distaste to being the bearer of crushing bad news, for Mr. Quest
disliked scenes, possibly because he had such an intimate personal
acquaintance with them. Whilst he was still wondering how he might
best deal with the matter, he passed over the moat and through the
ancient gateway which he admired so fervently, and found himself in
front of the hall door. Here he pulled up, looking about for somebody
to take his horse, when suddenly the Squire himself emerged upon him
with a rush.

"Hullo, Quest, is that you?" he shouted, as though his visitor had
been fifty yards off instead of five. "I have been looking out for
you. Here, William! William!" (crescendo), "William!" (fortissimo),
"where on earth is the boy? I expect that idle fellow, George, has
been sending him on some of his errands instead of attending to them
himself. Whenever he is wanted to take a horse he is nowhere to be
found, and then it is 'Please, sir, Mr. George,' that's what he calls
him, 'Please, sir, Mr. George sent me up to the Moat Farm or somewhere
to see how many eggs the hens laid last week,' or something of the
sort. That's a very nice horse you have got there, by the way, very
nice indeed."

"It is not my horse, Mr. de la Molle," said the lawyer, with a faint
smile, "it is Mr. Edward Cossey's."

"Oh! it's Mr. Edward Cossey's, is it?" answered the old gentleman with
a sudden change of voice. "Ah, Mr. Edward Cossey's? Well, it's a very
good horse anyhow, and I suppose that Mr. Cossey can afford to buy
good horses."

Just then a faint cry of "Coming, sir, coming," was heard, and a long