ordered a fly, and drove at once to the Priory. More than half that busy town of Rutsford belonged to the Carruthers. They were lords of the manor, masters of the soil. To them belonged also the fertile lands, the profitable farms, the hop gardens, and broad meadows that stretched between Rutsford and the Priory.

As the lawyer drove through this rich inheritance, his wonder increased.

What could possess any man blessed with such a birthright to place himself in so false and degraded a position?

Then the carriage entered the Ulverston woods, said by connoisseurs to be the finest and most picturesque in England. Such a glorious sight on this May evening as made the lawyer's heart beat, though many years had passed since the fountain of poetry flowed for him. The hawthorn and chestnut trees were all in flower; the maple and ash wore their most luxuriant foliage. The grand old oaks in their leafy boughs concealed myriads of singing birds; underneath the shade of the trees, the blue hyacinths stretched out like the waves of the azure sea, the violets hid their modest heads, great golden primroses shone like stars from the midst of green leaves. The air was sweet and warm; the music of the birds and the whispers of the wind were full of melody.

"A man possessed of all this," thought Mr. Forster again; "he must be mad."

Then the carriage stopped before the grand entrance of one of the most magnificent mansions in England. Ulverston Priory—whose beauty has been described, in prose and in verse, by pens more eloquent than mine.

"Is Lady Carruthers at home?" asked Mr. Forster of the stately old butler.

"My lady is at home, sir."

"Will you ask if it is convenient for me to see her? I have come hastily from London on important business."

With all the solemnity an old family retainer displays on such occasions, the butler led the way to the library.

"I will send your message to my lady at once, sir."

He went away and soon returned.

"My lady is dressing, but she will be with you in a few minutes." He placed a decanter of the famous Ulverston sherry on the table, and withdrew. Mr. Forster gladly helped himself to a glass. "I would take that or anything else to give me courage," he said to himself. "How am I to tell her? I know not."

In a quarter of an hour the door opened, and a stately lady, magnificently dressed, entered the room. She was very dignified, of queenly presence and bearing, with the remains of great beauty in her face.

She bowed most courteously to the lawyer, and held out her white, jeweled hand.

"Good evening, Mr. Forster," she said; "your visit has taken me by surprise. You are well. I hope?"

"Quite well, Lady Carruthers, myself. Quite well, I thank you."

But his manner was so confused, his face so flushed, that the stately lady looked at him in wonder.

"And my son, Mr. Forster! Have you seen him lately? Have you left him well?"

"He was in perfect health, Lady Carruthers, when I saw him last," replied the lawyer, stiffly.

"I am glad of it. I have no wish to complain, but I have not heard from my son lately. He has not time to write, I suppose."

"There will be no use in beating about the bush," the lawyer thought. "I had better speak plainly at once."

"Lady Carruthers," he said, "have you seen today's 'Times'?"

"No," she replied; "I have been so deeply engaged with visitors, I have really not opened it."

"Then I must ask you to prepare yourself for something very disagreeable. I wish I knew how to save you from the knowledge—but I do not."

The diamond necklace rose and fell as though she breathed heavily; her face grew quite white.

"Does it concern my son, Mr. Carruthers?" she asked.

"Alas, that I must say yes, Lady Carruthers," he answered; "I am not a man of sentiment, but I would give many years of my life to spare you this pain."

"Is he dead?" she asked, hoarsely.

"No, it is not so bad as that," he replied.

"Not death; and I know it is not disgrace. I can bear what you have to tell me, Mr. Forster."

He took both papers from his pocket and laid them before her.

"Read this paragraph first," he said; "and then this."

She did as he wished. When she read the second, her proud face flushed, and she drew her figure to its full height.

"What does this mean?" she said, contemptuously. "My son, Mr. Carruthers, charged with stealing a watch? What does it mean, Mr. Forster?"

"Lady Carruthers," said the lawyer, "it is true. I was in court when your son, under the name of John Smith, pleaded guilty to the charge of getting in the room belonging to Count Jules St. Croix, and I, myself, heard him sentenced to six months' imprisonment."

She sat for some minutes, silent, mute and motionless. Then in a low voice she asked: "Is he mad?"

"That was my first thought. It is some weeks since I had seen him, and yesterday morning a note was brought to my office, from a gentleman in court, telling me your son was in the dock. I hastened there and found it true. You may imagine how quickly I followed him and implored of him to tell me the mystery, for mystery I feel sure there is. Instead of looking ashamed of himself and miserable, he had a light in his face that puzzled me. I blamed him, told him the consequences—how his life would be useless to him after this, but he only smiled; my words made no impression on him; he evidently derived comfort and support from some source known to himself and no others."

"And is it possible?" asked Lady Carruthers, with ghastly face; "does he lie in prison now?"

"He does indeed, and there he must remain until the six months are ended."

CHAPTER V.

Lady Carruthers.

My lady rose from her seat with an air of almost tragical dignity.

"My son in prison!" she cried; "I cannot believe it. What has come over him? Can you explain the mystery to me, Mr. Forster?"

"I cannot—the only thing that occurs to me is that he has gone to this count's room for some purpose that he will confide to no one, and that he has taken the watch in his hands and was discovered with it. He asked me to tell you that the honor of the Carruthers sealed his lips."

"Did he say that—my Basil, Mr. Forster? If that be the case, rest assured—although I blush to say it—there is a woman in it. I can imagine Basil capable of suffering anything from a mistaken motive of chivalry. Do you know with whom Mr. Carruthers has chiefly associated since he has been in town?"

"I do not. I know that he has been in a very fast and fashionable set; he told me as much; also that he has spent a good deal of money. One check for three thousand pounds vanished in a day, and he gave no account of it."

"Three thousand pounds!" cried Lady Carruthers; "yet he neither drank, betted nor gambled."

"No," said the lawyer; "Mr. Carruthers told me he had never touched a card and never would. I know he did not care for betting."

The proud, anxious mother raised her eyes to the lawyer's face. "How, then, do you think he has got through it?"

"I cannot tell. You must pardon me, my lady, if I remind you that although I am family solicitor, agent and manager of the property, I am not the guardian of your son."

"I know," she said, clasping her hands. "I little thought he would ever need a guardian; he seemed all that was honorable and upright. I cannot imagine what has changed him. I regret so bitterly that I let him go to London alone."

"It is a terrible position," said the lawyer; "the only thing is to clear him as much as we can. The moment I read this I wrote an answer and sent it to the 'Times' to the effect that Mr. Carruthers had gone abroad."

A slight frown came over the delicate face.

"I implored Mr. Carruthers to write an indignant denial, and to let me go to Paris to post it, but he would