The Path of the King

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER 11. THE LIT CHAMBER

  He was hoisted on his horse by an ostler and two local sots from thetap-room, his valise was strapped none too securely before him, andwith a farewell, which was meant to be gracious but was only foolish,he tittuped into the rain. He was as drunk as an owl, though he did notknow it. All afternoon he had been mixing strong Cumberland ale with thebrandy he had got from the Solway free-traders, and by five o'clock hadreached that state when he saw the world all gilt and rosy and himselfas an applauded actor on a splendid stage. He had talked grandly to hisfellow topers, and opened to their rustic wits a glimpse of the greatworld. They had bowed to a master, even those slow Cumbrians who admiredlittle but fat cattle and blood horses. He had made a sensation, hadseen wonder and respect in dull eyes, and tasted for a moment thatesteem which he had singularly failed to find elsewhere.

  But he had been prudent. The Mr. Gilbert Craster who had been travellingon secret business in Nithsdale and the Ayrshire moorlands had not beenrevealed in the change-house of Newbigging. There he had passed by thename, long since disused, of Gabriel Lovel, which happened to be histrue one. It was a needful precaution, for the times were crooked. Evenin a Border hamlet the name of Craster might be known and since for thepresent it had a Whig complexion it was well to go warily in a placewhere feeling ran high and at an hour when the Jacobites were on themarch. But that other name of Lovel was buried deep in the forgottenscandal of London by-streets.

  The gentleman late re-christened Lovel had for the moment no grudgeagainst life. He was in the pay of a great man, no less than the lordDuke of Marlborough, and he considered that he was earning his wages. Asoldier of fortune, he accepted the hire of the best paymaster; only hesold not a sword, but wits. A pedant might have called it honour, butMr. Lovel was no pedant. He had served a dozen chiefs on differentsides. For Blingbroke he had scoured France and twice imperilled hislife in Highland bogs. For Somers he had travelled to Spain, and forWharton had passed unquiet months on the Welsh marches. After hisfashion he was an honest servant and reported the truth so far as hisingenuity could discern it. But, once quit of a great man's service, hesold his knowledge readily to an opponent, and had been like to be outof employment, since unless his masters gave him an engagement for lifehe was certain some day to carry the goods they had paid for to theirrivals. But Marlborough had seen his uses, for the great Duke sat looseto parties and earnestly desired to know the facts. So for Marlboroughhe went into the conclaves of both Whig and Jacobite, making hiscomplexion suit his company.

  He was new come from the Scottish south-west, for the Duke was eagerto know if the malcontent moorland Whigs were about to fling their bluebonnets for King James. A mission of such discomfort Mr. Lovel had neverknown, not even when he was a go-between for Ormonde in the Irish bogs.He had posed as an emissary from the Dutch brethren, son of an exiledBrownist, and for the first time in his life had found his regicidegreat-grandfather useful. The jargon of the godly fell smoothly from histongue, and with its aid and that of certain secret letters he had foundhis way to the heart of the sectaries. He had sat through weary sermonsin Cameronian sheilings, and been present at the childish parades of theHebronite remnant. There was nothing to be feared in that quarter, forto them all in authority were idolaters and George no worse than James.In those moorland sojournings, too, he had got light on other matters,for he had the numbers of Kenmure's levies in his head, had visitedmy lord Stair at his grim Galloway castle, and had had a long midnightcolloquy with Roxburghe on Tweedside. He had a pretty tale for hismaster, once he could get to him. But with Northumberland up and theHighlanders at Jedburgh and Kenmure coming from the west, it had been aticklish business to cross the Border. Yet by cunning and a good horseit had been accomplished, and he found himself in Cumberland with theroad open southward to the safe Lowther country. Wherefore Mr. Lovel hadrelaxed, and taken his ease in an inn.

  He would not have admitted that he was drunk, but he presently confessedthat he was not clear about his road. He had meant to lie at Brampton,and had been advised at the tavern of a short cut, a moorlandbridle-path. Who had told him of it? The landlord, he thought, or themerry fellow in brown who had stood brandy to the company? Anyhow, itwas to save him five miles, and that was something in this accursedweather. The path was clear--he could see it squelching below him, palein the last wet daylight--but where the devil did it lead? Into theheart of a moss, it seemed, and yet Brampton lay out of the moors in thetilled valley.

