him in sight of his home--a large, ancient, rambling grange house lying
back from the road. It was now nearly ten o'clock, an hour when the
household was usually abed; but the door of Wilcote Grange stood open,
and a guarded candle in the hall threw a faint yellow light upon the
path. The gravel crunched under Desmond's boots, and, as if summoned by
the sound, a tall figure crossed the hall and stood in the entrance. At
the sight Desmond's mouth set hard; his hands clenched; his breath came
more quickly as he went forward.

"Where have you been, sirrah?" were the angry words that greeted him.

"Into the town, sir," returned Desmond.

He had perforce to halt, the doorway being barred by the man's broad
form.

"Into the town? You defy me, do you? Did I not bid you remain at home and
make up the stock book?"

"I did that before I left."

"You did, did you? I lay my life 'tis ill done. What did you in the town
this time o' night?"

"I went to see General Clive."

"Indeed! You! Hang me, what's Clive to you? Was you invited to the
regale? You was one of that stinking crowd, I suppose, that bawled in the
street. You go and herd with knaves and yokels, do you? and bring shame
upon me, and set the countryside a-chattering of Richard Burke and his