delicate red burned on one pale cheek. She drew a deep breath and looked down the length of the long gallery. Everything was being impressed upon her mind as upon sensitized paper.

She followed slowly in the old man’s wake, never opening her lips until they had made the circuit and were again standing before the portrait of the fair-haired youth. Then, roused suddenly by a direct question, she responded.

The old servant was saying: “You ‘aven’t ‘appened to meet a Samuel Cutter in America, ‘ave you? ‘E’s our son. England was too slow for ‘im. Young men aren’t like old ones; they wants hadventure, and they gets it. That’s ‘ow so many of ‘em joins the harmy and gets killed like ‘is lordship’s two sons, and young Lord Thryng’s