force strong enough to contend with that which had so long ruled him
with undivided sway. It was the part of a friend to hope and try that he
might go with his own heart yet a secret to him. So hoped Eugene. But
Eugene, unnerved by self-suspicion, would not lift a finger to hasten
his friend's departure, lest he should seem to himself, or be without
perceiving it even himself, alert to save his friend, only because his
friend's salvation would be to his own comfort.

Sir Roderick Ayre, however, was not restrained by Eugene's scruples nor
inspired by Eugene's devotion to Stafford. Stafford interested him, but
he was not his friend, and Ayre did not understand, or, if truth be
told, appreciate the almost reverential attitude which Eugene, usually
so very devoid of reverence, adopted toward him. Ayre thought Stafford's
vow nonsense, and that if he was in love with Claudia Territon there was
no harm done.

"Many people have been," he said, "and many will be, before the little
witch grows old and--no, by Jove! she'll never grow ugly!"

Trivial as the matter seemed, looked at in this light, it had yet enough
of human interest about it to decide him to leave the grouse alone, and
wait patiently for the partridges at Millstead. After all, he had shot
grouse and most other things for thirty years; and, as he said, "The
parson was a change, and the house deuced comfortable, and old Eugene a
good fellow."

Now it came to pass one day that the devil, having a spare hour on his
hands, and remembering that he had often met with a hospitable reception
from Sir Roderick, to say nothing of having a bowing acquaintance with
Morewood, looked in at the Manor, and finding his old quarters at Sir