that day. It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race--the
race which now had not taken place.

Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no occasion to
open his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry bright rays in the
west seemed to give hope that the morrow would be fair; and, rejoicing in
this cheering prospect, he crossed the broad Rectory lawn. As he went
through the gate some one laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe?"

Lord Hartledon looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long coat and
red whiskers, who held out something to him.

"Who are you?" he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp movement.

"I'm sorry to do it, sir; but you know we are only the agent of others in
these affairs. You are my prisoner, sir."

"Indeed!" said Lord Hartledon, taking the matter coolly. "You have got
hold of the wrong man for once. I am not Mr. Percival Elster."

The capturer laughed: a very civil laugh. "It won't do, sir; we often
have that trick tried on us."

"But I tell you I am _not_ Mr. Elster," he reiterated, speaking this time
with some anger. "I am Lord Hartledon."

He of the loose coat shook his head. He had his hand again on the
supposed Mr. Elster's arm, and told him he must go with him.