So there had been something in the family, thought Stephen, that he knew nothing about, something that his grandfather had done which this man, the son of his grandfather’s butler, considered had brought down vengeance on Katie and himself as the grandchildren.  The very suggestion oppressed him in this land of the Puritans, although he told himself that he believed neither in the vengeance nor even in the crime itself.  But he had not dreamed of anything, anything at all, which had even shadowed the fair fame of the Archdales.  Did his father know of it?  Nothing that Stephen had ever seen in him looked like such knowledge, but that did not make the son quite sure, for the old butler’s remark about the Colonel’s suavity was just; his elaborate manners made Stephen almost brusque at times, and aroused a secret antagonism in both, so that they sometimes met one another with armor on, and Stephen’s keen thrust would occasionally penetrate the shield which his father skilfully interposed between that and some fact.

That morning Stephen sank down upon a rock near by while his mind ranged over his recollections to find some clue to this mystery.  But he found none.  He was sure that his grandfather had never been referred to as being connected with anything secret, still less, disgraceful, or perhaps criminal.  It was impossible to imagine where the old butler’s idea came from, but it could not be founded upon truth.  Yet, this snatch of talk which Stephen had heard made him curious and uncomfortable.  And he knew that he must resign himself to feeling so; he could ask his father, to be sure, but he would get no satisfaction out of that; either the Colonel did not know, or, evidently he had resolved that there should seem to be nothing to tell.  After all, it did not matter very much.  His thoughts came back to his own position with almost wonder that anything could have drawn them away from it.  While he sat there the baying of the hound drew nearer, and suddenly a rabbit started up from a bush on his right.  He raised his gun, but instantly lowered it again.  He had not moved, so it had not been he that had startled the rabbit, but the larger game that was following it.  The little creature scampered away, and in another moment the fox which his dog had started ran past him.  Again he raised his gun and took aim with a hand accustomed to bring down what he sighted.  But to-day the gun dropped once more at his side, for here was a creature that wanted its life, that was straining for it.  “Let him have the worthless gift if he values it,” thought Archdale, feeling that the gun had better have been turned the other way in his hands.  The fox disappeared after the rabbit, and in another moment Stephen rose with a sneer at himself, and turned toward home.  Evidently, he could accomplish nothing that day, matters must have gone hard with him to make him lose even the nerve of a hunter.  He whistled to his dog, but the hound had no intention of giving up the chase as