and figure. That he was a born aristocrat one could see in every
motion of his well-built limbs. His mien had that ineffable air
of grace and breeding which sometimes marks the members of our old
English families. Very much like Cyril, too, Guy thought to himself,
in a flash of intuition; very much like Cyril, the way he raised
his hat and then smiled urbanely on Mrs. Clifford and Elma. But
it was Cyril grown old and prematurely white, and filled full with
the grave haughtiness of an honoured aristocrat.

"Why, here's Colonel Kelmscott!" Mrs. Clifford exclaimed, with a
sigh of relief, not a little set at ease by the timely diversion.
"We're so glad you've come, Colonel. And Lady Emily too; she's over
yonder, is she? Ah, well, I'll look out for her. We heard you were
to be here. Oh, how kind of you; thank you. No, Elma's none the
worse for her adventure, thank Heaven! just a little shaken, that's
all, but not otherwise injured. And this gentleman's the brother
of the kind friend who was so good to her in the tunnel. I'm not
quite sure of the name. I think it's---"

"Guy Waring," the young man interposed blandly. Hardly any one
who looked at Colonel Kelmscott's eyes could even have perceived
the profound surprise this announcement caused him. He bowed without
moving a muscle of that military face. Guy himself never noticed
the intense emotion the introduction aroused in the distinguished
stranger. But Mrs. Clifford and Elma, each scanning him closely
with those keen grey eyes of theirs, observed at once that, unmoved
as he appeared, a thunderbolt falling at Colonel Kelmscott's feet
could not more thoroughly or completely have stunned him. For a second
or two he gazed in the young man's face uneasily, his colour came
and went, his bosom heaved in silence; then he roped his moustache