colour, and with tears in her eyes. His sense of his own social
importance was wounded to the quick. "Who is the man you are speaking
of?" he asked loftily. "And what is your excuse for having gone to the
milestone to save him--hidden under my cloak, disguised in my hat?"

"Don't waste precious time in asking questions!" was the desperate
reply. "Undo the harm that you have done already. Your help--oh, I mean
what I say!--may yet preserve Arthur's life. Go to the farm, and save
him."

Sir Giles's anger assumed a new form, it indulged in an elaborate
mockery of respect. He took his watch from his pocket, and consulted it
satirically. "Must I make an excuse?" he asked with a clumsy assumption
of humility.

"No! you must go."

"Permit me to inform you, Miss Henley, that the last train started more
than two hours since."

"What does that matter? You are rich enough to hire a train."

Sir Giles, the actor, could endure it no longer; he dropped the mask,
and revealed Sir Giles, the man. His clerk was summoned by a peremptory
ring of the bell. "Attend Miss Henley to the house," he said. "You may
come to your senses after a night's rest," he continued, turning
sternly to Iris. "I will receive your excuses in the morning."


In the morning, the breakfast was ready as usual at nine o'clock. Sir