whipping about like a mad thing, and gave me a clout at the back of the head which nearly finished me. I don't think I remembered anything more till Sunday morning."

The baronet gasped. "What a miracle you are alive," he said.

"Whoever wanted to finish me off will have to try again," Jasper said with a grin.

"But surely ... surely Mr. Blake, you don't suspect‒‒"

"It's not a bit of use suspecting or guessing," he answered doggedly. "I don't know. And there it will have to be left."

"I cannot bring myself to believe that anyone would do it purposely," the baronet said slowly. "Why, you have not an enemy anywhere. Everyone looks upon you as a friend and benefactor."

"Then we will leave it at that." Jasper said, and soon after Sir Wilfrid took his departure.

There were dark rings under Enid's eyes when she stood at the drawing room window the next morning and saw her father coming up the long drive. Instantly she rushed out of the room and went to meet him. He smiled affectionately when he saw her advancing. He not only loved her, but he was proud of her. In the morning sunshine she looked wonderfully fresh and winning. For her sake, more than his own, he wanted to redeem the Grange from the clutches of Leopold Straus.

"Well, father, what news?" she asked, when she came within speaking distance, and a soft blush warmed her neck and face.

"Good, Enid. Very good. He is able to talk quite freely this morning."

"You have seen him?" she asked quickly, and a surprised look came into her eyes.

"Had quite a long talk with him," he answered.

"Oh!" And she linked her arm in his and walked in step with him toward the house.

"Did he tell you how it happened?" she spoke at length. She did not want to appear too curious, though she was burning with impatience to know all the details.

"In a way, yes," he answered reflectively. Then he paused for several seconds. Enid waited for him to continue, without looking at him.

"He seems to have an idea," he went on presently, "that someone deliberately threw the kibble into the shaft after him."

"You mean that someone wanted to kill him?" she asked quickly, and she raised a pair of startled eyes to his, but he was looking with contracted brows toward the house.

"Of course I told him that that was impossible," he went on. "Pointed out to him that he had not an enemy in the neighbourhood ‒ that everyone looked on him as a benefactor...."

"Yes?"

"Well, he did not seem inclined to discuss the subject. Said that whoever wanted to get rid of him would have to try again, and then went on to talk of other things."

Enid did not reply for several minutes, but had Sir Wilfrid been looking at her he would have seen that all the colour had drained from her cheeks, and that a strange fierce fire flamed in her eyes. She let go his arm and walked with bent head by his side. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was afraid he might hear it.

They turned off the drive at length and walked down one of the garden paths. The pale September sunshine had not yet kissed away the dew. It lay on the lawns like a grey mist and sparkled in a thousand points of light on leaf and flower.

"Why did he go down the shaft at all?" The question was abrupt and her voice a little unsteady.

Sir Wilfrid smiled as if pleased with himself. "That was the very question I asked him," he answered.

"Well?"

"He said something about his incurable inquisitiveness. Wanted to take some measurements or something of the kind. You know he is desperately keen, and is getting, I fancy, a little impatient."

Enid made no reply, and a little later she returned to the house alone. She went at once to her room and locked the door; then threw herself into a chair by the window and looked out across the lawns and park, but with unseeing eyes.

A suspicion had gripped her heart and brain which she could not shake off.

Jasper Blake had walked out to the Downs on Saturday afternoon after the men had left work. He had descended the shaft alone to take some measurements. Before he could reach the bottom the heavy iron kibble had been dragged forward and dropped in on him. It was by the merest chance he had escaped with his life.

Those were the simple facts. The inferences were scarcely less clear. It would not take him many minutes to reach the bottom of the shaft. In those few minutes someone had come forward and thrown the kibble in after him. That someone must have seen him go down. The aim and purpose was his destruction.

Who was the individual, and why did he want Jasper Blake out of the way?
Chapter 18

Depression

FOUR days later, Jasper sent for his foreman, Enoch Ladda. He was sitting up in bed at the Rotherick Arms with half a dozen pillows at his back, and trying his hardest not to grumble at his condition. He knew he ought to be grateful he was alive at all, and deep down in his heart he was grateful, but at the moment he was feeling terribly impatient at his enforced inactivity.

Ladda came into the room slowly and timidly. He was a man of about fifty, lean and muscular, with black hair and sea-blue eyes. His greeting of Jasper was characteristic.

"I be fine an' glad to see 'ee again," he said, and his lips broke into a winning smile. He was a typical Cornish miner, gentle and respectful, but with no trace of fawning.

"Thank you, Enoch," Jasper said with a smile. "I am glad to see you. Any sign of the lode yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Could you tell me how far you have driven the south level?"

"Not to a foot or two, sir, but I should say roughly 'bout forty fathoms."

"Would you mind getting me the exact figures? I was going to get them myself when I was bowled over."

"Bit curious that, wasn't it?" Enoch queried. Being Cornish he was naturally inquisitive.

"Well, it was rather curious." Jasper said. "But we haven't time to discuss that now."

"The men 'ave been talkin' 'bout it a good deal. They say as 'ow that kibble dedn't walk into the shaft by itself. Howsomever...."

"You will find a tape measure on the chest of drawers yonder," Jasper interrupted. "I want the figures as quickly as you can. We can talk more when you come back."

"Exactly, sir. I won't waste no time over it," and Enoch walked across the room, picked up the tape measure and disappeared.

In less than two hours he was back again.

"It's just exactly thirty-nine and a haaf fathoms," he said, before Jasper had time to speak.

"And the level runs due south?"

"Well, just a point or two east of south, I reckon."

"Humph. That will increase the distance slightly," and Jasper puckered his forehead into a series of vertical lines.

"I don't think I'm quite gettin' you?" Enoch said reflectively.

"Never mind. Pull up a chair and sit down. I want to talk to you."

Enoch sat down without a word.

"I've got a hunch on me," Jasper began.

"Dear me," Enoch broke in sympathetically, "that'll be terrible painful I'll be bound. Did 'ee ever try a bran poultice for it now?"

"No, Enoch, I never did," Jasper said with a laugh. "You see the hunch is not on my body, but in my head, or in my mind‒‒"

"That's much worse, ain't it?" Enoch asked anxiously.

"That all depends, Enoch," and Jasper laughed again. "You see this hunch has to do with the lode. Last Saturday afternoon I tried dowsing for it. I did not tell anyone, and you needn't either, Enoch ‒ but I believe I have found it."

"You don't say!"

"Anyhow, I want to put the matter to the test as soon as possible. I should have started on Monday morning last but for this mishap. I wanted the doctor to let me see you on Tuesday morning, but he refused. I expect he will grumble when he knows you have been here today. Well, I can't help that. We have wasted four days as it is."

Enoch made no reply.

"Now when you go back," Jasper continued, "take eighty-five paces from the shaft due south ‒ that is toward the wood you understand ‒ and you will find a little green space about ten feet across with no furze growing on it. If you look carefully you will see a spar stone about the size of a teacup almost in the centre, and half hidden by the grass. Do you follow me?"

Enoch nodded but did not speak.

"Well, that is where the dowsing rod went down flop. I tried it again and again, and always with the same result."

"I've 'eard people say as some folks 'ave the gift," Enoch said reflectively. "An' that with others the thing won't work at all."

"Well, perhaps I have the gift." And Jasper smiled. "Anyhow, I am going to test the thing. There may be nothing in it, or there may be."

"There's lots of things in this world beyond our explaining," Enoch said seriously. "I wouldn't be agin 'avin' a try for it."

"Very good. As I am unable to look after things myself I want you to take off the men from the north level, also from the cross-cuts in the Glen Adit, and set them to work prospecting along the line I have indicated. Start first on the green spot I have mentioned, and be sure you make no mistake about it. Then measure off forty yards due east, and another forty yards due west, and start two other shoading pits. Do you follow me?"

"Oh, I follow all right, but I do wish you could be there yourself."

"I'll be there in about a week," Jasper said. "So see to it that you get busy, and waste no time."

"The men will be just mazed, I expect, when I tell 'em," Enoch said, scratching his head. "They'll cackle like 'ens, and wonder what's in the wind."

"Let them cackle, Enoch, and let them wonder. So long as they get on with the work ‒ that is all I care about."

Enoch reflected for several moments with his eyes on the carpet, then he raised his head slowly and looked at Jasper with a smile. "I be figgerin' to ax 'ee sir," he said, "if you won't think it rude, if that there Mr. Straus be a shareholder?"

"And suppose he is, Enoch. What then?" Jasper asked, knitting his brows slightly.

"Well, in that case, sir, the men 'ull 'ave to be civil to 'im, which they don't want to be."

"Oh, and why not?"

"Well, they don't like'n, that's why," Enoch said slowly and doggedly. "They'm suspicious of 'im, if you don't mind me sayin' so."

"Oh?"

"He was round again enquirin' yesterday."

"Enquiring about what?"

"About the prospec's of findin' the lode, an' whether there was any sign of 'er, and 'ow long we thought we should be before we came 'pon 'er, and all that. Might 'ave been afraid he was goin' to lose his money. Seemed terrible concerned also because you couldn't 'tend to business. Sam Buddie wanted to heave a stone at 'im."

"Why should Sam want to do that?"

"Sam's got a notion. So 'ave several of the others. You caant keep people from thinkin', Mr. Blake, but of course if that Mr. Straus is a share 'older they'll 'ave to speak civil to 'n, an' answer 'is questions."

Jasper reflected for a moment or two, then said slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, "There is no reason, Enoch, why they should not answer his questions. I may tell you, however, that he is not a shareholder, and has no interest whatever in the venture."

"No money interest, you're meanin'?"

"That is the only interest that counts," Jasper said.

"Oah, is it? There may be two 'pinions about that. Howsomever, it is time I was a-movin'," and without another word he rose from his chair, picked up his hat and departed.

Jasper knitted his brows, and for a long time lay back among the pillows perfectly still. Two days previously Leopold Straus had called at the Rotherick Arms and left his card, with his best wishes for Jasper's speedy recovery.

"I wonder what game he is playing," Jasper said to himself, with a grim look upon his face. "He may be a clever man in some things, but he is a fool in others. If he thinks he can throw dust in my eyes, or in the eyes of such men as Enoch Ladda and Sam Buddie he is making the mistake of his life. That he is growing desperate is evident. I wonder what Miss Courtney thinks. I wonder if she knows. I wonder...."

A distant look stole into his eyes and a smile played for a moment or two about his lips. The walls of his room seemed to vanish, and a girl's face came into view ‒ a pure oval face, and hair that glinted in the light, and eyes that laughed and challenged, and lips curved like a cupid's bow, and a smile that sent his heart leaping into his throat.

He closed his eyes at length as if to shut out the picture, and his face hardened. "It would be sacrilege," he muttered to himself. "I would rather spend the last shilling I possess than that he should have her."

He wished he knew how much she knew, or how much she suspected. It was hateful to be idle and helpless while Straus was plotting and working. To Jasper, Strauss seemed like an ugly spider weaving his web day by day, drawing it closer and closer round Sir Wilfrid and his daughter, tightening and strengthening the strands with each hour that passed.

Jasper realized it had become the dominant passion of his life to foil Straus, and save Enid Courtney from his clutches. He made no attempt to reason the thing out to its logical conclusion. He shrank from facing all the facts. He would not admit even yet that he was in love with her, for that would be to write himself down a fool. Men of his class did not fall in love with such a woman. She was as much out of his reach as were the stars. He might admire, and reverence, and even worship; but love was an utterly different thing.

Of course he admired her. She was so fine, so cultured, so full of grace and charm, so free from self-centredness and yet so sure of herself, so unaffected and simple, and yet so splendid and compelling. He would be less than a man if he were not ready to dare anything in her defence.

And all the while, that beast Straus was weaving his web about her, and the lost lode refused to be found ‒ and he lay helpless on his bed unable to strike a blow in her defence. It was that which made his confinement so irksome and maddening.

