'eard Borlase barking savage-like last night, and I ups and slips quiet-like down from my room o'er the stables, and run through the paddock just in time to see the rogue on the other side of the 'edge. It was dark, squire, and I 'aven't the heye-sight I used to 'ave, and so I couldn't make un out who 'e was. This marning I looked around and found poor Borlase a-lying there and brought you word. That's all I knaws, only I 'opes the villain will be caught and 'anged."

"And did you see no person around the grounds late in the afternoon, George?" asked the parson.

"None, sir, except my nephe Bob, who comes hover to the stables to 'elp me in my work, now and then, but 'e always leaves afore evening. Now—as I think of it, Bob was a-telling me 'e 'ad seen Ande Trembath nigh the Prospidnic road gate, as 'e was going 'ome last night; 'e may 'ave seen the rogue and could tell you summat."

Blackness as of a thunder-cloud rolled across the old squire's features, and a purple stream of blood mounted and flushed his temples.

"Spawn of the traitor! He shall smart for it!"

"What a horrible oath! Squire, you are beside yourself," said the parson, with gentle, chiding reproof.

"Well, damme, parson, what's a man to do? Here's all these outrages, and it's perfectly clear to my mind, now, that that traitorous son of——"

"Tut, tut, fie, squire!"

"That that traitorous son of a traitor, knowing that I have the possession of the manor of his ancestors, which the King—God bless him—took from their family on account of their treason, that boy—don't interrupt me, Parson Trant—that boy is the culprit, and damme—I'll have him arrested for malicious mischief and trespass."

"Not so fast, squire. What evidence do you have except your own suspicions and the fact that the lad was seen nigh the Prospidnic road gate? If I know aught of law there's not sufficient evidence."

"There, there, you talk of law—as if a magistrate didn't know the law."

"Well, the evidence is lacking," said the parson, gently, though firmly, for he would not allow the squire to shake his confidence in his best pupil. "The lad has a good reputation, is a bright scholar in my parish school, and——"

"Well, well, we'll get more evidence," interrupted the squire, a little testily. "George, see that the dog is buried, and—here, hitch up the black mare for Mistress Alice; she's going out this morning."

The hostler paused, fingering his cap.

"I'm feared, squire, Queeny is a little huntrusty; she's been standing in the stall some time."

"What!—--"

The presence of the parson restrained the squire from saying more, but his flushed countenance spoke volumes. George saw it and, touching his cap, hastened off to obey.

"Here's a pretty pass things are coming to! Outrages committed daily, and my own servants in open rebellion, disputing my word."

"Come now," said the parson, gently, "he meant no harm and no disrespect, I'm sure. Suppose we go down to the lodge and see Pengilly."

Squire and parson wended their way across the gardens to the broad carriage-way and thence down to the main entrance of the manor estate, the latter talking and the former keeping down his temper as best he could in silence, until he became of a more quiescent frame of mind. In truth, the squire was inwardly regretting his outburst of temper, and the violent language he had used in the presence of his friend, the parson.

"Such a thing is possible but not probable. Ande has been the best scholar in the parish school and a model boy, so the master assures me. We must not condemn him too hastily and without being heard. His mother is a noble woman and has inculcated high principles in her training of the lad."

There was silence for a moment unbroken save by the crunch, crunch of the gravel underfoot and the twitter of bird overhead. Then the squire, sufficiently calmed, spoke.

"All very true, but envy and malice crop out even in the very best of characters; especially is it true in those who, having been deprived of high position, see others occupying that which was formerly theirs. They are apt to allow their feelings to bias their judgment."

"And are you sure that you, my old friend, are not doing the same thing?" said the parson, with a winning smile, referring to the last remark of the squire.

Squire Vivian flushed at this rejoinder.

"Well, we'll give the lad a fair chance; perhaps I was a trifle too hasty, but you well know, parson, that next to my Alice and you, I was extremely fond of Borlase, and naturally feel angry at his loss. I secured him when a puppy from an old friend, one of the Borlases of Borlase at St. Just. You know, to be sure, Dr. William Borlase, the scholar and antiquarian?"

"Aye, I have studied his works with interest."

"Well, I named the mastiff after him; the intelligence of that dog, parson, was phenomenal. Ah, here we are at the lodge."

The drive-way terminated at the entrance gate, a large affair of massive iron bars, fancifully and artistically wrought at the top into intricate curves and flourishes. Huge square pillars of Cornish moor-stone surmounted at the top with the Trembath arms—a Lyonnesse warrior galloping amidst ocean waves—flanked the gate on either side and gave it desired support. Why the squire, or his father, had not removed the arms of his predecessor, replacing them with his own, is hard to tell. The whole gateway stood out like fret-work upon the background of the squire's woods beyond the highway, woods and trees of ancient standing, as scrupulously cared for as the members of the squire's own household.

Within the gate and close on one side, lovingly environed by beds of blooming gilli-flowers and marigolds, and almost concealed by enveloping masses of English ivy that affectionately embraced its walls, was a small, neat, stone cottage that bore the dignified name of "the Lodge." A man, still in the prime of life, was labouring assiduously over some strawberry beds in the rear.

"Ned, this way, please," shouted the squire, and Ned Pengilly, who acted in the double capacity of gardener and porter, dropping his hoe, hastened to comply. There was independence and respect for his master admirably blended in the demeanour of the gardener, as he stood before parson and squire.

"Ned, did you see Ande Trembath nigh the place of late? We want you to freshen up your memory and tell us when and how often you have seen him about the place of late."

"Well, I seed him going through the Manor woods—yesterday; 'e was whistling a tune, bright and cheery-like, and bid me the time of day as 'e passed the gate. We all likes young Squire Ande, as we calls 'im—no offence, squire, I 'opes;—we all calls 'im 'young squire' 'cause 'is grandfather was squire 'ere years ago, afore 'e turned for the French—which the lad can't 'elp."

"Which the lad can't help!" fairly thundered the squire, his wrath getting the better of him once more, no doubt fired at the term of young squire. "I suppose he couldn't help draining the fish pond? I suppose he couldn't help trampling the shrubbery? I suppose he couldn't help killing Borlase last night? Couldn't help——"

The latter part of this ebullition of passion died away in a hoarse growl of something like "blood will tell."

The effect upon the porter of this news of the killing of Borlase was most striking.

"Bless m' well, squire! What! Borlase dead—killed! Good hold Borlase! 'ow fond we were of 'im! Dead!"

There was a curious working of the gardener's features and he hastily rubbed the sleeve of his rough shirt across his eyes.

"You must excuse me, squire—to blubber 'ere like a