expert of exceptionally high powers would have been puzzled to
work out the approximate date from the slender and confusing
groundwork which this assertion afforded.

On this particular morning the sight of Lady Bastable enthroned
among her papers gave Clovis the hint towards which his mind had
been groping all breakfast time. His mother had gone upstairs to
supervise packing operations, and he was alone on the ground-floor
with his hostess--and the servants. The latter were the key to
the situation. Bursting wildly into the kitchen quarters, Clovis
screamed a frantic though strictly non-committal summons: "Poor
Lady Bastable! In the morning-room! Oh, quick!" The next moment
the butler, cook, page-boy, two or three maids, and a gardener who
had happened to be in one of the outer kitchens were following in
a hot scurry after Clovis as he headed back for the morning-room.
Lady Bastable was roused from the world of newspaper lore by
hearing a Japanese screen in the hall go down with a crash. Then
the door leading from the hall flew open and her young guest tore
madly through the room, shrieked at her in passing, "The
jacquerie! They're on us!" and dashed like an escaping hawk out
through the French window. The scared mob of servants burst in on
his heels, the gardener still clutching the sickle with which he
had been trimming hedges, and the impetus of their headlong haste
carried them, slipping and sliding, over the smooth parquet
flooring towards the chair where their mistress sat in panic-
stricken amazement. If she had had a moment granted her for
reflection she would have behaved, as she afterwards explained,
with considerable dignity. It was probably the sickle which
decided her, but anyway she followed the lead that Clovis had
given her through the French window, and ran well and far across