Her soft sweet eyes sparkled with pleasure, and her lips parted with a sunny smile.  Lord Hartledon took her hand within his own as it lay on his arm, and the furious old dowager saw it all from the distance.

“Don’t say as much as this to him, Anne:  I only tell you.  Val is so sanguine, that it may be better not to tell him all beforehand.  And I want, of course, first of all, to get a true list of—­that is, a true statement of facts,” he broke off, not caring to speak the word “debts” to that delicate girl before him.  “He is my only brother; my father left him to me, for he knew what Val was; and I’ll do my best for him.  I’d do it for Val’s own sake, apart from the charge.  And, Anne, once Val is on his legs with an income, snug and comfortable, I shall recommend him to marry without delay; for, after all, you will be his greatest safeguard.”

A blush suffused her face, and Lord Hartledon smiled.

Down came the countess-dowager.

“Here’s that old dowager calling to me.  She never lets me alone.  Val sent me into a fit of laughter yesterday, saying she had designs on me for Maude.  Poor deluded woman!  Yes, ma’am, I hear.  What is it?”

Mr. Elster went strolling along on the banks of the river, towards Calne; not with any particular purpose, but in his restless uneasiness.  He had a tender conscience, and his past follies were pressing on it heavily.  Of one thing he felt sure—­that he was more deeply involved than Hartledon or anyone else suspected, perhaps even himself.  The way was charming in fine weather, though less pleasant in winter.  It was by no means a frequented road, and belonged of right to Lord Hartledon only; but it was open to all.  Few chose it when they could traverse the more ordinary way.  The narrow path on the green plain, sheltered by trees, wound in and out, now on the banks of the river, now hidden amidst a portion of the wood.  Altogether it was a wild and lonely pathway; not one that a timid nature would choose on a dark night.  You might sit in the wood, which lay to the left, a whole day through, and never see a soul.

One part of the walk was especially beautiful.  A green hollow, where the turf was soft as moss; open to the river on the right, with a glimpse of the lovely scenery beyond; and on the left, the clustering trees of the wood.  Yet further, through a break in the trees, might be seen a view of the houses of Calne.  A little stream, or rivulet, trickled from the wood, and a rustic bridge—­more for ornament than use, for a man with long legs could stride the stream well—­was thrown over it.  Val had reached thus far, when he saw someone standing on the bridge, his arms on the parapet, apparently in a brown study.

A dark, wild-looking man, whose face, at the first glimpse, seemed all hair.  There was certainly a profusion of it; eyebrows, beard, whiskers, all heavy, and black as night.  He was attired in loose fustian clothes with a red handkerchief wound round his throat, and a low slouching hat—­one of those called wide-awake—­partially concealed his features.  By his side stood another man in plain, dark, rather seedy clothes, the coat outrageously long.  He wore a cloth hat, whose brim hid his face, and he was smoking a cigar.  Both men were slightly built and under middle height.  This one was adorned with red whiskers.