Each morning Dr. Rich laughingly told him that he ought to be patient ‒ that he was doing splendidly, that not one man in a hundred would have made such excellent progress ‒ that in a day or two if there were no drawbacks he would be able to sit up for an hour. That was all right, of course, from the doctor's point of view, and was no doubt all true; but Jasper wanted to be about. Things might be happening of which he knew nothing. Sir Wilfrid when he last called had seemed depressed and ill at ease. The most splendid woman in the world might be nearing the point beyond which there was no escape.

So the days passed away, slow-footed and depressing. On Sunday he was allowed to sit up for a couple of hours, and on Monday he walked unsteadily into his sitting room. He felt thankful for this small change, but his mood was anything but cheerful. He hated being shut up in a box of a room. He had been used to wide spaces and far horizons.

He carried his left arm in a sling, and his shoulder still gave him considerable pain. The wound in his head had almost healed, and his many bruises had turned green and yellow, and no longer hurt him. For a few minutes he stood at the window which overlooked a corner of Rotherick Park. With a little sigh he dropped into an armchair when there came a soft rat-tat on the door.

"Come in," he called out. Mrs. Cobbledick or the old nurse had no doubt come back again.

He heard the door handle creak and the door was pushed quickly open. He raised his eyes slowly and indifferently. Then he sprang suddenly to his feet. Instead of Mrs. Cobbledick or the nurse, he found himself looking into the smiling eyes of Enid Courtney.
Chapter 19

At Close Quarters

JASPER was never able to recall what he did or said during the first moment of delighted surprise. His impression was that he said nothing ‒ that he just stood still like a mischievous urchin who had been caught stealing his mother's jam.

She came into the room like a burst of sunshine, bringing with her the perfume of gardens and hedgerows, and the beauty of summer skies. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but subconsciously he saw every gracious line and curve of her supple figure, every detail of her simple attire.

"Please don't look so astonished," she said brightly. "I brought a jelly that Mrs. Parsons made for you, and when Mrs. Cobbledick told me that you were in your sitting room I suggested that I should come up. And here I am. I hope you are not annoyed at my intrusion."

"Annoyed?"

He could have said a great deal more. He could have told her that she was constantly in his thoughts. That he had been worrying himself about her most of the day ‒ that there was nothing in the world that he desired so much as to be her champion and defender.

Perhaps she saw something in his eyes, for she smiled easily, with no embarrassment. He envied her her ease and naturalness. She was as free from self-consciousness as a child of five. Whether her visit was conventional or unconventional did not worry her. She was a law to herself.

"You must feel awfully bored," she said, "shut up in one room all day long," and she gave a swift glance round the apartment.

He wondered what she thought of it. The yellow carpet, the green chairs, the blue tablecloth, and the atrocious wallpaper!

"Bored?" he said, beginning to feel more at his ease, though his heart was still thumping uncomfortably fast. "I have been madder than any hatter."

"My father and I were talking about you this morning at breakfast," she said, still smiling, "and we both thought that it would help toward your recovery if you spent a few days at the Grange."

"It is very ... kind of ... you," he stammered.

"Not a bit of it," she protested, with the flicker of a smile. "Why should all the kindness be on one side. You are working and spending for our benefit."

"And ... and ... for my own," he floundered.

"Really? I did not know."

"One must have something to do," he interposed.

"It irks being idle?" she asked.

"Well," he answered slowly, "it irks being compelled to be idle."

"A distinction no doubt," she laughed, "but it would not hurt you any more at the Grange than here." And she glanced swiftly round the room again.

"Perhaps less," he ventured, "but you see I am still in the hands of the doctor and my old nurse."

"As if ... if Mrs. Parsons could not look after you?" she answered with averted eyes.

"I should be sorry to give so much trouble," he said quietly. "I fear I am anything but a docile patient, and I expect Mrs. Parsons thinks she has quite enough to do as it is."

"As a matter of fact, Mrs. Parsons hasn't enough to do," she said promptly, "but I see you don't want to come. I wonder why."

"There you are mistaken, Miss Courtney." And an enigmatical smile twisted the comers of his mouth. "I ... I ... should just love it; but for the present.... "

"As you will," she said, and she made as if to rise from her seat.

"Oh, please don't go," he pleaded, and there was such a note of appeal in his voice that she glanced at him with an enquiring look in her eyes.

"I thought I was tiring you," she said with a little laugh.

"Tiring me? You tiring me?" He stopped suddenly and a hot wave of colour swept his face. He felt as though he had committed an unpardonable indiscretion. He had emphasised the word in such a way that she was bound to notice it ‒ perhaps to resent it.

She noticed his momentary confusion and her brain worked rapidly, while the colour in her cheeks out-matched his. He was not looking at her, however, and did not notice the blush.

She was the first to recover herself, and when she spoke again her voice was even and steady. "Do you really think, Mr. Blake," she asked, "that someone tried to kill you?"

He gave a little start and met her eyes again. There was no anger or resentment in them, and he began to breathe freely once more. "Why do you ask?" he enquired evasively.

"Well, father told me that you had evidently got that idea into your head."

"Did he tell you exactly how the thing happened?"

"Oh, yes, he told me everything."

"And what do you think?"

"But surely you have no enemies in Rotherick."

"I may have."

"That seems impossible," she said reflectively.

"A man may make enemies unwittingly," he replied, "and without the least intention of doing so."

"But you have been working for the general good," she protested, "and everybody must wish you success."

"There may be things I do not understand," he said slowly. "You see, I am a comparative stranger in Rotherick. There are often wheels within wheels. There may be people with whose wishes or aims or purposes I am interfering, either directly or indirectly. How can I know? You as a local are in a better position to judge of such a matter than I am." And he looked her frankly in the eyes.

She met his gaze steadily, but her face grew troubled. "You suspect someone?" she asked.

"I have never said that I suspected anyone in particular," he replied. "I am as much in the dark as you are. Perhaps more so," he added pointedly.

She gave an almost imperceptible start, then blushed and averted her eyes. She was strongly tempted to take Jasper into her confidence. He was so sane, so clear-eyed, so honest and trustworthy, that it would be a relief to pour her troubles into his ear. She wondered how much he knew ‒ how much he suspected. If only her father were involved, she could easily confide in him, but how could she discuss with a young man her own affairs of the heart? She knew she was not lacking in courage or daring, but there were some things a girl could not talk about. If Jasper were an older man. If ... if....

The blush deepened on her cheeks and her eyes grew misty. She had seen something in his look that afternoon, heard something in the tones of his voice that had made her heart leap for a moment into her throat. No, she could not tell him. She must wait and let events take their course. If he suspected that she was the price that Leopold Straus demanded for the redemption of Rotherick Grange, perhaps ... perhaps ... oh, if she only dared hope. He was wise and strong and ... and ... surely that look in his eyes meant something. He was at least a friend ‒ her father's friend and hers, and if the worst came to the worst she was sure he might be depended on to do his best.

"It is to be hoped you are wrong in your surmise," she said at length. "It would be dreadful to think that there is anyone in this quiet parish wicked enough to do such a deed."

"I quite agree with you," he admitted slowly, "but in any case I don't think a second attempt will be made. Also, for the future I shall be on my guard."

She glanced at him questioningly. "Does not that imply that you still think...?" she began.

He interrupted with a laugh that was meant to be reassuring. "It implies that I am not afraid on my own account," he said.

"Then on whose account?" she asked quickly.

He was strongly tempted to tell her the truth, that it was for her that he was afraid. He felt their conversation had lacked candour ‒ that each had been fencing with the other, and for the simple reason that neither knew how much was known to the other.

He made another attempt to pull aside the veil of reserve. "I am not conceited enough," he said slowly and cautiously, "to imagine that personally I am of any account. I may be unwittingly standing in somebody's way, that is all. To get rid of me is not an end in itself but simply a means to an end."

She did not meet his eyes for several seconds. She seemed to be studying the pattern on the carpet. She realized he had given her an opening for the next move and yet she hesitated. It was not easy to talk of her own and her father's private affairs.

"You have heard something?" she asked at last, still evading a direct issue.

"I have heard lots of things," he answered with a laugh. "Mostly gossip. And speaking generally, what reliance may be placed on the tittle-tattle of the countryside?"

She raised her head again and looked him frankly in the face. "Gossip about my father and ... and myself?" she asked.

"Well ... yes."

"We hear nothing, of course," she went on. "That is the trouble. People may blacken our characters, while we remain in ignorance of the talk."

"No one is trying to do that." He smiled. "You are both too greatly beloved."

"Then what?" she asked, a soft blush stealing up into her face. "Won't you tell me something? You are father's friend, are you not?"

"I would like to be," he answered slowly. "And ... and ... yours also, if I might so greatly presume."

"I should like to have you as my friend," she said simply and frankly, while the colour deepened on her cheeks.

"Give me the chance of proving that I am, and on my life I will not fail you," he answered grimly.

Her eyes met his for a moment and then quickly dropped. "I believe you," she said, a little unsteadily. "Now please tell me something."

"Remember it is only gossip," he said. "I heard it when I first came here. The first item of importance is that your father has mortgaged the estate. The second is that you are to marry Mr. Leopold Straus."

She gave a little gasp and the colour drained slowly from her face. "And between the two items there is, of course, no connection?" she asked a little bitterly.

"To be quite frank," he answered, "gossip does connect the two things."

She sprang suddenly to her feet, her face aflame. "Straus himself has talked," she exclaimed with flashing eyes. "Can you guess how I loathe him? I am afraid it is too true that father is in his hands. Oh, Mr. Blake, if you can find that lode it will mean the salvation of both of us."

"And if it cannot be found, Miss Courtney?"

"Then God pity us," she replied, and her eyes suddenly filled.

He felt desperately moved, and it was only by a tremendous effort that he was able to get a firm grip on himself.

"If the worst came to the worst," he asked quietly, "could you trust me ‒ I mean trust me to save everything? The Grange, your father, you?"

"I could trust you with my life," she answered impulsively, and then turned suddenly and made for the door.

"Have no fear, Miss Courtney," he called after her, and then she was gone.

Chapter 20

Drifting

LEOPOLD STRAUS felt unhappy and extremely angry. He knew he had played his cards badly and had come within an ace of losing the game. It was true the game was not played out yet, but he no longer held all the winning cards. To what extent Jasper Blake stood behind Sir Wilfrid he did not know. Report had it that Blake was an exceedingly rich man, and it might be that Blake was out to checkmate him.

He was not jealous. He did not believe that Enid would look at the fellow. After all, Enid was a lady, and would no more think of marrying a common man than of marrying a barbarian. On the other hand he was conscious he had made two big mistakes. He ought not to have threatened her. To show his hand so plainly was an error in tactics. People of her class were not to be bullied. They resented it and became stubborn. If there was to be any coercion it should be left to her father. He ought to have put the facts before her, then withdrawn. Given her time for the facts to sink in. People generally realized on which side their bread was buttered.

But a much greater mistake he had made in trying to kill Jasper Blake. He grew hot and cold by turns when he thought of it. What could have induced him to commit such an act of folly he did not know. For two nights and a day he had felt like a man on the gallows with a rope round his neck. Never in all his life had he known such a period of terror. He was clear-headed enough to see that suspicion would inevitably point in his direction.

If the fellow were dead, enquiries would be set on foot at once. A motive would be searched for. The truth about the mortgage and his threat to Enid would come out. The finding of the lode would upset his game, and Blake was hot on the search. There would be no difficulty about establishing a motive. Circumstantial evidence no doubt, but most criminals who were given the long drop were hanged on circumstantial evidence.

For two nights and a day he felt himself a doomed man. He could neither eat nor sleep. During that awful Sunday he never once ventured outside the door, and every time he looked out of the window he expected to see a policeman coming up the drive.

Then came Monday morning and the news that Jasper Blake was alive. He felt as weak as a child. He wanted to sit down and cry. When hope had almost expired, a reprieve had come. He was once more a free man. He had nothing further to fear. For a full hour he shut himself up in his room to recover himself, then he picked up his hat and stick and walked out into the sunshine.