  At first the fumes in his head raised him above the uncertainty of hisroad and the eternal downpour. His mind was far away in a select worldof his own imagining. He saw himself in a privy chamber, to which he hadbeen conducted by reverent lackeys, the door closed, the lamp lit, andthe Duke's masterful eyes bright with expectation. He saw the finethin lips, like a woman's, primmed in satisfaction. He heard wordsof compliment--"none so swift and certain as you"--"in truth, amaster-hand"--"I know not where to look for your like." Deliciousspeeches seemed to soothe his ear. And gold, too, bags of it, the taleof which would never appear in any accompt-book. Nay, his fancy soaredhigher. He saw himself presented to Ministers as one of the country'ssaviours, and kissing the hand of Majesty. What Majesty and whatMinisters he knew not, and did not greatly care--that was not hisbusiness. The rotundity of the Hanoverian and the lean darkness of theStuart were one to him. Both could reward an adroit servant.... Hisvanity, terribly starved and cribbed in his normal existence, nowblossomed like a flower. His muddled head was fairly ravished withdelectable pictures. He seemed to be set at a great height above mundanetroubles, and to look down on men like a benignant God. His soul glowedwith a happy warmth.

  But somewhere he was devilish cold. His wretched body was beginning tocry out with discomfort. A loop of his hat was broken and the loose flapwas a conduit for the rain down his back. His old ridingcoat was like adish-clout, and he felt icy about the middle. Separate streams of waterentered the tops of his ridingboots--they were a borrowed pair and toobig for him--and his feet were in puddles. It was only by degrees thathe realised this misery. Then in the boggy track his horse beganto stumble. The fourth or fifth peck woke irritation, and he jerkedsavagely at the bridle, and struck the beast's dripping flanks with hiswhip. The result was a jib and a flounder, and the shock squeezed outthe water from his garments as from a sponge. Mr. Lovel descended fromthe heights of fancy to prosaic fact, and cursed.

  The dregs of strong drink were still in him, and so soon as exhilarationebbed they gave edge to his natural fears. He perceived that it hadgrown very dark and lonely. The rain, falling sheer, seemed to shut himinto a queer wintry world. All around the land echoed with the steadydrum of it, and the rumour of swollen runnels. A wild bird wailed out ofthe mist and startled Mr. Lovel like a ghost. He heard the sound of mentalking and drew rein; it was only a larger burn foaming by the wayside.The sky was black above him, yet a faint grey light seemed to linger,for water glimmered and he passed what seemed to be the edge of aloch.... At another time the London-bred citizen would have been onlypeevish, for Heaven knew he had faced ill weather before in illplaces. But the fiery stuff he had swallowed had woke a feverish fancy.Exaltation suddenly changed to foreboding.

  He halted and listened. Nothing but the noise of the weather, and thenight dark around him like a shell. For a moment he fancied he caughtthe sound of horses, but it was not repeated. Where did this accursedtrack mean to lead him? Long ago he should have been in the valley andnearing Brampton. He was as wet as if he had wallowed in a pool, cold,and very weary. A sudden disgust at his condition drove away his fearsand he swore lustily at fortune. He longed for the warmth and the smellsof his favourite haunts--Gilpin's with oysters frizzling in a dozenpans, and noble odours stealing from the tap-room, the Green Man withits tripe-suppers, Wanless's Coffee House, noted for its cuts of beefand its white puddings. He would give much to be in a chair by oneof those hearths and in the thick of that blowsy fragrance. Now hisnostrils were filled with rain and bog water and a sodden world. I
tsmelt sour, like stale beer in a mouldy cellar. And cold! He crusheddown his hat on his head and precipitated a new deluge.

  A bird skirled again in his ear, and his fright returned. He felt smalland alone in a vast inhospitable universe. And mingled with it all wasself-pity, for drink had made him maudlin. He wanted so little--only amodest comfort, a little ease. He had forgotten that half an hourbefore he had been figuring in princes' cabinets. He would give up thisbusiness and be quit of danger and the high road. The Duke must give hima reasonable reward, and with it he and his child might dwell happily insome country place. He remembered a cottage at Guildford all hung withroses.... But the Duke was reputed a miserly patron, and at the thoughtMr. Lovel's eyes overflowed. There was that damned bird again, wailinglike a lost soul. The eeriness of it struck a chill to his heart, sothat if he had been able to think of any refuge he would have set spursto his horse and galloped for it in blind terror. He was in the mood inwhich men compose poetry, for he felt himself a midget in the grip ofimmensities. He knew no poetry, save a few tavern songs; but inhis youth he had had the Scriptures drubbed into him. He rememberedill-omened texts--one especially about wandering through dry placesseeking rest. Would to Heaven he were in a dry place now!...

