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"Yes; but I did not know that until later on. When my mother disappeared Dido re-entered the house. At once--terrified by my mother's action--I ran down the little path which leads to the gate and followed her out onto the road. She went into your grounds by the postern in the wall. I saw her cross the lawn, and enter the smoking-room, wherein a lamp was burning. When she came out it was with the devil-stick in her hand. I recognized it by the golden handle. I reached home before she did, and again hid on the veranda. Dido reappeared as my mother came up the walk, and took the devil-stick from her. Then she led her indoors.",

"You are wrong. I had one, and it was stolen by--",

"Yes, last night, and to-day he sent a note asking if I would ride over and see him this afternoon. I did so, and he then explained that he wished to buy that thing.",

"Yes, sir. I was not quite asleep, but a kind of dozing in my chair. I don't know what it was made me sleepy, as I was wideawake when you left, sir. But there was a kind of heavy, sleepy smell about."

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These lads, named respectively Maurice Alymer and David Sarby, were in no way related to the major, who, as has been stated before, was a bachelor; but they had entered into his life in rather an odd fashion. Alymer was the son of a beautiful girl with whom Jen had been passionately in love, but she did not return his affection, and married one of his brother officers, who was afterward killed in the Ashantee war. On returning to England Jen cherished a hope that she would reward his love by a second marriage, but the shock of her husband's death proved too much for the fragile widow. She died within a week after receiving the terrible news, and left behind her a wailing infant, which was consigned to the cold charity of indifferent relatives.,

"Nor I," said Maurice, stretching out his hand. "Please let me read the note. Uncle Jen. I wish to see precisely how it is worded.",

"Your own conscience!" he repeated, in disdain. "How can you talk in that manner? What excuse can you--",

As she went out of the gate the postman came in, and at the sight of another letter my heart slunk off into my slippers, and my brain seemed about to back up in a corner and refuse to work. In a flash it came to me that men oughtn't to write letters to women very much—they really don't plough deep enough, they just irritate the top soil. I took this missive from Alfred, counted all the fifteen pages, put it out of sight under a book, looked out of the window and saw Mr. Johnson shooed off down the street by Mrs. Johnson; saw the doctor's car go chugging hurriedly in the garage, and then my spirit turned itself to the wall and refused to be comforted. I tried my best, but failed to respond to my own remonstrances with myself, and tears were slowly gathering in a cloud of gloom when a blue gingham, romper-clad sunbeam burst into the room.