So elated was he that he did not realize that suspicion might still point in his direction. Though Jasper Blake was alive, the facts still pointed to an attempt on his life, and though the general public might be able to discover no motive, the same could not be said of Enid and her father.

For the moment, however, this did not occur to him. The general talk was that some mischievous boys had done the deed. He did his best to give point to this theory, and gave expression to much indignation. He called at the Rotherick Arms and left his card with Blake, and was loud in his expressions of sympathy.

As the days passed away, and no suspicious whisper reached his ears, he began to consider his next move. He was still of the opinion that any woman might be won if the man was only persistent enough. Enid Courtney was the only woman he had ever wanted to marry, and he meant to marry her ‒ by fair means if possible. But if fair means failed, there were other means to which a strong and determined man might resort. He would prefer if possible not to use violence, but if it was necessary to break her will, then her will must be broken.

He had no moral scruples. In love as in war everything was fair. Diplomacy first, and if that failed ‒ then violence. "She'll be glad enough to marry me before the year is out," he kept saying to himself, and he gloated over the prospect of humbling her pride.

He decided it would be bad policy to go to the Grange again for the present. He would meet Enid out alone some day. She often went for a stroll through the woods. Sometimes she went for long walks into the country, and most days she was seen in the village.

As it happened he met her near the park gates after her visit to Jasper Blake. She was so deep in thought that she did not notice him until he was within speaking distance. She glanced hurriedly around her, but there was no way of escape unless she turned round and ran back to the village. And she was too proud to do that. She would not have him imagine she was afraid of him.

"I am glad we have met," he said in quiet tones. "I owe you an apology."

"Indeed?" she said icily, and would have passed on but he stepped directly in front of her.

"I hope you will hear me out," he said humbly. "I own I was in the wrong the other day ‒ entirely in the wrong ‒ I ought not to have forced myself on you ‒ ought not to have said what I did. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I shall be sincerely grateful."

"And if I forgive you, what then?" she asked coldly.

"I will try not to displease you again," he answered in the same suave and humble tones.

"You mean you will not again pester me with your attentions?" she asked.

"I should be profoundly sorry to annoy you," he said. "We are neighbours. I have been a friend to your father, and I would like to be your friend. That I love you is not my fault, and surely it is not a sin for a man to love a woman. And I don't think you would think the better of me if I gave up hope."

"There you are mistaken," she replied. "A man who will not accept the inevitable is stupid, or worse."

"I regard nothing as inevitable or impossible," he replied. "Only weak men quail before difficulties and give up in despair. Also it is well to remember that circumstances alter cases."

"No circumstances will alter my decision," she answered, with a touch of indignation in her voice.

"I know you are strong-willed," he replied, with downcast eyes, "and believe me I am deeply sorry that I used words that sounded like a threat."

"Sounded like a threat?" she scorned.

"I would like to withdraw them if I may," he went on. "What I really had in my heart was your father's well-being and comfort, and your well-being also."

"You seem to have a curious way of showing your good intentions," she said bitingly.

"Not so curious, if you will reflect a little," he said quietly. "It is not my fault that your father has mortgaged to the hilt the Rotherick estate. It is not my fault that I am now virtually the owner. Yet it is my desire that your father remains at the Grange to the end of his days."

"But on your terms?" she flung at him.

"Naturally. And from my point of view they are not onerous terms. I am willing to write off the debt, to hand back the mortgage deed, which he can destroy. The estate will then be his in fact as well as in name, and he will be content and happy for the rest of his life. Surely there is nothing ungenerous in such a proposal."

"You think my father would sell me for so many thousand pounds?" she asked indignantly. "Let me tell you that you know neither my father nor me."

A cynical smile played over his face for a moment which did not escape her notice, and her eyes flashed with anger. "I am not pressing the matter," he said in silky tones. "This is a free country within the limits set by its laws. You have given me what I desired, an opportunity to apologise for my unwarrantable intrusion the other day, and for my foolish and hasty words. Believe me, I am grateful. And now I wish you good afternoon." He raised his hat and stepped aside for her to pass.

"Good afternoon," she answered coldly, and walked on.

When she entered the long drive she felt hot and angry and indignant. She was thankful he had not offered to shake hands with her. The touch of his hand would have been like a stain. Overhead, the wind was whispering in the tall elms, and every now and then a thin shower of brown leaves fluttered to the ground. The sun was shining brightly, but there was a distinct touch of autumn in the air. She always regretted the departure of summer. Autumn was tinged with melancholy. There was pathos in the browning leaves and in the drooping flowers. Winter in prospect was bleak and uninviting.

Yet somehow today, in spite of her encounter with Straus, her heart was beating a strange tattoo. She did not mind the shortening days and the yellowing woods. There seemed a warmer light in the sky, and a softer whisper in the trees.

As she tripped lightly toward the house she quickly forgot Straus and his veiled threats and cynical smile. Jasper Blake's parting words, "Then have no fear," followed her like an echo. They sang in the wind and whispered in the trees, and frolicked in the whirling leaves.

How could she fear with his words ringing in her ears and pulsing through all her veins? A strange ecstasy was thrilling her nerves and quickening her heartbeats. A new emotion had taken possession of her, but what it meant she was almost afraid to enquire. Enough for the moment that she was lifted into a new realm where there was neither anxiety nor care.

It was not until night came, and she found herself unable to sleep, that she honestly faced the situation. Slowly the truth dawned upon her, and she blushed in the darkness. She was making a hero of Jasper Blake. She was endowing him with qualities which perhaps he did not possess. She had been letting her heart go out to him unconsciously. She had begun to build her future on his courage, and strength, and.... She had to face the word. There was no other that would fit the case. They had talked of friendship, but friendship was not what was meant.

She understood now why he would not come and stay at the Grange. He was afraid. Afraid he might betray himself. And yet he had betrayed himself. His eyes had betrayed him, his voice, his manner. She was enough woman to understand.

But what was to be the end of it all? She was patrician ‒ aristocrat ‒ through every drop of her blood. And he was a son of the people, nursed in comparative poverty, shaped and moulded by hardship and toil.

Was not his instinct right to keep away? He was as proud as she, though perhaps in a different way. Would it not be wise to avoid each other? Could anything but trouble come out of their growing relationship? Her heart began to rebel at the conventions. He was a better man than she was a woman. More useful, more admirable. He had a finer courage, a worthier pride. She had rank without means, a veneer of culture that led to nothing, a conventional polish that anyone could acquire. He had strength without arrogance, understanding without pride, goodness without false piety.

Was a man to be despised because his university had been the wide world of experience, his knowledge gathered from observation rather than from books, his character hammered into shape on the hard anvil of struggle and suffering? Was he not rather the more to be honoured?

Jasper Blake was a gentleman! She had seen that in the first moment of their meeting. He lacked the fine culture of her father, the ease and grace of those to the manner born, but he had something else. A fine simplicity, a gentleness born of his strength, a sturdy uprightness, a dauntless moral courage that was rarer than genius.

She fell asleep at length to dream of him, and when she awoke in the morning his name was on her lips. She was conscious day after day that she was drifting, but whether on to the rocks or out on summer seas beneath summer skies she did not know.

For a full fortnight she and Jasper did not meet. Knowing what she did, she could not visit him again. And he consistently and persistently avoided going near the Grange.

She heard that he was up and about again, and that he went every day to the works. She heard also that he looked ill and worried, and that he still carried his left arm in a sling.

Then came a day which she would never forget. A still, windless day of great beauty ‒ a warm languorous day when the woods seemed to wait in a great silence for the touch that should change all their green to gold.

Into that day of peace and stillness crept a great terror. A terror so revolting that her heart stood still and her brain seemed to lose its power to think.
Chapter 21

In the Wood

WHEN Enid sauntered up into the wood in the early afternoon she had no thought of trouble or danger. If anyone had suggested she should not go alone, she would have laughed at the idea. It had been her favourite playground ever since she could remember. She loved it in all its moods. Loved the trees collectively and individually ‒ the wide-spreading elms, the gnarled and sturdy oaks, the white-skinned beeches, the broadleaved sycamores, the whispering pines ‒ loved the dim aisles and the blue distances ‒ loved to hear the wind whispering through the leaves.

Today, however, there were no whisperings. The wind was asleep in the far-off caverns of the sky, and the trees stood still and silent as if listening for its approach.

She reached the clearing at length where Jasper Blake had found her a few weeks ago, and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. It was not likely he would come that way again. He had avoided her of late and she believed she knew the reason why, although she was not sure she admired him any the more for it. It might be good policy ‒ a wise discretion ‒ or it might be a form of cowardice.

If she were a man she would go straight and sure for what she wanted and snap her finger at consequences. She knew where the shoe pinched in his case. He recognised his limitations. He recognised also the social barrier that existed, and though he might have little or no respect for it, he would have no desire to run his head against it. The aristocrats were a close body, as everyone knew. Proud and exclusive.

Jasper Blake was the last man in the world to risk being snubbed. She suspected he might believe himself to be equal to any of them ‒ and surely he was, for that matter, and vastly superior to most. Nevertheless, the conventions stood firm and inflexible.

She was growing scornful of some of these conventions. The hypocrisy that was talked about "social position" angered her. What did it amount to anyway? The people who preened themselves on their acres and ancestry and halls: some of them had manners that were atrocious, and morals that would not bear talking about. A clown was still a clown though he lived in a castle, and a gentleman was none the less a gentleman because he lived in a cottage.

She wished Jasper would come that way again. The days seemed long with never a glimpse of him. He had crept into her life without thinking. In some mysterious way he seemed to hold her future in his hands. She wanted to talk with him. He might not be a brilliant conversationalist, but his words always rang true, and there was sometimes a tone in his voice ‒ soft and deep as a cello note ‒ that echoed strangely through her heart and brain. She wanted to look into his eyes and see the light that meant so much. She wished she knew how much....

The snapping of a twig caused her to look up suddenly, but it was not Jasper Blake who stood before her ‒ as she had for a moment hoped ‒ but Leopold Straus.

With a little gasp she sprang to her feet and drew several steps away.

"Please don't go," he said gently. "I hope I didn't startle you."

"You startled me very much," she answered.

"I am sorry. Won't you sit down again?"

"I have been here quite long enough," she replied. "It is time I returned."

"As you will, but I have a small item of news that perhaps will interest you."

She knew by his silky tones and oily manner that he had something unpleasant to say, so she waited for him to go on.

"You love these woods?" he asked.

"Of course I love them," she answered shortly.

He raised his shoulders, and something like a sigh escaped his lips, but his eyes were fierce and passionate.

"Ah!" And he moved his head slowly from side to side. "All the greater pity, Miss Courtney, that you should so soon be deprived of them."

If he expected to see her start or look in any way concerned, he was disappointed. She had not forgotten his threats, and was quite prepared to hear that he had put them into execution.

He moved a step or two nearer while he was speaking, like a cat stalking a bird. "I gave notice yesterday to call in the mortgage," he went on. "In about three weeks the place will be up for auction."

"I thought you gave notice a month ago," she said, smiling.

"I told you I intended to do so, but I changed my mind," he said in low tones. "I thought it was only fair that, after hearing the truth, you should have time to consider it. And I was not without hope that for your father's sake, if not for your own, you would fall in with my proposition."

"My father would rather bury me than see me married to you," she said indignantly.

He smiled indulgently. "It is not a question of burying you, Miss Courtney," he went on. "The more important question is what would become of him after you were buried?"

"My father is not without friends," she flung at him scornfully.

"Oh, indeed," and an ugly smile twisted his fleshy lips. "Perhaps you think that blundering fool who is wasting his money on Rotherick Downs will come to his rescue?"

"It is no concern of yours what I think," she replied contemptuously.

He smiled again. "Perhaps you intend marrying the bounder," he sneered.

"I might marry a much worse man," she answered.

"Anyhow, you will not marry him," and his face darkened.

"No?"

"No. You will marry me."

"Really?" and she smiled good-humouredly. She was not in the least afraid of him. The idea of personal harm did not occur to her. Her experience of life and the world was small. She had no conception of what such men were capable.

