big scar on one cheek, and rings in his ears. They call him Rumun."

"Nonsense! There's no such name as Rumun."

"That's what I told Jim. He said it was a rum 'un, but his name was Rumun,
and no mistake."

"Dark, and rings in his ears! The man is probably a Spaniard. You mean
Ramon."

"No, I don't; I mean Rumun," returned Tawney, doggedly. "I thought it was
an uncommon rum name, and I asked Jim twice--he calls at the kennels
sometimes--I asked him twice, and he said he was cock sure it was Rumun."

"Rumun let it be then. Altogether, this Mr. Fortescue seems to be rather a
mysterious personage."

"You are right there, Mr. Bacon, he is. I only wish I was half as
mysterious. Why, he must be worth thousands upon thousands. And he spends
his money like a gentleman, he does--thinks less of a sovereign than you
think of a bob. He sent Mr. Keyworth a hundred pounds for his hunt
subscription, and said if they were any ways short at the end of the
season they had only to tell him and he would send as much more."

Having now got all the information out of Tawney he was able to give me, I
stood him another whiskey, and after lighting a cigar I mounted my horse
and jogged slowly homeward, thinking much about Mr. Fortescue, and
wondering who he could be. The study of physiognomy is one of my fads, and
his face had deeply impressed me; in great wealth, moreover, there is
always something that strikes the imagination, and this man was evidently