methodical-minded man did not like altering his plans. Also, he was,
like most military men, very punctilious about his dress and personal
appearance, and objected to going out to dinner in a shooting coat.
But all this notwithstanding, a feeling that he did not quite
understand, and which it would have puzzled even an American novelist
to analyse--something between restlessness and curiosity, with a dash
of magnetic attraction thrown in--got the better of his scruples, and
he accepted.

"Well, thank you," he said, "if you are sure that Miss de la Molle
will not mind, I will come. Just allow me to tell Mrs. Jobson."

"That's right," halloaed the Squire after him, "I'll meet you at the
back of the house. We had better go through the fields."

By the time that the Colonel, having informed his housekeeper that he
should not want any dinner, and hastily brushed his not too luxuriant
locks, had reached the garden which lay behind the house, the Squire
was nowhere to be seen. Presently, however, a loud halloa from the top
of the tumulus-like hill announced his whereabouts.

Wondering what the old gentleman could be doing there, Harold Quaritch
walked up the steps that led to the summit of the mound, and found him
standing at the entrance to the mushroom-shaped summer-house,
contemplating the view.

"There, Colonel," he said, "there's a perfect view for you. Talk about
Scotland and the Alps! Give me a view of the valley of Ell from the
top of Dead Man's Mount on an autumn evening, and I never want to see
anything finer. I have always loved it from a boy, and always shall so