During their conversation he had been moving steadily nearer. Now with the swiftness of a panther he sprang upon her and caught her in his arms. She gave a wild shriek and struggled to get free. The next moment his right hand was over her mouth, while his left arm crushed her to his side.

"You need not try to escape," he hissed in her ear. "I have you completely in my power. We are alone here. Don't forget that," and he laughed harshly. "Oh, you will soon be glad enough to marry me, my proud beauty, when I have my way with you here, for no one else will want you now!"

She fought and struggled with all her strength. She dug her nails into his cheeks, and kicked and twisted. She tore strips of skin from his face and hands, but he was so mad with passion that he was unconscious of pain. He laughed with fiendish glee, and pressed his hand upon her lips all the more tightly.

She was not lacking in courage, and terror gave her an added strength, but her strength was not to be compared with his. Moreover, his hand over her mouth prevented her from breathing freely. He was gradually choking the life out of her.

She felt herself being lifted off her feet, the world was spinning round her like a top. A horror unspeakable possessed her, she could no longer see anything clearly, the daylight was going out in darkness.

Then suddenly she was free. She was on her feet again and staggering blindly. She bumped against a tree and threw her arms about it. Her eyes began to clear, the darkness passed swiftly.

Lying on the ground a few feet away was Leopold Straus, and standing over him with clenched fist was Jasper Blake.

She wanted to shriek, to laugh, to shout, but she could do neither. She could only look and listen. Her heart was beating like a hammer, her breath came and went in gasps. She was still too terror-stricken to think clearly, but one thing she knew. Jasper Blake had come to her rescue, and with a single blow had felled Straus to the earth.

"Get on to your feet, you filthy animal," she heard Blake saying, and the sound of his voice thrilled her like music.

The next moment the fight began and her heart seemed to stand still.

Straus bounded to his feet like a rubber ball and rushed at Blake like an infuriated bull. Somehow Straus's left eye caught Jasper's fist ‒ which wasn't where he had expected it to be. The impact was immense, the effect overwhelming. With a howl of rage and pain Straus staggered back a dozen feet, and but for a tree that met the back of his head would have measured his length on the ground.

By this time he was so mad with rage that he did not know what he was doing. Jasper with his left arm in a sling and a grim smile on his face stood calmly waiting. Neither of them had any skill in boxing or fencing. It was simply a case as to which could hit hardest and get in his blow first.

In this respect Jasper, in spite of his useless arm, had had the initial advantage. He had come upon Straus unawares and unseen. Holding his victim in his arms and intent on stifling her cries, Straus did not hear Jasper approach. Almost before he knew what had happened, a stinging blow in the right jaw knocked him senseless, and when he recovered he was lying in a heap on the ground.

Jasper's second blow was not less disconcerting; but Straus had most of the instincts of the brute beast, and after waiting a moment to recover his breath he went for Jasper again, but this time he was more cautious. He wanted to get at close quarters with his enemy ‒ wanted to get his arms round him if possible. Jasper for the moment was a one-armed man, and he knew if he could once get his arms round him he would have the advantage.

Jasper saw his purpose clearly enough and had not the least intention of being caught napping. For several moments they danced round each other like two performing bears ‒ the one cool and clear-eyed, the other mad and half blind.

At length Straus with his head down made a rush, and Jasper with an upward cut caught him in the jaw and the fight was over.

Straus collapsed like a pricked bladder, rolled over twice, then struggled to his hands and knees and spat out a tooth and a mouthful of blood.

Jasper stood over him with a grim smile on his face. What had become of Enid he did not know, and he did not look in her direction. His business for the moment was with the scoundrel who had molested her.

"You seem to have had enough," he said at length to the dishevelled Straus, but he got no reply.

He waited for several moments then he spoke again. "Unless you are prepared for another round, you had better clear out. This is not a healthy place for a brute of your description."

Straus lifted his head and glared his hate, but no word escaped his swollen lips.

"Your appearance is lovely," Jasper taunted, "and the tattooing quite effectively done, but unless you make tracks in a hurry I shall be tempted to smash every rib in your vile carcase."

Straus got to his feet unsteadily and staggered for his hat which was some distance away. He placed it gingerly on his head, and then caught sight of Enid who was standing with her arm round a tree.

Her smile of triumph seemed to be the last straw. With a muttered curse he swung round on his heel and made off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Chapter 22

Playing the Game

WHEN Straus disappeared behind the trees, Jasper turned his attention to Enid. He felt ridiculously shy and almost painfully nervous. She would thank him of course for his timely aid, and he did not want to be thanked. It was quite enough for him that she was safe and had suffered no harm. He was grateful beyond measure that he had been able to render her a service ‒ nobody would ever know how grateful he felt ‒ but surely he had only done what any other man would have done in the circumstances.

He had been on his way back from the Downs, and as usual was taking a short cut across a comer of the wood, when he heard her cry. That it was a cry of distress he felt certain ‒ a woman's cry. Instantly he had taken a beeline in the direction whence the sound came.

When he reached the clearing his heart seemed to miss a beat. He took in the situation in a moment, and the blood leaped in his veins in a passion of fury such as he had never known. He had heard of people "seeing red." Well, he saw red ‒ blood red. Never before in his life had he wanted to kill a man ‒ but he wanted to kill now.

For the first time he realized beyond the shadow of a doubt that this woman was more to him than all the world besides ‒ that without her, life would be worthless and meaningless. There was no time for reason or reflection. He loved her ‒ loved her with all the strength and passion of his soul. The fact had leaped into life with the swiftness of a lightning flash. It overwhelmed him with its immensity, and to see this woman in the arms of a brute like Straus had driven him to madness. It was a madman's blow straight from the shoulder that crashed into Straus's cheek and jaw and felled him to the ground.

Then the madness passed, and he became strangely cool and collected. He saw Enid stagger away and half hide herself behind a tree, but he no longer worried himself about her ‒ she was safe. He felt in a strangely exalted mood. He was prepared to meet single-handed a whole army of such brutes as Straus.

Now, however, that Straus had slunk away out of sight like a whipped cur, he was seized with nervousness. He felt shy and awkward. How could he face this young woman whom he loved? How could he hide the fact that would make him ridiculous in her eyes?

He approached the tree against which she stood, and to which she still clung, slowly and hesitantly. She was trembling still ‒ trembling violently from head to foot. He wanted to take her in his arms ‒ wanted to comfort her. She met his glance with a smile, and then her eyes filled.

"Oh, Mr. Blake," she gasped as if fighting for her breath, "how ... how can I ever ... ever thank you?"

"Please don't try," he said unsteadily. "I did only‒‒"

"It was ... splendid of you," she interrupted, still gasping out her sentences. "Oh, how I envied you your strength."

"I think I would have killed him if you had asked me," he laughed.

"I am almost afraid I wanted you to kill him," she faltered, "but I am glad you didn't."

And then the reaction set in. She seemed to lose grip of herself. Her knees gave way, and she sank slowly to the ground.

He caught her with his one arm before she fell, and then sat down by her side with his back to the tree and laid her head on his lap. He did not know what else to do. He felt bewildered and helpless. A deathly pallor stole over her face. Her lips became livid, her arms and hands lay limp and inert by her side.

In his more or less adventurous life he had been in many awkward predicaments, but this was the strangest and most wonderful he had ever known. To call for help was useless. To go in search of it impossible. He did not suppose for an instant that she was going to die, or that she was even seriously ill. It was just the reaction after the tense moments of horror through which she had passed, and his anger flamed up again against Leopold Straus. He almost regretted not breaking his neck.

In the meanwhile, however, what was he to do? That the situation had its compensations he admitted. To be nursing this head on his lap thrilled him with an ecstasy unlike anything he had ever known before, and yet her deadly pallor stabbed him like a knife. He wanted to crush her to his breast, to kiss warmth back to those bruised lips. The temptation was great. She would never know, and such a chance would never come again.

If eyes could kiss, he kissed her a hundred times, but he would not let his lips touch her. That would not be fair. Slowly the colour began to steal back to her lips and face. Then her eyelids fluttered and opened.

"It's you," she whispered, and sat up, while the blood rushed in a torrent up into her neck and face.

"You are feeling better?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, I am all right," she said, without looking at him. "Did I faint? How stupid of me. I was afraid I might. I felt so strange. And you have been nursing me?" And she tried to laugh.

"I would have gone for help," he said humbly, "but I did not like leaving you alone."

"That is good of you," she replied, still looking away. "You won't leave me, will you?"

"Certainly not," he answered promptly. "That is, if you are afraid of being left alone."

"Oh, I am afraid," and she turned on him with a look of pleading in her eyes. "Terribly afraid."

"I can assure you," he said, with a poor attempt at a laugh, "that you need not concern yourself about Straus any more. That brute is down and out."

"Oh, I am not so sure. He is like a snake. He comes unawares."

"Other people come unawares sometimes," he said with a laugh, and he sprang to his feet and held out his hand to her. "Do you think you can stand?"

"I think so," she smiled. "I will try, anyhow," and she placed her hand in his.

A moment later she was on her feet and looking gratefully into his eyes. He kept her hand in his for a considerable time, and she made no attempt to draw it away. She felt as though his strength flowed up her arm and strengthened the beating of her heart.

"Now we will have to make a move for the Grange," he said, when she had steadied herself and straightened her hat and hair.

"You won't mind?" and she darted an enquiring look at him.

"Mind?"

"You have avoided the Grange lately, you know."

He did not reply for a moment. Life seemed to be full of pitfalls and temptations. Yet it would be foolish to tell her the truth. She would probably scorn him if she knew. No, he would have to play the game, and yet a pretty woman in her innocence and ignorance might play the very....

"I am going there today, anyhow," he said abruptly, "unless you would prefer to try to walk alone."

"Which I don't prefer," she laughed lightly. "I feel as weak as a kitten, and as tired as though I had walked twenty miles."

"You must cling to my sound arm as best you can," he said seriously.

She clung to his arm desperately, and staggered away by his side. After a while she halted. "Would you mind putting your arm round me?" she faltered timidly.

"Mind...?"

"My head is still swimming," she smiled faintly, "and the path keeps bobbing up and down like a ship in a storm."

His arm was round her in a moment: close and warm and throbbing. Life was a funny mixture, but for the moment it was delightful.

"That is better," she whispered, snuggling close to him. He made no reply. He was too little master of himself to trust himself to speak.

He almost hurt her sometimes, so tightly did he press her, but she did not protest. Now and then when the road was rough he lifted her off her feet. She forgot her weakness, sustained by his strength.

Jasper made no attempt to analyse his emotions. He felt like a man in a dream. Everything was unreal ‒ impossible. It couldn't be true of course that he had his arm round Enid Courtney's waist, that she was snuggling close to his side. The scent of her hair was in his nostrils, her warmth permeated his whole being. He wanted to laugh. The situation was so delightfully and deliciously comic that there seemed no other way of expressing what he felt.

Fortunately, perhaps, for him there was a serious side. If this was comedy, it meant tragedy for him later on. Nothing but trouble and heartache could come of this infatuation. This strange, close, intimate walk down through the wood would mean nothing to her ‒ it would pass out of her memory like a dream, but to him....

As they drew near the house they saw Sir Wilfrid in the porch. Directly he caught sight of them he hurried down the steps and came to meet them. He realized in a moment that something had happened.

"My darling," he called, "what is the matter? Are you ill?"

"I'm all right, father," she answered with a wan smile. "I've had a fright, that's all."

"A fright?" he answered, and peered closely into her face, then he linked his arm in hers and she walked between the two into the house.

"It's frightfully silly of me," she said, dropping into an armchair. "I'm not hurt in the least," and she passed her hand over her lips which were already beginning to swell. "I think I'll go to my room and leave Mr. Blake to explain."

Sir Wilfrid looked troubled but forbore to ask questions just then. Jasper was not too pleased that she had thrown the burden of explanation on him. He wanted to get away as quickly as possible ‒ wanted to be alone. There was so much to think over. It seemed to him as if all the plans he had made for his immediate future would have to be altered.

