departing brother, with the fascinated interest that the discreet and
dignified friend of Cromwell always commanded. Ralph was at his best on
such occasions, genial and natural, and showed a pleasing interest in
the girths of the two horses, and the exact strapping of the couple of
bags that Chris was to take with him. His own man, too, Mr. Morris, who
had been with him ever since he had come to London, was to ride with
Chris, at his master's express wish; stay with him in the guest-house
that night, and return with the two horses and a precise report the next
morning.

"You have the hares for my Lord Prior," he said impressively, looking at
the game that was hanging head downwards from the servant's saddle.
"Tell him that they were killed on Tuesday."

Sir James and his younger son were walking together a few yards away in
deep talk; and Lady Torridon had caused a chair to be set for her at the
top of the terrace steps where she could at once do her duty as a
mother, and be moderately comfortable at the same time. She hardly spoke
at all, but looked gravely with her enigmatic black eyes at the horses'
legs and the luggage, and once held up her hand to silence a small dog
that had begun to yelp with excitement.

"They must be going," said Ralph, when all was ready; and at the same
moment Chris and his father came up, Sir James's arm thrown over his
son's shoulders.

The farewells were very short; it was impossible to indulge in sentiment
in the genial business-atmosphere generated by Ralph, and a minute later
Chris was mounted. Sir James said no more, but stood a little apart
looking at his son. Lady Torridon smiled rather pleasantly and nodded