CHAPTER I.

"GATHERING CLOUDS."


The London season had not yet reached its height, some years ago, before
the arch admitting to Constitution Hill had been swept back to make room
for the huge, ever-increasing stream of traffic, or the plebeian 'bus
had been permitted to penetrate the precincts of Hamilton Place. It was
the forenoon of a splendid day, one of the earliest of June, and at that
hour the roadway between the entrance to Hyde Park and the gate then
surmounted by the statue of the Duke of Wellington on his drooping steed
was comparatively free, when two gentlemen coming from opposite
directions recognized each other, and paused at the gate of Apsley
House--the elder, a stout, florid man of military aspect, middle age,
and average height, with large gray mustache and small, slightly
bloodshot eyes; the younger, who was tall and bony, might have been
thirty, or even forty, so grave and sedate was his bearing, although his
erect carriage, elastic step, and clear keen dark eyes suggested earlier
manhood.

Both had the indescribable well-groomed, freshly bathed look peculiar to
Englishmen of the "upper ten."

"Ha! Errington! I didn't know you were in town. I thought you were
cruising somewhere with Melford, or rusticating at Garston Hall. I think
your father expected you about this time."

"I don't think so. I was summoned by telegraph from Paris. My father was
seized with a paralysis last week. He had just come up to town, and for