He stood with his back to the door and watched while Sir Wilfrid and Mrs. Parsons helped Enid upstairs. On the first landing she paused for a moment and looked back, and the smile she gave him seemed to turn his heart upside down. He wondered if she had guessed his dilemma, and was sorry for him.

He walked across the hall to a couch and sat down. He noticed that the table was set for tea, the kettle was bubbling above the spirit lamp. Two cups and plates were on the silver tray. Evidently Sir Wilfrid had been waiting for his daughter to come to tea.

The simple elegance of the surroundings seemed to soothe his frayed nerves. Nothing had been changed since he left. It was undoubtedly pleasant to be back again, if only for an hour. After the crude furnishings of his room at the Rotherick Arms this richly wainscoted apartment was like the beauty of springtime after the desolateness of winter.

Vaguely he began to wonder what was to become of him. What his future was to be like. He could not go back again to wooden shacks and sanded floors, and ugly and inartistic surroundings. Having seen the best, the worst could never again content him.

Not that he would ever want a place as big as Rotherick Grange. Two rooms might suffice if ... if....

The sound of footsteps behind the stairs brought him back to the present, and the next moment Parsons appeared with a teapot in one hand and a dish of toasted scones in the other.

Sir Wilfrid followed behind and took his place behind the tea tray. His face was grave and troubled. "You need not wait, Parsons," he said quietly, and the butler withdrew.

"I am sure you are ready for a cup of tea, Mr. Blake," he went on in the same quiet tones. "Later we can talk."

Jasper drew a chair up to the table and helped himself to a scone. He felt perfectly at ease, as he generally did with the baronet. The phantom of social position kept its ugly face out of sight. Neither was conscious of inferiority or superiority. They were Englishmen both.

Jasper drank two cups of tea and demolished two scones in silence. Sir Wilfrid sipped his tea mechanically. He did not attempt to eat.

"This is a case for the Assizes," he said at length.

"Then she has told you?"

"A bare outline. She is terribly upset."

"That is not surprising."

"No. What a fortunate thing you were near. You really seem to be our good providence, Mr. Blake."

"Anyone, of course, would have done what I did."

"Perhaps. My daughter feels that she owes her life to you. I feel that she owes you more than life, and even in her innocence she seems to understand Straus's full intentions in the woods, when he told her no one else would want her. Would you mind giving me your version of the story?"

Jasper passed lightly over his own performance, but waxed almost eloquent in describing Enid's pluck and grit and strength.

"You seem to have punished him pretty severely." Sir Wilfrid smiled. "My little girl thinks you almost killed him. She seems to have enjoyed that part of the business."

"He was rather a sorry sight when he slunk away out of sight." And Jasper laughed.

"The situation created is a very serious one," Sir Wilfrid ventured after a long pause. "I should be grateful if you would remain with me for the evening and help me to consider it. What do you say?"

Jasper glanced down at his grey tweeds, and hesitated.

"Never mind clothes," Sir Wilfrid went on. "Enid will not come down to dinner. You and I can dine just as we are. There are a lot of things I want to talk to you about. I have far more faith in your judgment than I have in my own."

Jasper blushed and consented to stay.
Chapter 23

A Crisis

WHEN Straus reached the end of the wood, he looked right and left along the high road. Fortunately no one was in sight, so he crossed the road quickly and climbed the hedge on the opposite side into a field, and hid himself behind a bank of furze and brambles. In his present bruised and dishevelled condition he dared not venture along the high road in the daylight. He would have to wait until it was dark.

Pushing himself back as close to the hedge as possible, he tried to review the situation. That he had made a mess of things was clear ‒ a most infernal mess.

"That she will blab now is certain," he reflected dismally. "That blundering fool has spoiled my game again. Pity I didn't kill him. If he hadn't appeared on the scene she wouldn't blab, she would be glad enough to keep silent. Ay, and glad enough to marry me, for no one else would want her. Now, of course, it's all up with me, unless I cut and run. It will mean twelve months hard if it means a day. Two years very likely. What a mess."

He raised his head suddenly and pricked up his ears. Footsteps were approaching along the road on the other side of the hedge, then the sound of voices fell on his ears. A little later he heard distinctly what was being said.

"There ain't no manner of doubt to my mind who tried to kill 'im."

"You mean that there Straus?"

"Who else? He's got a pull on the Squire by all accounts. Lent 'im money, and wants Squire's little maid in payment. And if Blake finds the lode then 'is gun is bust."

"'Tes common talk that 'e was seen a- loiterin' in the wood that very afternoon."

"I know.... I caant understand Blake not settin' the p'lice on 'im."

"Bidin' 'is time very likely."

"Oh well, we shall see what we shall see." The voices grew fainter and fainter and died away into the distance.

Straus crushed himself closer to the hedge and seemed to shrink into himself. The perspiration came out in big drops on his forehead and rolled down his scratched and bloodstained face.

"I'm done," he muttered to himself. "They suspect me after all, and I thought...."

He fingered his loosened teeth gingerly, and spat with difficulty. The situation was much worse than he had imagined.

"Between the two it will be seven years," he reflected. "What an infernal mess I have made of things."

He hugged his knees and edged himself further into the shadow of the furze bank.

"It isn't likely they will do anything tonight," his thoughts ran on, "but tomorrow they'll have a warrant out for my arrest, and then I'm finished."

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead again, and inwardly groaned. How was he to get away in his present condition? His appearance would attract attention anywhere. His lips were bruised and swollen, his cheeks furrowed with deep scratches, his left eye, in common parlance, bunged up. He might just as well give himself up to the police at once as remain at Polgarrick.

By the time it had grown dark, his mind was made up. The mail train left St. Ivel soon after eleven p.m. If he could catch it, he would be in London soon after six in the morning. Once there, he would be safe. He had one or two friends he could trust. He could change his name if necessary. Could disguise himself and slip away to France or Spain. Could remain in hiding until the storm had blown over. It would entail loss, of course, and be frightfully inconvenient, but anything would be better than being tried for assault and attempted murder.

As soon as it was dark he struck out across the fields in the direction of Polgarrick. A few more rents in his clothes would not matter ‒ nothing mattered so long as he got clear out of Cornwall before morning.

During the evening. Sir Wilfrid discussed the situation frankly with Jasper Blake, and both agreed that Straus should be prosecuted, as the phrase had it, with the utmost rigour of the law.

After Jasper's departure, however, Sir Wilfrid had visited Enid in her room, and to his surprise he discovered that she was strongly and stubbornly averse to any public proceedings being taken.

"No, father," she said, "you don't realize what so much publicity would mean to me. I should hate it."

"But my dear child," he protested, "is such a scoundrel to be allowed to go unpunished?"

"He has been punished pretty well already." She smiled. "Mr. Blake saw to that."

"Oh, that is nothing," her father sniffed. "A couple of years of hard labour is what he should get."

"I agree that nothing is too bad for him," she answered, "but why should I punish myself in order to punish him? Think of what it would mean: the reporters, the paragraphs, the snapshots, the dragging into light of your dealings with him, the food that would be given for gossip and scandal, the cross-examinations, the innuendos, the suggestions. Oh, don't you see, father? It would be worse than living in a glasshouse with all the world staring at you."

Sir Wilfrid rubbed his chin slowly. "There is much in what you say, of course," he admitted after a long pause. "I confess I don't like the thought of my private affairs being dragged into the light, and yet it is hateful to think of a scoundrel like that going unpunished."

"He will not go unpunished," she answered quietly. "And after all he has done me no real harm. Perhaps good will come out of it," and she blushed ever so slightly. "We must try to look at the best side, and not the worst."

"Anyhow," he said, kissing her goodnight, "nothing need be decided until morning," and so he left her.

In the morning, however, he found her still of the same mind. She had slept badly and such sleep as she had, had been disturbed by frightful dreams. As a consequence she was unrested and slightly feverish. Bruises had also began to show on her cheek, and her lips were still swollen. Also, in her struggle she had so strained her muscles that it was a pain to move.

Sir Wilfrid started out on his walk to Polgarrick in a reflective condition of mind. He could not go against Enid's wishes, and yet he hated being baulked. At any rate if he could not prosecute, he could threaten. He could order the scoundrel to leave the county, and tell him that if he ever showed his face in the neighbourhood again he would have him arrested.

As he neared Polgarrick he felt more cheerful. At last he had got the whip hand. Straus had dominated him so long that it would be a joy to use the lash. The threats would now come from the other side. Sir Wilfrid began to chuckle in anticipation of the interview.

As he was about to push open Straus's gate he noticed a piece of white paper stuck on the post, on which was written in extremely crude lettering:

WHO THROWED THE KIBBLE DOWN THE SHAFT?

AX LEEPOLD STRAUS

"So," Sir Wilfrid reflected with lifted eyebrows, "I wonder how long this has been here, and how many people have read it? Won't he be scared when he sees it?"

Larkins, the butler, answered the door in response to Sir Wilfrid's ring. He looked troubled and anxious.

"I want to see your master at once," the baronet spoke sharply.

"He's not at 'ome, sir."

"Oh, indeed," and Sir Wilfrid's lip curled slightly. "Go and tell him that I am not to be put off. I demand to see him at once."

"It's God's truth I'm telling you," the butler answered humbly. "You can come into the house and look for yourself if you like."

"You assure me that he has gone away?"

"Last night, Sir Wilfrid. Griggs motored 'im over to St. Ivel an' 'e left by the last train. May I be struck dead if I'm not speakin' the truth."

"I'm not doubting your word, Larkins," Sir Wilfrid said in milder tones. "Did he say when he would be back again?"

"Not to me, sir; but 'e told Mrs. Treloar, the housekeeper, as 'e 'ad to leave sudden on impaartant business, and would be away a considerable time."

"I think that is quite probable." Sir Wilfrid smiled, and turning on his heel walked away.

On nearing the Grange he came face to face with Jasper Blake. "I have just called to enquire after Miss Courtney," Jasper said shyly.

"And I have just been to enquire after Mr. Straus." And Sir Wilfrid laughed.

Jasper looked puzzled.

"The scoundrel has taken fright and fled," Sir Wilfrid went on.

"But what induced you to call on him?" Jasper asked.

"Come back into the house and I will tell you all about it." Sir Wilfrid smiled, and took Jasper by the arm and led him back.

Later in the day, Jasper strolled slowly and pensively through the wood and on to the Downs. It was clear to him that he had reached a crisis in his life. He had almost given up hope of finding the lode, and it seemed to him the wisest thing he could do would be to cut his losses and clear out of the country. Rotherick had beaten him. Perhaps he had come in the wrong spirit and now he was being punished. It was one of life's little ironies that his experiment should end in heartbreak. Of course no one could have foreseen what had happened. When he came, he had no knowledge of Enid's existence, and even if he had, he would not have considered her for a moment. Only children and imbeciles cried for the moon.

He did not blame Enid. She could not help being what she was. She was beautiful and gracious and winning because nature had made her so. Neither did he blame himself. He had done his best to keep out of her way. He had fought the hardest battle he had ever known. It was just a combination of circumstances that had wrought all the mischief.

If she and her father had not returned to the Grange three days before they were due. If he had not been compelled to play host and show her attention. If he had not remained at Rotherick, held by the lure of the lost lode. If Straus had not tried to kill him, and she out of sympathy had visited him. And last, but most potent of all the factors, if he had not come to her rescue in the wood ‒ he might still have been comparatively heart-whole: but yesterday's adventure had been the last straw, and walking home with her had broken down his last defence.

He knew he admired her before, even reverenced her, but now he knew he loved her. It was not a bit of use trying to blind his eyes or harden his heart. He had got to face the truth and decide what, in the circumstances, he had better do.

That she cared for him in the way he cared for her, he did not believe for a moment. That she liked him and trusted him he knew, just as she liked and trusted Parsons or the gardener. He believed also that she was grateful to him. But love?

In her eyes he would be just a rough, uncultured, unpolished working man. He had no illusions on that point. How could he think otherwise, while she, on the other hand, was a lady to her finger tips?