  The horse sprang aside and nearly threw him. It had blundered againstthe stone pillar of a gateway. It was now clear even to Mr. Lovel'sconfused wits that he was lost. This might be the road to Tophet, butit was no road to Brampton. He felt with numbed hands the face of thegateposts. Here was an entrance to some dwelling, and it stood open.The path led through it, and if he left the path he would without doubtperish in a bog-hole. In his desolation he longed for a human face. Hemight find a good fellow who would house him; at the worst he wouldget direction about the road. So he passed the gateway and entered anavenue.

  It ran between trees which took the force of the downpour, so that itseemed a very sanctuary after the open moor. His spirits lightened.The infernal birds had stopped crying, but again he heard the thud ofhooves. That was right, and proved the place was tenanted. Presentlyhe turned a corner and faced a light which shone through the wet, rayedlike a heraldic star.

  The sight gave him confidence, for it brought him back to a familiarworld. He rode straight to it, crossing a patch of rough turf, where afallen log all but brought him down. As he neared it the light grew tillhe saw its cause. He stood before the main door of a house and it waswide open. A great lantern, hung from a beam just inside, showed adoorway of some size and magnificence. And below it stood a servant, anold man, who at the sight of the stranger advanced to hold his stirrup.

  "Welcome, my lord," said the man. "All is ready for you."

  The last hour had partially sobered the traveller, but, having now comesafe to port, his drunkenness revived. He saw nothing odd in the opendoor or the servant's greeting. As he scrambled to the ground he wasback in his first exhilaration. "My lord!" Well, why not? This was anhonest man who knew quality when he met it.

  Humming a tune and making a chain of little pools on the stone flagsof the hall, Mr. Lovel followed his guide, who bore his shabby valise,another servant having led away the horse. The hall was dim withflickering shadows cast by the lamp in the doorway, and smelt raw andcold as if the house had been little dwelt in. Beyond it was a stonepassage where a second lamp burned and lit up a forest of monstrous deerhorns on the wall. The butler flung open a door.

  "I trust your lordship will approve the preparations," he said. "Supperawaits you, and when you have done I will show you your chamber. Thereare dry shoes by the hearth." He took from the traveller his soppingovercoat and drew from his legs the pulpy riding-boots. With a bow whichmight have graced a court he closed the door, leaving Mr. Lovel alone tohis entertainment.

  It was a small square room panelled to the ceiling in dark oak, andlit by a curious magnificence of candles. They burned in sconces on thewalls and in tall candlesticks on the table, while a log fire on thegreat stone hearth so added to the glow that the place was as bright asday. The windows were heavily shuttered and curtained, and in the farcorner was a second door. On the polished table food had been laid--anoble ham, two virgin pies, a dish of fruits, and a group of shiningdecanters. To one coming out of the wild night it was a transformationlike a dream, but Mr. Lovel, half drunk, accepted it as no more than hisdue. His feather brain had been fired by the butler's "my lord," andhe did not puzzle his head with questions. From a slim bottle he filledhimself a glass of brandy, but on second thoughts set it down untasted.He would sample the wine first and top off with the spirit. Meantime hewould get warm.

  He stripped off his coat, which was dampish, and revealed a dirty shirtand the dilapidated tops of his small clothes. His stockings were tornand soaking, so he took them off, and stuck his naked feet into thefurred slippers which stood waiting by the hearth. Then he sat himselfin a great brocaded arm-chair and luxuriously stretched his legs to theblaze.

  But his head was too much afire to sit still. The comfort soaked intohis being through every nerve and excited rather than soothed him. Hedid not want to sleep now, though little before he had been crushedby weariness.... There was a mirror beside the fireplace, the glasspainted at the edge with slender flowers and cupids in the Carolinefashion. He saw his reflection and it pleased him. The long facewith the pointed chin, the deep-set dark eyes, the skin brown withweather--he seemed to detect a resemblance to Wharton. Or was itBeaufort? Anyhow, now that the shabby coat was off, he might well be agreat man in undress. "My lord!" Why not? His father had always toldhim he came of an old high family. Kings, he had said--of France, orsomewhere... A gold ring he wore on his left hand slipped from hisfinger and jingled on the hearthstone. It was too big for him, andwhen his fingers grew small with cold or wet it was apt to fall off.He picked it up and laid it beside the decanters on the table. That hadbeen his father's ring, and he congratulated himself that in all hisnecessities he had never parted from it. It was said to have come downfrom ancient kings.

