generous contributions. Driving up to the small and quiet-looking
doorway of a very unpretentious building, George descended and
knocked. Thereon a clerk opened the door, and in answer to his
inquiries informed him that he believed Mr. Quest had just come over
to the office.

In another minute he was shown into an inner room of the ordinary
country lawyer's office stamp, and there at the table sat Mr. Quest
himself.

Mr. Quest was a man of about forty years of age, rather under than
over, with a pale ascetic cast of face, and a quiet and pleasant,
though somewhat reserved, manner. His features were in no way
remarkable, with the exception of his eyes, which seemed to have been
set in his head owing to some curious error of nature. For whereas his
general tone was dark, his hair in particular being jet black, these
eyes were grey, and jarred extraordinarily upon their companion
features. For the rest, he was a man of some presence, and with the
manners of a gentleman.

"Well, George," he said, "what is it that brings you to Boisingham? A
letter from the Squire. Thank you. Take a seat, will you, will I look
through it? Umph, wants me to come and see him at eleven o'clock. I am
very sorry, but I can't manage that anyway. Ah, I see, about the Moat
Farm. Janter told me that he was going to throw it up, and I advised
him to do nothing of the sort, but he is a dissatisfied sort of a
fellow, Janter is, and Major Boston has upset the whole country side
by his very ill-advised action about the College lands."

"Janter is a warmint and Major Boston, begging his pardon for the