The moment Mr. Elster set eyes on the dark one, he felt that he saw the man Pike before him.  It happened that he had not met him during these few days of his sojourn; but some of the men staying at Hartledon had, and had said what a loose specimen he appeared to be.  The other was a stranger, and did not look like a countryman at all.

Mr. Elster saw them both give a sharp look at him as he approached; and then they spoke together.  Both stepped off the bridge, as though deferring to him, and stood aside as they watched him cross over, Pike touching his wide-awake.

“Good-day, my lord.”

Val nodded by way of answer, and continued his stroll onwards.  In the look he had taken at Pike, it struck him he had seen the face before:  something in the countenance seemed familiar to his memory.  And to his surprise he saw that the man was young.

The supposed reminiscence did not trouble him:  he was too pre-occupied with thoughts of his own affairs to have leisure for Mr. Pike’s.  A short bit of road, and this rude, sheltered part of the way terminated in more open ground, where three paths diverged:  one to the front of Hartledon; one to some cottages, and on through the wood to the high-road; and one towards the Rectory and Calne.  Rural paths still, all of them; and the last was provided with a bench or two.  Val Elster strolled on almost to the Rectory, and then turned back:  he had no errand at Calne, and the Rectory he would rather keep out of just now.  When he reached the little bridge Pike was on it alone; the other had disappeared.  As before, he stepped off to make way for Mr. Elster.

“I beg pardon, sir, for addressing you just now as Lord Hartledon.”

The salutation took Val by surprise; and though the voice seemed muffled, as though the man purposely mouthed his words, the accent and language were superior to anything he might have expected from one of Mr. Pike’s appearance and reputed character.

“No matter,” said Val, courteous even to Pike, in his kindly nature.  “You mistook me for my brother.  Many do.”

“Not I,” returned the man, assuming a freedom and a roughness at variance with his evident intelligence.  “I know you for the Honourable Percival Elster.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Elster, a slight curiosity stirring his mind, but not sufficient to induce him to follow it up.

“But I like to do a good turn if I can,” pursued Pike; “and I think, sir, I did one to you in calling you Lord Hartledon.”

Val Elster had been passing on.  He turned and looked at the man.

“Are you in any little temporary difficulty, might I ask?” continued Pike.  “No offense, sir; princes have been in such before now.”

Val Elster was so supremely conscious, especially in that reflective hour, of being in a “little difficulty” that might prove more than temporary, that he could only stare at the questioner and wait for more.