  He turned to the table and cut himself a slice of ham. But he found hehad no appetite. He filled himself a bumper of claret. It was aripe velvety liquor and cooled his hot mouth. That was the drink forgentlemen. Brandy in good time, but for the present this soft wine whichwas in keeping with the warmth and light and sheen of silver.... Hisexcitement was dying now into complacence. He felt himself in theenvironment for which Providence had fitted him. His whole beingexpanded in the glow of it. He understood how able he was, how trulyvirtuous--a master of intrigue, but one whose eye was always fixed onthe star of honour. And then his thoughts wandered to his son in themean London lodgings. The boy should have his chance and walk some dayin silks and laces. Curse his aliases! He should be Lovel, and carry hishead as high as any Villiers or Talbot.

  The reflection sent his hand to an inner pocket of the coat now dryingby the hearth. He took from it a thin packet of papers wrapped inoil-cloth. These were the fruits of his journey, together with certainnews too secret to commit to writing which he carried in his head. Heran his eye over them, approved them, and laid them before him on thetable. They started a train of thought which brought him to the questionof his present quarters.... A shadow of doubt flickered over his mind.Whose house was this and why this entertainment? He had been expected,or someone like him. An old campaigner took what gifts the gods sent,but there might be questions to follow. There was a coat of arms on theplate, but so dim that he could not read it. The one picture in the roomshowed an old man in a conventional suit of armour. He did not recognisethe face or remember any like it.... He filled himself another bumper ofclaret, and followed it with a little brandy. This latter was noblestuff, by which he would abide. His sense of ease and security returned.He pushed the papers farther over, sweeping the ring with them, and sethis elbows on the table, a gentleman warm, dry, and content, but muchbefogged in the brain.

  He raised his eyes to see the far door open and three men enter. Thesight brought him to his feet with a start, and his chair clattered onthe oak boards. He made
an attempt at a bow, backing steadily towardsthe fireplace and his old coat.

  The faces of the new-comers exhibited the most lively surprise. Allthree were young, and bore marks of travel, for though they had doffedtheir riding coats, they were splashed to the knees with mud and theirunpowdered hair lay damp on their shoulders. One was a very dark man whomight have been a Spaniard but for his blue eyes. The second was a mereboy with a ruddy face and eyes full of dancing merriment. The third wastall and red-haired, tanned of countenance and lean as a greyhound.He wore trews of a tartan which Mr. Lovel, trained in such matters,recognised as that of the house of Atholl.

  Of the three he only recognised the leader, and the recognition soberedhim. This was that Talbot, commonly known from his swarthiness as theCrow, who was Ormonde's most trusted lieutenant. He had once worked withhim; he knew his fierce temper, his intractable honesty. His bemusedwits turned desperately to concocting a conciliatory tale.

  But he seemed to be unrecognised. The three stared at him in wild-eyedamazement.

  "Who the devil are you, sir?" the Highlander stammered.

  Mr. Lovel this time brought off his bow. "A stormstayed traveller," hesaid, his eyes fawning, "who has stumbled on this princely hospitality.My name at your honour's service is Gabriel Lovel."

  There was a second of dead silence and then the boy laughed. It wasmerry laughter and broke in strangely on the tense air of the room.

  "Lovel," he cried, and there was an Irish burr in his speech. "Lovel!And that fool Jobson mistook it for Lovat! I mistrusted the tale,for Simon is too discreet even in his cups to confess his name in achangehouse. It seems we have been stalking the cailzie-cock and found acommon thrush."

  The dark man Talbot did not smile. "We had good reason to look forLovat. Widrington had word from London that he was on his way to thenorth by the west marches. Had we found him we had found a prize, for hewill play hell with Mar if he crosses the Highland line. What say you,Lord Charles?"

  The Highlander nodded. "I would give my sporran filled ten times withgold to have my hand on Simon. What devil's luck to be marching southwith that old fox in our rear!"