To make matters all the worse, her father was indebted to him. And even if he had the courage, how could he ask her to be his wife under the circumstances? It would be taking an unfair advantage of her defenceless position. It would, in a way, be playing the part of Straus over again, and that he could never do.

If she were free and independent, if she had nothing to gain by accepting him, he might risk it. Why not? After all, he was a man and she was a woman. Also, such adventitious things as birth and rank counted for very little in the real value and meaning of life. At least, that was his view ‒ it was not likely, however, to be hers.

Looked at all round, it seemed clear that Rotherick had beaten him. He would carry on the search for another week, and if by that time the lode had not been discovered he would close down the works and clear out. He would be sorry, of course. Sorry for Sir Wilfrid and Enid, sorry for the men who were hoping for steady employment, sorry for himself. He had come to love the place and the people, and would regret breaking the pleasant ties that bound them together. But he had his own well-being to consider, his own peace of mind. To get away from Rotherick would not be cowardice, but plain commonsense.
Chapter 24

FOUND

ON the following afternoon, as Jasper was crossing the Downs, he saw Enoch Ladda running toward him as though a mad dog were at his heels. As a rule, Enoch was a leisurely moving individual. One of his favourite maxims being "More haste, worse speed." Hence to see Enoch with head down, and arms spread out like flails, sprinting in a beeline across hillocks of furze and heather, and making no attempt to find an easy path, produced in him a feeling of considerable surprise.

It was clear that Enoch saw no one, so waiting until he got within hailing distance Jasper called out, "Hello Enoch! Why all this hurry?"

"Glory be!" Enoch shouted, and pulled up suddenly. "I was goin' to fetch 'ee, Maaster Blake," he panted. "We've found 'er!"

"Found whom?" Jasper asked.

"Why, the lode! The lode!"

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I'm on this 'ere Downs this blessed minute."

"That's good," and Jasper felt the blood quicken in his veins.

"Good ain't nothin' to it," Enoch replied excitedly. "She'm a hundred times better'n good. A fair clinker she is," and Enoch pulled out of his pocket several splinters of rock. "Look at 'em," he cried eagerly. "Don't 'ee see the tin sparklin'? There ain't been nothin' like it since Wheal Tilley was discovered."

Jasper took one of the splinters with a hand that shook in spite of himself, and held it up to the light. He was not an experienced miner, but he believed he knew a bit of good ore when he saw it.

"It looks all right," he said, after a pause.

"Looks!" exclaimed Enoch. "I tell 'ee her be all right. Why that piece is more'n three thirds tin."

"Now you mustn't exaggerate, Enoch," Jasper laughed. He felt almost as excited as his foreman, and Enoch's excursion into fractions gave him the opportunity of letting his feelings have free play.

"Well, I'm purty an' glad to see 'ee laugh," Enoch grinned, "for you've been lookin' terrible glum lately."

"I've felt glum, Enoch," Jasper admitted. "I was thinking only a few minutes ago that we should have to give up the search as a bad job "

"An' now glory be we've vound 'er," Enoch broke in with a laugh. "My stars and stockin's, won't there be some rejoicin' in Rotherick tonight?"

"Don't let us be too premature," Jasper cautioned. "We shall need to have the ore tested, you know."

"Oh, but I've made a 'vanin' of it already," Enoch protested, "and I tell 'ee she's a corker."

"That may be all right," Jasper admitted, "but a water test is not enough. It'll have to be tried by fire."

"You can try 'er by thunder an' lightnin' and old Nick himself if you like," Enoch laughed. "I ain't been a miner all my life for nothin', an' a man must be a purty bufflehead not to know tin when 'e sees it."

"The best of men are sometimes deceived," Jasper said quietly. "Don't let us shout too loudly until we are absolutely certain we are out of the wood."

By this time they were nearing the centre "shoading" pit.

"We've cleared 'er back so that you can 'ave a good look at 'er," Enoch explained. "The men 'ave been workin' like 'osses, an' I've been that excited I've 'ardly been able to keep from bustin'."

Jasper descended cautiously to the bottom of the pit and there found a clean uneven surface of solid rock. That it was a lode of some kind was plain to the most unpractised eye. The sides of the pit were earth and rubble. Beneath his feet was hard, close-grained rock. Thin, and almost imperceptible fissures crossed and recrossed it in all directions. Already the miners by the use of pick and "gad" had broken up large chunks of it which they presented to Jasper for inspection.

"It looks good," he remarked quietly, "but don't let us shout too soon."

He had great difficulty in keeping excitement out of his voice. So much hung in the balance. So many hopes were at stake that he was afraid to trust his own judgment or the judgment of the men. If the lode should prove worthless, the disappointment would be almost too bitter to be borne.

"We must get the stuff assayed as soon as possible," he went on. "It won't take you long to get a barrowful of it to the surface, and then we'll cart if off to the assayers. By tomorrow this time we ought to know for certain."

"And don't you want us to talk about it till tomorrow?" Enoch asked.

"I will leave it to your own judgment," was the slow reply. "I would not like to raise hopes that may be disappointed."

"But this is the lode safe enough," the men replied in chorus.

"There can be no doubt that it is a lode," Jasper smiled, "but whether it is the lode...."

"Of course it is the lode," they all agreed. "Why, we've all worked in Wheal Tilley ourselves. The ore is alike as two peas‒‒"

Then a voice which Jasper recognised spoke to them from the surface, and looking up he saw the face of Cap'n Tom Nancarrow bending over them.

"So you've found her, I hear?" Cap'n Tom called down cheerily.

"We think so," Jasper answered. "Come down and tell us what you think."

In a few minutes Nancarrow was amongst them examining carefully the splinters of rock. Jasper watched him with fast beating heart.

"Let's get to the top where the light's better," Cap'n Tom said presently.

They all followed him up the ladder without a word. Cap'n Tom took a small magnifying glass out of his pocket and slowly examined one splinter after another.

"Well?" Jasper asked at length. His patience was getting exhausted.

"It's the Wheal Tilley lode all right," Captain Tom answered confidently, and he went on examining the ore through the glass.

"But is there any tin in her?" Jasper asked eagerly.

After a few more moments Nancarrow looked up with a smile. "I say, Blake," he said, "how much will you take for your share in her?"

"Then you think she's all right?" Jasper demanded impatiently.

"Couldn't you name a figure?" Cap'n Tom laughed tantalisingly.

"Not today," Jasper smiled.

"Anyhow I congratulate you," Cap'n Tom went on. "And I must say you deserve your luck. You've put up a plucky show for your money."

"I've been suggesting that we should say nothing about it until we have had the stuff assayed," Jasper said hesitatingly. "I don't want to shout too soon."

Cap'n Tom laughed again. "Oh, get it assayed by all means," he said. "You'll know then the exact amount of tin she bears to the ton, but it's tin all right, my boy. You may take my word for that, and what is more, there is plenty of it."

Jasper walked slowly back through Rotherick wood in a jubilant mood. He had come so near to failure that success was doubly sweet. The first thing he had to do was inform Sir Wilfrid. Before the day was out the news would be all over the parish, and the baronet would think it strange if he was not the first to be informed.

A cool wind shivered the tree tops, shaking showers of brown leaves to the ground. The pale October sun sent long slanting rays between the tall trunks, streaking them here and there with gold. Most of the birds appeared to have already taken their departure, and the only sound to be heard was the cry of the wind.

Jasper paused for a moment when he reached the clearing, and his anger rose when he thought of Straus's escape. If he had suspected that Enid would refuse to prosecute, he would have bunged up both his eyes and loosened more of his teeth.

Then his thoughts turned to what had followed. That walk to the Grange he would never forget. Surely no other woman in England was so fair and sweet and gracious. How glad she would be when she heard the news. He did not suppose that he would actually see her. From what he had heard the previous morning she was likely to keep in her room for several days, but he knew that their straitened means had been a constant worry to her, and he guessed how much she missed the things she had once enjoyed.

It seemed to him as he neared the house that his chief pleasure in finding the lode lay in the fact that she would be made happy ‒ that she would be able to gratify all her wishes, and purchase anything on which she set her heart.

As far as he was personally concerned the discovery of the lode made no difference in a material or monetary sense. He rejoiced because other people rejoiced. Apart from that, there was nothing.

Parsons opened the door to him and beamed all over his face. He had conceived a great affection for Jasper, and regarded him more or less as his protégé.

"Sir Wilfrid is out," he said, "but he will be back again in a few minutes. Will you step this way, sir," and he threw open the drawing room door.

Jasper entered, hat in hand, expecting to find it empty. The next moment a wave of delight swept over him. The brightness of summer skies seemed suddenly to fill the room, the breath of flowers was all about him. He seemed to feel Enid's presence before he saw her.

She advanced to meet him a little shyly, a warm blush mantling her cheeks. She could not forget that walk back through the wood, and how she had asked him to put his arm round her.

She placed her hand in his but did not let it remain there, nor did she meet his eyes with the old frankness and candour. He was conscious in a moment of a subtle change in her manner and bearing. She seemed to be self-conscious and not quite at her usual ease. And he, being without knowledge or experience of the ways of women, and being absurdly conscious of his own limitations and defects, jumped at once to the wrong conclusion.

Instantly he stiffened, but not with any sense of annoyance or anger. Nothing that she might do or say could be wrong in his eyes. If she chose to keep him at a distance she was perfectly justified in doing so. Evidently she regretted the intimacy of two days ago.

The colour quickly faded from her cheeks and he noticed that there were dark rings under her eyes, and yet to his fancy she had never looked so adorable.

"I hope you are feeling nearly all right again," he said a little awkwardly.

"Oh, yes, thank you," she smiled, "but won't you take a seat. Father has walked across to Trelowry to see a tenant. He will be back again in a few minutes."

He dropped into an armchair and placed his hat on his knee. For a few moments there was a rather strained silence; then he said abruptly, "I came across to tell Sir Wilfrid that we have found the lode."

Instantly her face brightened, her eyes shone, her whole being seemed to become animated. "No! Really? How splendid." The words came out in rapid succession. "Oh, Mr. Blake, what a good angel you are."

"Scarcely that," he smiled a little dourly. "I am glad, however, for everybody's sake that‒‒"

"Father will go off his head with delight," she interrupted eagerly. "What a fortunate thing it is you ever came to the Grange."

"Do you think so?" he asked. He felt it was an utterly foolish remark directly the words had passed his lips.

She flushed slightly. "I mean for us," she replied. "For father and for me. Of course you have suffered‒‒"

"Oh, that is nothing," he answered, and then the door opened and Sir Wilfrid came into the room.

Enid sprang to her feet and went to meet him. "Oh, father," she cried, "Mr. Blake has brought word that the lode has been found."

"No!" he gasped, and then he turned to Jasper. His eyes seemed to blaze with excitement, "Is it true, Blake?"

"Perfectly true, Sir Wilfrid."

Ten years seemed to fall away from the baronet in as many seconds. He squared his shoulders, threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, this is fine," he chuckled. "Splendid. You have no doubts?"

"None. I thought at first of keeping the news from you until we had had the ore assayed. But Cap'n Tom has seen it, and he vouches for it that it is the Wheal Tilley lode. It is also rich in tin."

Sir Wilfrid turned suddenly to Enid and kissed her on both cheeks, then he shook hands with Jasper a second time, and finally walked to the window and began to blow his nose with extreme violence.

He came back after a few minutes with both hands extended. "Excuse me, Blake," he said, "but I hardly know whether I am awake or dreaming. This sudden lifting of the burden has made a child of me," and he pulled out his handkerchief and began to blow his nose again.

Enid looked on and said nothing, but her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"You will stay to dinner, Blake," Sir Wilfrid went on, turning to Jasper again. "You must stay. There is so much to talk over."

Jasper waited for a moment to see if Enid would second the invitation, but she did not speak.

"Thank you very much," he said, "but I must get back. Goodnight, Sir Wilfrid. Goodnight, Miss Courtney," and before they could reply he was gone.

As he walked down the long drive there was still a rich glow in the west, but for the moment at any rate all the glow had gone out of his heart.

