“And so you shall.  The fleetest steed in my stables shall carry you.  But come to Kingsland and rest for the night.  If you will not accept my thanks, accept at least the shelter of my roof.”

The boy seemed to hesitate.

The baronet look advantage of that momentary hesitation and drew his arm through his own.  There was not a prouder man in wide England, but this unknown lad had saved his life, and Sir Everard was only two-and-twenty, and full of generous impulses.

“Come,” he said, “don’t be obstinate.  You own to being footsore and weary.  Kingsland is very near, and a night’s rest will do you good.”

“Thanks!  I accept your kind hospitality, Sir Everard, on two conditions.”

“On any conditions you choose, mon ami.  What are they?”

“That no one shall know it but yourself, and that I may depart before day-dawn.”

“I dislike that last condition very much; but it must be as you say.  Sleep in safety, most mysterious youth; no one shall know you are under my roof, and I will come and wake you myself at the first peep of day.  Will that do?”

“Admirably.  You are very kind to take all this trouble for a nameless tramp, Sir Everard.”

“Am I?  Even when the nameless tramp saved my life?”—­yet Sir Everard winced a little while saying it.  “And that reminds me, we must hasten, if yonder fallen villain is to recover from his wound.  His condition is not an enviable one at this moment.”

“How did it happen?” the boy asked.

And the young baronet repeated the story of Dick Darkly’s provocation and vow of revenge.

As he concluded they passed through the stately gates, up the majestic sweep of drive, to the imposing old mansion.

“Home!” Sir Everard said, gayly.  “Solitude and darkness reign, you see.  The family have long since retired, and we can pass to our respective dormitories unseen and unheard.”

The boy looked up with his brilliant, glowing eyes.  But he did not speak.  In silence he followed Sir Everard in, up the noble marble stair-way, along richly carpeted, softly lighted corridors, and into a stately chamber.

“You will sleep here,” Sir Everard said.  “My room is near, and I am a light sleeper.  To-morrow morning at five I will rouse you.  Until then adieu, and pleasant dreams.”

He swung out and closed the door, and not once had he seen the face of his guest.  That guest stood in the center of the handsome chamber, and gazed around.

“At last!” he hisses between his set white teeth—­“at last, after two years’ weary waiting!  At last, oh! my mother, the time has come for me to keep my vow!”

He raised one arm with a tragic gesture, removed the slouched hat, and stood uncovered in the tranquil half light.

The face was wonderfully handsome, of gypsy darkness, and the eyes shone like black stars; but a scarlet handkerchief was bound tightly around his head, and concealed every vestige of hair.  With a slow smile creeping round his mouth, the boy took his handkerchief off.