  The boy pulled up a chair to the table. "Since we have missed the biggame, let us follow the less. I'm for supper, if this gentleman willpermit us to share a feast destined for another. Sit down, sir, and fillyour glass. You are not to be blamed for not being a certain Scots lord.Lovel, I dare say, is an honester name than Lovat!"

  But Talbot was regarding the traveller with hard eyes. "You called hima thrush, Nick, but I have a notion he is more of a knavish jackdaw. Ihave seen this gentleman before. You were with Ormonde?"

  "I had once the honour to serve his Grace," said Lovel, still feverishlytrying to devise a watertight tale.

  "Ah, I remember now. You thought his star descending and carried yourwares to the other side. And who is your new employer, Mr. Lovel? Hispresent Majesty?"

  His glance caught the papers on the table and he swept them towards him.

  "What have we here?" and his quick eye scanned the too legiblehandwriting. Much was in cipher and contractions, but some names stoodout damningly. In that month of October in that year 1715 "Ke" couldonly stand for "Kenmure" and "Ni" for "Nithsdale."

  Mr. Lovel made an attempt at dignity.

  "These are my papers, sir," he blustered. "I know not by what authorityyou examine them." But his protest failed because of the instability ofhis legs, on which his potations early and recent had suddenly a fataleffect. He was compelled to collapse heavily in the arm-chair by thehearth.

  "I observe that the gentleman has lately been powdering his hair," saidthe boy whom they called Nick.

  Mr. Lovel was wroth. He started upon the usual drunkard's protestations,but was harshly cut short by Talbot.

  "You ask me my warrant 'Tis the commission of his Majesty King James inwhose army I have the honour to hold a command."

  He read on, nodding now and then, pursing his mouth at a word, oncecopying something on to his own tablets. Suddenly he raised his head.

  "When did his Grace dismiss you?" he asked.

  Now Ormonde had been the Duke last spoken of, but Mr. Lovel's precariouswits fell into the trap. He denied indignantly that he had fallen fromhis master's favour.

  A grim smile played round Talbot's mouth.

  "You have confessed," he said. Then to the others: "This fellow is one ofMalbrouck's pack. He has been nosing in the Scotch westlands. Here arethe numbers of Kenmure and Nithsdale to enable the great Duke to make uphis halting mind. See, he has been with Roxburghe too.... We have a spybefore us, gentlemen, delivered to our hands by a happy incident. Whigamong the sectaries and with Stair and Roxburghe, and Jacobite among ourpoor honest folk, and wheedling the secrets out of both sides to sellto one who disposes of them at a profit in higher quarters. Faug! I knowthe vermin. An honest Whig like John Argyll I can respect and fight, butfor such rats as this--What shall we do with it now that we have trappedit?"

  "Let it go," said the boy, Nick Wogan. "The land crawls with them andwe cannot go rat-hunting when we are aiming at a throne." He picked upLovel's ring and spun it on a finger tip. "The gentleman has found morethan news in the north. He has acquired a solid lump of gold."

  The implication roused Mr. Lovel out of his embarrassment. "I wearthe ring by right. I had it from my father." His voice was tearful withoffended pride

  "The creature claims gentility," said Talbot, as he examined the trinket."Lovel you call yourself. But Lovel bears barry nebuly or chevronels.This coat has three plain charges. Can you read them, Nick, for my eyesare weak! I am curious to know from whom he stole it."

  The boy scanned it closely. "Three of something I think they arefleur-de-lys, which would spell Montgomery. Or lions' heads, maybe, forBuchan?"

  He passed it to Lord Charles, who held it to a candle's light. "Nay, Ithink they are Cummin garbs. Some poor fellow dirked and spoiled."

  Mr. Lovel was outraged and forgot his fears. He forgot, indeed, mostthings which he should have remembered. He longed only to establish hisgentility in the eyes of those three proud gentlemen. The liquor wasebbing in him and with it had flown all his complacence. He felt smalland mean and despised, and the talents he had been pluming himself on anhour before had now shrunk to windlestraws.

  "I do assure you, sirs," he faltered, "the ring is mine own. I had itfrom my father, who had it from his. I am of an ancient house, thoughsomewhat decayed."

  His eyes sought those of his inquisitors with the pathos of a dog.But he saw only hostile faces--Talbot's grave and grim, Lord Charles'contemptuous, the boy's smiling ironically.

  "Decayed, indeed," said the dark man, "pitifully decayed. If you begentle the more shame on you."

