Gules. But Richard was a startling exception. His hair grew away
flat and sparse from his round brow; on his cheeks three moles, jet-
black in their centre. Handsome one called his hairless face: the
nose delicate, the lips negroid in their thick pout, the left eye
red, streaked with bloodshot, the eyes' brown brightness very
beautiful and strange, with a sideward stare wild as that sideward
stare of the race-horse; and the lids had a way of lifting largely
anon.

He passed through Lagden Dip orchard into the old homestead, into
the dining-room, where cowered the old Hogarth, smoking, his hair a
mist of wool-white.

He glanced up, but said nothing; and Richard said nothing, but
walked about, his arms folded, frowning turbulently, while the
twilight deepened, and Margaret did not come.

Now he planted a chair near the old man, sat, and shouted: "Listen,
sir!"

Up went the old Hogarth's hand to push forward the inquiring ear,
while Richard, who, till now, had guarded him from all knowledge of
the Circular, snatched it from his breast-pocket, and loudly read.

As the sense entered his head, up the old man shot his palms,
shaking from them astonishment and deprecation, with nods; then,
with opening arms, and an under-look at Richard: "Well, there is
nothing to be said: the land is his...."

Hogarth leapt up and walked out; he muttered: "The land is his, but