Chapter 25

Cross Purposes

DURING the next few weeks Jasper had little time for brooding or introspection. The finding of the lode was not the end of his labours, but the beginning. Reports of the discovery got into the newspapers all over the country, and pressmen, financiers, and company promoters almost tumbled over each other in order to be first in the field.

Sir Wilfrid was almost overwhelmed ‒ not only by his good fortune, but by the good ‒ or bad ‒ advice he received on all hands. He could not work the lode himself ‒ he had no capital ‒ and Jasper was in no mood to undertake any further responsibility.

Had it been a coal seam, the black diamonds could have been dug out and sold on the spot, but a tin lode was a different proposition. The ore had to be crushed, and the tin separated from the waste by a series of ingenious and delicate contrivances. Then the raw tin would have to be taken away and smelted and turned into ingots before it could be of any use to the manufacturers. All of which meant the expenditure of a vast amount of capital.

Naturally, the workers of Rotherick wanted their wages to be going on with. There was the lode, rich in tin; and yet it was so much useless rock lying deep in the earth without capital to develop it. Machinery and gear of all kinds were needed. Engines, whims, shears, stamps, buddies, wracks, covers, strips, and a dozen other things which could not be had without a vast expenditure of money. Fortunately, there was a good deal of loose money in the country which labour wanted, and a good deal of labour that capital wanted, and so the two joined forces.

Sir Wilfrid, however, would do nothing off his own bat. Jasper had to be consulted before any step was taken, the older man leaning on the younger. Jasper in his turn sought expert advice both legal and commercial, and after a few weeks a company was formed with sufficient capital for all purposes.

Sir Wilfrid was paid a fixed sum, partly in cash and partly in fully paid-up shares. He was also made chairman of the company, with a salary attached. Jasper wanted nothing. This, however, did not suit Sir Wilfrid's book. Without Jasper, the lode would never have been discovered. To him everything was due, and the baronet constantly declared that he would remain his debtor as long as he lived. In the end Jasper made himself a director of the company, with a number of shares standing to his name.

One of Sir Wilfrid's first acts was to wipe off the mortgage which had burdened him so long. No one in Rotherick knew what had become of Straus, though most people agreed that he would never show his face in Cornwall again. His solicitors, Messrs. Trueman & Truscott, professed to be utterly ignorant as to his whereabouts. They had an idea that he might be in Brazil, but they were not certain. They had been given, however, power of attorney and were realizing his estate as opportunity arose.

Within a month after Straus's disappearance, Polgarrick had been sold by private treaty, and other properties he held were similarly disposed of.

Enid heard the news with a sigh of relief. At last a vague fear that had haunted her waking and sleeping was removed. She could go out into the woods again alone, or walk to the golf links, or trundle about the countryside in her motor car without any dread of being molested. Yet she was not happy. She saw Jasper nearly every day ‒ sometimes two or three times a day ‒ but they got no nearer to each other.

In many ways she was intensely modern. She cared as little about the conventions as most girls in her position, but there was one thing she would never do; she would never throw herself at the head of any man. Since that day in the wood when Jasper came to her rescue, she felt that she belonged to him. He had become more to her than everything else in the world. She was his for the asking ‒ but if he did not want her, that was the end.

While the company was being formed, there were constant meetings at the Grange ‒ bankers, solicitors, county magnates, members of parliament, and of course Jasper. No gathering of men was complete without him. She used to watch them sometimes as they stood together in the hall or out on the lawn. Now and then she caught the sound of Jasper's voice, and her heart thrilled in spite of herself.

How easily he carried himself. If manners were a trick, it was a trick he had quickly learned: but of course manners were more than a trick. She had felt from the first that Jasper was naturally fine. With women he might be shy and self-conscious, but with men he forgot himself. A man might be a duke or a lord, a farmer or a miner ‒ it made no difference. Japer Blake judged men not by their clothes or by their titles; he had an almost uncanny insight into character, and if he disliked a man he gave him a wide berth.

He and Sir Wilfred had many an argument on the value of this man or that, and sometimes Enid was appealed to for her decision. Sir Wilfrid had profound respect for the aristocracy ‒ he believed in his own class. Jasper refused to consider class at all. If East Wheal Tilley, the name given to the new mine, was to be made the success they all desired, then the men at the head of it must be men of character and intelligence and experience.

Enid generally sided with Jasper, and then Sir Wilfrid would say no more; but these discussions often left Jasper with an uneasy feeling that he was regarded as belonging to an inferior order.

He did not complain. It was only natural. In many ways he was inferior ‒ at least from his own point of view. Enid, for instance, was miles above himself. It was as foolish to wish for her as to wish for a star. So the two played at cross purposes and with remarkable success.

Jasper cultivated an air of casualness that hurt Enid extremely, while she retired behind a mask of polite and smiling indifference which he had not wit enough to see through.

He was not the man, however, to wear his heart upon his sleeve. He went no less frequently to the house, and often assumed a cheerfulness that he was very far from feeling. Sir Wilfrid still leaned on him as though he were an elder brother. He had begun by calling him Mr. Blake, then he dropped the mister, and latterly he had taken to calling him Jasper.

Profoundly as the baronet believed in his own order, nothing could exceed his admiration and respect for Jasper. In a vague way he felt that Jasper stood apart ‒ that he was in a class of his own, that he was an exception that proved the rule, that he stood head and shoulders above most men, whatever their order might be. So he took him to his heart without any reservations or provisos.

He had been his good providence from the first. He had come to believe lately that Jasper was an answer to his prayers. He had saved him, saved Enid, saved the whole parish from a steadily growing depression. If he had been given a son he would have liked him to have been a man of Jasper's type: clean, strong, level-headed and courageous.

One day in a sudden impulse he said, "I wish you were my son, Jasper."

And Jasper answered with equal suddenness, "I wish I were."

And there the matter ended. No more was said by either of them.

When the company was duly formed and all the details settled, Sir Wilfrid gave a dinner to which he invited all the directors and their wives. Invitations were also sent to a number of county magnates and their wives. Those who had no wives brought daughters or sisters. It was rather a brilliant gathering. There was an earl, a viscount, a baronet (Sir Wilfrid) and three knights ‒ a remarkable proportion of titles for so small a company.

Enid played the part of hostess with almost more than her usual grace and charm. Jasper glanced at her occasionally out of the corner of his eye. He had never seen her with such a lovely colour or so beautifully gowned. She gave him but scant attention, but he told himself that it was quite as much as he deserved. She knew her place, and she was helping very gently to keep him in his. He had arrived at the very definite conclusion that she had guessed his secret, and she wanted to save him from unnecessary pain.

As he watched her moving among her guests before dinner was announced, he could not help comparing her with the other women in the room. It might be that love glorified her in his eyes, but surely in any eyes, however cold or critical, she was a woman in a thousand.

It was nothing strange that he had fallen in love with her. The strange thing would have been had he not done so. She was the kind of woman to wake in any man all that was highest and best. Neither did he regret that he loved her. There was a sense in which love was its own reward. It might be unrequited, and yet its flame cleansed and ennobled.

Enid darted a swift glance at him from time to time, and thought how well he fitted into the picture. All the old self-consciousness had left him. He appeared to be perfectly at ease. He had measured himself against other people and was no longer afraid. He was still a little shy, and rarely ventured on an opinion without being appealed to, but he knew his own mind, and was always quite frank and simple.

She was still puzzled ‒ very much puzzled. A few weeks ago she had felt certain that he loved her, and that only his modesty, or the fear of being snubbed kept him from a declaration. Now she doubted whether he had ever cared for her.

She had a smile for everyone, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with happiness, but at heart she felt sad and depressed. She wanted the man to whom she had given her heart. She was immensely proud of him. He seemed to her the most distinguished-looking man in the room, but it was not his looks that appealed to her, but his character. Nor was that all. There was something else ‒ something she could not define or explain. He was the one man she had ever wanted, the man she would give the world to win.

Jasper took the Hon. Mary Flood in to dinner. Her father was Viscount Fowey ‒ an insignificant-looking little man with a pinched nose and a wide mouth. The Hon. Mary was tall, brusque, and of uncertain age. She was a great talker, and of settled convictions. Jasper was a good listener and they got on very well together. She confided to her father as they drove home that she thought Mr. Blake a very intelligent man.

Enid was monopolised by the one and only earl, whose admiring glances made Jasper feel he wanted to punch his head.

Sir Wilfrid was in his element. He was able to entertain once more ‒ to play his part as a country gentleman. Moreover, as the chairman of the new company, he occupied a position such as he had never known before.

When the ladies had retired to the drawing room, East Wheal Tilley naturally came up for discussion, and Jasper was drawn into the talk. He would much rather have been left out of it. He was losing interest in the subject. While the lode remained undiscovered the spirit of adventure kept his interest alive. Now that it was found and its quality proved, it no longer beguiled him. The interest was in the chase, not in the find.

He felt that from nearly every point of view the evening had been a great success. The dinner had been excellent and beautifully served: the guests without exception had treated him with the greatest respect: the talk had been pleasant and stimulating; and now as he walked home through the long drive he felt that his experiment had come to its inevitable end.

Taking possession of Rotherick Grange had been a risky experiment, but on the whole it had turned out well. He had learnt much, had widened his horizon, had found his feet, had made friends, but....

Life, he knew alas, was strewn with "buts." They were the barbed wire that trailed across every pleasant land, the weeds that peeped up in every garden, the bitter drop that lurked in the bottom of every cup.

Clearly the time had come for him to make a fresh start. But where, and in what direction?

Chapter 26

(Last Chapter)

Postponed

AFTER much cogitation, Jasper decided he would travel. He had seen very little of his own country, and of the continent nothing at all. Rotherick could do very well without him, and it was quite time he left it. He would never get over his heartache while he remained.

Sir Wilfrid would miss him he knew, but Sir Wilfrid would be all the better if left to his own resources. Also he was not the only director, and the new manager was quite capable of looking after the new mine.

As for Enid, he had little doubt she would feel relieved when he was out of the way. She was clear-eyed, and he was a blundering fool at best. He had done his best to hide his secret, but the chances were ten to one that she had read him like a book. That would explain the change that had come over her. He loved her none the less for letting him down so gently, but rather the more, and he expected he would go on loving her to the end of his days.

It was possible, however, that time would blunt the keen edge of his desire. Seeing her so constantly had no doubt ripened his passion, as the sunshine ripens fruit. When he could no longer see her ‒ when the sunshine was withdrawn ‒ perhaps his love like fruit would shrivel or fall from the tree.

He began making preparations at once. As he could speak neither French nor Italian, he wrote to a Travel Agency in London for particulars about personally conducted tours. Then he went to St. Ivel and purchased a fur-lined overcoat and rug. His idea was first to sample the winter sports in Switzerland, then make his way to Egypt or Algiers, and return through Spain and France.

Somewhere in his native country he meant to settle down. He wanted to experiment in roses and in fruit growing. He had no desire to make more money. He had quite enough ‒ but he did want to make a home. He might be able to buy a place ‒ not so big as Rotherick Grange, but large enough to keep him occupied. He wanted lawns and gardens and a few acres of grassland.

Of course all that implied getting a wife, and as he could not get the best, he would have to be content with the second best ‒ someone in his own station who would not patronise him or look down on him. He had seen a lot of nice girls in Rotherick ‒ farmers' daughters mostly ‒ fairly well educated, domesticated, and healthy. It ought not to be difficult to persuade some nice girl he met on his travels to marry him.

His preparations did not take long to complete. The first stage of his journey would be to London, where he would spend a few days, and then decide where he would spend the winter.

The afternoon previous to his intended departure he walked across to the Grange to say goodbye to Sir Wilfrid and Enid. He had seen nothing of them for several days, and was rather surprised that the baronet had not either called on him or sent for him. He meant to say very little about his plans, and make his leave-taking as formal as possible.

It wanted but ten days to Christmas, and there was a nip of frost in the air. A keen north wind whistled through the bare trees, and only a few chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies bloomed in the gardens. He felt depressed, in spite of every effort to keep up his spirits. He had come to say goodbye formally, but it meant farewell. The chances were he would not come back again.

