need we should not part. Come home with me and rest--to-night, at
least. I owe you a heavy debt, and I should like to pay a little of
it."

"You owe me nothing!" His eyes gleamed under his hat and his teeth
clinched as he spoke. "Nothing, Sir Everard Kingsland! Let us say
good-bye. I must reach Worrel by sunrise."

"And so you shall. The fleetest steed in my stables shall carry you.
But come to Kingsland and rest for the night. If you will not accept
my thanks, accept at least the shelter of my roof."

The boy seemed to hesitate.

The baronet look advantage of that momentary hesitation and drew his
arm through his own. There was not a prouder man in wide England, but
this unknown lad had saved his life, and Sir Everard was only
two-and-twenty, and full of generous impulses.

"Come," he said, "don't be obstinate. You own to being footsore and
weary. Kingsland is very near, and a night's rest will do you good."

"Thanks! I accept your kind hospitality, Sir Everard, on two
conditions."

"On any conditions you choose, _mon ami_. What are they?"

"That no one shall know it but yourself, and that I may depart before
day-dawn."