  Mr. Lovel was almost whining. "I swear I am honest. I do my master'scommissions and report what I learn."

  "Aye, sir, but how do you learn it? By playing the imposter and winningyour way into an unsuspecting confidence. To you friendship is a tooland honour a convenience. You cheat in every breath you draw. And what aman gives you in his innocence may bring him to the gallows. By God! I'drather slit throats on a highway for a purse or two than cozen men totheir death by such arts as yours."

  In other circumstances Mr. Lovel might have put up a brazen defence, butnow he seemed to have lost assurance. "I do no ill," was all he couldstammer, "for I have no bias. I am for no side in politics."

  "So much the worse. A man who spies for a cause in which he believesmay redeem by that faith a dirty trade. But in cold blood you practiseinfamy."

  The night was growing wilder, and even in that sheltered room its echoeswere felt. Wind shook the curtains and blew gusts of ashes from thefire. The place had become bleak and tragic and Mr. Lovel felt theforlornness in his bones. Something had woke in him which shivered thefabric of a lifetime. The three faces, worn, anxious, yet of a noblehardihood, stirred in him a strange emotion. Hopes and dreams, longforgotten, flitted like spectres across his memory. He had something tosay, something which dema
nded utterance, and his voice grew bold.

  "What do you know of my straits?" he cried. "Men of fortune like you! Myrace is old, but I never had the benefit of it. I was bred in a garretand have all my days been on nodding terms with starvation.... Whatshould I know about your parties? What should I care for Whig and Toryor what king has his hinderend on the throne? Tell me in God's name howshould such as I learn loyalty except to the man who gives me gold tobuy food and shelter? Heaven knows I have never betrayed a master whileI served him."

  The shabby man with the lean face had secured an advantage. For a momentthe passion in his voice dominated the room.

  "Cursed if this does not sound like truth," said the boy, and his eyeswere almost friendly.

  But Talbot did not relax.

  "By your own confession you are outside the pale of gentility. I do nottrouble to blame you, but I take leave to despise you. By your grace,sir, we will dispense with your company."

  The ice of his scorn did not chill the strange emotion which seemedto have entered the air. The scarecrow by the fire had won a kind ofdignity.

  "I am going," he said. "Will you have the goodness to send for myhorse?... If you care to know, gentleman, you have cut short apromising career.... To much of what you say I submit. You have spokentruth--not all the truth, but sufficient to unman me. I am a rogue byyour reckoning, for I think only of my wages. Pray tell me what movesyou to ride out on what at the best is a desperate venture?"

  There was nothing but sincerity in the voice, and Talbot answered.

  "I fight for the King ordained by God and for a land which cannotflourish under the usurper. My loyalty to throne, Church, and fatherlandconstrains me."

  Lovel's eye passed to Lord Charles. The Highlander whistled very softlya bar or two of a wild melody with longing and a poignant sorrow in it.

  "That," he said. "I fight for the old ways and the old days that arepassing."

  Nick Wogan smiled. "And I for neither--wholly. I have a little of Talbotin me and more of Charles. But I strike my blow for romance--the littleagainst the big, the noble few against the base many. I am for youthagainst all dull huckstering things."

  Mr. Lovel bowed. "I am answered. I congratulate you, gentlemen, on yourgood fortune. It is my grief that I do not share it. I have not Mr.Talbot's politics, nor am I a great Scotch lord, nor have I the felicityto be young.... I would beg you not to judge me harshly."

  By this time he had struggled into his coat and boots He stepped to thetable and picked up the papers.

  "By your leave," he said, and flung them into the fire.

  "You were welcome to them," said Talbot. "Long ere they got toMarlborough they would be useless."

  "That is scarcely the point," said Lovel "I am somewhat dissatisfiedwith my calling and contemplate a change."

  "You may sleep here if you wish," said Lord Charles.

  "I thank you, but I am no fit company for you. I am better on the road."

  Talbot took a guinea from his purse "Here's to help your journey," hewas saying, when Nick Wogan flushing darkly, intervened. "Damn you,James don't be a boor," he said.

  The boy picked up the ring and offered it to Mr. Lovel as he passedthrough the door. He also gave him his hand.

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  The traveller spurred his horse into the driving rain, but he wasoblivious of the weather. When he came to Brampton he discovered to hissurprise that he had been sobbing. Except in liquor, he had not weptsince he was a child.