"Mrs. West? Well, we heard she opened a girls' school up in London,"
breathed the Squire.

"And what tale was that about his leaving a curse on the chimes?--I
never heard the rights of it."

"Hush!" said the Squire cautiously. "Nobody talks of that here. Or
believes it, either. Poor West was a man to leave a blessing behind him;
never a curse."

Hubert, at home for the holidays, was again at table. He was fourteen
now, tall of his age and slender, his blue eyes bright, his complexion
delicately beautiful. The pleated cambric frill of his shirt, which hung
over the collar of his Eton jacket after the fashion of the day, was
carried low in front, displaying the small white throat; his golden hair
curled naturally. A boy to admire and be proud of. The manners were more
decorous this year than they ever had been, and Hubert was allowed to
sit on. Possibly the shadow of George West's unhappy death lay
insensibly upon the party.

It was about half-past nine o'clock when the butler came into the room,
bringing a small note, twisted up, to his master from Mrs. Carradyne.
Captain Monk opened it and held it towards one of the lighted branches
to read the few words it contained.

"_A gentleman is asking to speak a word to Mr. Dancox. He says it
is important._"

Captain Monk tore the paper to bits. "_Not to-night_, tell your
mistress, is my answer," said he to Rimmer. "Hubert, you can go to your