No good could come of tearing open old wounds. He hated the thought of never seeing Enid again today. She was the woman of his dreams. She realized all his ideals as no other woman had ever done or ever could do. He loved to look at her. She seemed to him the fairest thing God ever made.

Parsons received him as usual with every sign of welcome. "You are almost a stranger," he smiled, "and Sir Wilfrid is not back yet. He went the day before yesterday to St. Gwynifer to see his only sister who has been taken ill."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"Miss Enid is in the drawing room, as you can hear," and he smiled again.

"Yes, I can hear."

She was playing one of Brahm's variations ‒ a thing of wonderful harmonies. Jasper moved nearer to the door to listen.

Her greeting was quite formal when at length he went into the room. She swung round on the music stool and a lovely colour dyed her cheeks.

"Oh, it's you," she said simply, and she rose to her feet and held out her hand. "Parsons will have told you that father is away?"

"Yes. I am sorry," and he kept her hand in his for several seconds.

"I will order tea at once," she went on. "You will be ready for a cup of tea. Isn't it frightfully cold?"

"Not in here," he smiled, and he glanced at the big fire of logs that was crackling in the grate.

"I dislike the cold," she replied. "I wish sometimes that I could winter in a warmer climate. Egypt for instance, or even the Riviera."

Jasper's heart gave a thump. If ... if ... but he made no reply.

Over tea they talked lightly of trivial things. She was sweet and gracious, and yet a little shy. She seemed to avoid meeting his eyes, and he noticed that she glanced at her small wrist watch more than once. Perhaps she was impatient for him to take his departure.

When Parsons had removed the tea tray and replenished the fire, he said casually, "I came across to say goodbye. I am going away tomorrow."

She looked up with a start of surprise. "Going away?"

"I think I need a change," he said, with a wry smile. "I've done about all I can do here."

"You don't mean that you are going away for good?" And her eyes widened.

"I think so," he answered slowly, without looking at her. "Yes, I think so.... You see‒‒"

"But surely, Mr. Blake, you will not leave all your friends in the lurch," she interrupted. "Father will feel lost, and really‒‒"

"Everything is shipshape now," he said uneasily, "and I can assure you I am no longer needed."

"Oh, but you are," she said impulsively. "Father will be terribly grieved "

"I am sorry not to be able to say goodbye to him," he went on looking steadily at the fire. "You see, I came here for four months and I have been nearly eight "

"But why go away at all?"

He did not answer for some time. He sat with his hands clasped round his right knee, staring at the fire. He had not the courage to look at her. "Why go away at all?" The question seemed to echo and re-echo through his brain. Should he tell her? He felt her eyes were on him. She was waiting for his answer.

He wanted to spring to his feet and take her in his arms and kiss her. That, of course, was nothing new. He had wanted to do it a hundred times. It was what he had been afraid he might do for weeks past, and today she seemed particularly sweet and alluring. But no, she trusted him, and he must not fail her. He would like her to think well of him always.

He stirred uneasily in his chair and raised his eyes slowly. "That is rather a large question," he said unsteadily, "and I fear my reasons would not interest you."

"But indeed they would," she answered promptly. "Are we not friends?"

"I hope so.... yes ... yes ... you and your father have been most kind...."

"Kind?" she said impatiently. "If it is merely a question of kindness, it has been all on your side."

"Oh, no," and he rose slowly to his feet. "I think I ... must be ... must be going now," he went on, jerking out the words with an effort. "You see, I have not quite ... quite finished my packing yet."

She made no reply, but the colour drained slowly from her face.

He looked for a moment towards the door, then he turned and held out his hand.

She placed her hand in his without a word, and for a moment they looked into each other's eyes. "You want to know why I am going away?" he said, as if speaking to himself.

"If you care to tell me." Her voice was low and tense.

Suddenly he caught her in his arms and almost before she knew what had happened his lips had found hers. He kissed her like a man whose soul was famished for love. His arms tightened round her so that she could scarcely breathe. She felt his heart beating against hers. How long he held her thus she did not know, neither did he.

He released her at length and drew away a step or two. "There," he said in a tone of defiance, "that is the reason. I love you and I couldn't help it. You can call me a coward if you like, and a beast. I don't care. You can't rob me of that kiss, nor the memory of it. It is mine for ever and ever, and I shall love you for ever and ever, though I never see your face again...."

He paused and looked at her. He felt reckless and defiant, and every nerve in his body was thrilling.

She did not speak. Her lips were a little apart. Her cheeks aglow, her eyes shining with a wonderful light.

"Why don't you order me to leave the house?" he said harshly. "Why don't you tell me that I have broken every rule of hospitality? That your scorn will follow me...."

"If you love me," she smiled, "is not that a reason why you should not go away?"

He drew his hand slowly across his forehead and looked at her with a bewildered expression in his eyes. He was unable even yet to grasp the situation. He felt he was deserving of nothing but scorn and contempt.

"But ... but..." he stammered.

"Perhaps you do not really love me," and she smiled again. "Perhaps you only‒‒"

"Not really love you?" he broke in. "Not love you? I'd go through hell for you. But you...?"

"You have never asked me," she said.

In a flash he comprehended. "You really mean‒‒?"

"Of course I do. How blind you have been. Now you may kiss me again if you want to."

As it happened he did want to, very much.

"Please don't smother me," she laughed at length. "And now, dear, is it not time you went back and finished your packing?"

He looked at her for a moment with devouring eyes, and kissed her again. Then he drew her to a big chesterfield couch and sat down by her side. "The packing can wait," he said joyously. "Everything can wait until you are ready, and then we'll go together ‒ round the world if you like. And won't we have a time!"

"Are you dissatisfied with the present?" she teased, with the light of laughter in her eyes.

"Dissatisfied?" And he drew her still closer to him. "Do you know, sweetheart," he said seriously, "I am almost afraid ‒ afraid that I shall wake up and find that it is all a dream. You are so wonderful, so beautiful, so far above me in every way."

"You dear, foolish boy, I am nothing of the sort."

"I am just a rough untutored bear," he went on.

She put her white hand over his mouth. "I love my bear," she whispered, "and I'm not going to let anybody call him names. I wouldn't have him a bit different, and I'm the happiest woman in the world."

For the next two or three hours, time stood still. The fire burned low in the grate but they did not heed it. The wind whispered softly through the chinks of the windows, but they did not hear. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked out the moments, but they were unconscious of their flight.

They talked, of course, as lovers have talked since the beginning of the world. They opened their hearts to each other in full confession. They held each other's hands through moments of exquisite silence. They dreamed of days to come when they would explore the world together.

Then the door opened quietly and Sir Wilfrid came in.

"Why, father," Enid exclaimed, springing to her feet, covered with blushes and confusion, "I did not expect you till dinner time."

"Well?" he asked slyly.

She glanced at her wrist watch. Then she laughed, and blushed more furiously than ever. "I have only ten minutes in which to dress," she twinkled. "Jasper will tell you all about it," and she was gone.

Dinner was postponed for half an hour, to which Jasper, being in no hurry to complete his packing, remained. When Enid came down, arrayed in her best, and beautiful as a dream, Sir Wilfrid kissed her affectionately and gave her his blessing.

THE END

Also by Silas K. Hocking: A Gamble with Life

White Tree Publishing Edition ISBN: eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-42-1

Another title by Silas K. Hocking is planned for later in 2019, early 2020.

White Tree Publishing publishes mainstream evangelical Christian literature for people of all ages. We aim to make our eBooks available free for all eBook devices, but some distributors will only list our books free at their discretion, and may make a small charge for some titles ‒ but they are still great value! All our books are fully typeset. No "photocopies" or bad OCR! Long sentences and paragraphs are broken into shorter lengths, and modern punctuation is used for easier reading. Many books are sensitively abridged.

White Tree Publishing publishes mainstream evangelical Christian literature for people of all ages. We aim to make our eBooks available free for all eBook devices, but some distributors will only list our books free at their discretion, and may make a small charge for some titles ‒ but they are still great value! All our books are fully typeset. No "photocopies" or bad OCR! Long sentences and paragraphs are broken into shorter lengths, and modern punctuation is used for easier reading. Many books are sensitively abridged.

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Christian Non-Fiction

All our books are in eBook format only, unless otherwise stated

Four short books of help in the Christian life:

Chris Wright

So, What Is a Christian?

An introduction to a personal faith.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7

Starting Out

Help for new Christians of all ages.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7

Help!

Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7

Running Through the Bible

A simple understanding of what's in the Bible.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5

Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

A Previously Unpublished Book

The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-5-7

Paperback ISBN: 9-780-9525-9563-2

Bible People Real People

An Unforgettable A-Z of Who is Who in the Bible

J Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-5-6

Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-4-0

Paperback ISBN 13: 9-780-9525-9564-9

Howell Harris

His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

From the Streets of London

to the Streets of Gold

The Life Story of

Brother Clifford Edwards

A True Story of Love

by Brother Clifford Edwards

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

Seven Steps to

Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-3-5

Seven Keys to

Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-2-3

English Hexapla

The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-1-8

Roddy Goes to Church

Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-0-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-1-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

Leaves from

My Notebook

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

William Haslam

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

White Tree Publishing New Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

Fullness of Power

in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

Faith that Prevails

The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-4-1

Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

Musings on Life, Scripture

and the Hymns

Marty Magee

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-1-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Also in full colour paperback

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

The Gospels and Acts

In Simple Paraphrase

with Helpful Explanations

together with

Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-9-6

Paperback ISBN: 978-0995454958

The Authority and

Interpretation

of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-9-6

Psalms,

A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN 978-0-9957594-2-8

The Christian's Secret

of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-6-6

Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

Real Religion

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-10-0

My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

Living in the Sunshine:

The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

Real Religion

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-10-0

I Can't Help Praising the Lord

The Life of Billy Bray

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-01-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-00-1

As Jesus Passed By

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-05-6

Real Religion

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-10-0

Rifted Clouds

Bella Cooke

All Three Parts

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-08-7

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-09-4

Building From the Top

William Haslam

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-12-4

Deeper Experiences

of famous Christians

James Gilchrist Lawson

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-15-5

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Christian Fiction

Many of these books are classic Christian romances that have been sensitively edited and abridged by White Tree Publishing for today's readers

A Gamble with Life

Silas K. Hocking

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-42-1

When it was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-0-3

Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

Una's Marriage

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-5-9

Miss Elizabeth's Niece

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

The Clever Miss Jancy

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

Freda's Folly

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-02-5

Sybil's Repentance

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-04-9

Sister Royal

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-03-2

At Aunt Verbena's

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-03-2

The Secret of Ashton Manor House

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-11-7

Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-6-1

Faith Harrowby

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-13-1

The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

Abridged Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-19350791-8-7

A Previously Unpublished Book

Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-4-1

A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

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Books for Younger Readers

(and older readers too!)

The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-8-9

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-8-1

The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-0-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5206386-3-8

The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-4-2

Paperback ISBN: 9781-5-211370-3-1

The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-1-6

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5497148-3-2

The Old House Adventure

The Fifth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-07-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-06-3

The Lost Island Adventure

The Sixth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-17-9

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-18-6

The Black Lake Adventure

The Seventh Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-28-5

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-27-8

The Hidden Room Adventure

The Eighth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-39-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-40-7

The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-2-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-6-5

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-0-5

The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-6-7

Mary Jones and Her Bible

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

The true story of Mary Jones's and her Bible

with a clear Christian message and optional puzzles

(Some are easy, some tricky, and some amusing)

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-0-9933941-5-7

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

The Holy Land Adventure

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

A time travel story, similar in format to Mary Jones

Exploring real events in the time of Jesus

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-912529-36-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-34-6

Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

A similar format to Mary Jones

Exploring the journey of Pilgrim's Progress

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9933941-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-6-3

Pilgrim's Progress

Special Edition

The original story retold

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-8-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-7-0

Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-9-4

Agathos, The Rocky Island,

And Other Stories

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-8-7

Please visit our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for full details on all these books, and their availability.

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