than chance had done for him in his indolent shirking existence.  If he had children, they might be robust and comely.  In May’s immediate connections, there was nothing to cause embarrassment; as to her breeding it would compare more than favourably with that of many high-born young ladies whom Society delights to honour.  Of such young ladies he had always thought with a peculiar dread.  If ever he allowed himself to dream of love and marriage, his mind turned to regions where fashion held no sway, where ambitions were humble.  May Tomalin stood between the two worlds, representing a mean which would perchance prove golden.

So determined and courageous was his mood when he fell asleep that it did not permit him long slumbers.  A bright sunrise gleaming on a sky which in the night had shed cool showers tempted him to rise much before his usual time.  He turned over a volume or two from the shelves in the bedroom, seeking thus to keep his nerves steady and to tune his mind.  Presently he thought he would take a stroll before breakfast.  It was nearly eight o’clock; servants would be about and the door open.  He left his room.

Passing a great window at the end of the corridor, he glanced out upon the garden lying behind the house.  Some one was walking there it was no other than May herself.  She moved quickly, in the direction of the park; evidently bent on a ramble before her friends were stirring.  Better chance could not have befallen him.  He went quickly downstairs.

But, when he had made his way to that part of the grounds where May had appeared, she was no longer discoverable.  He strode on in what seemed the probable direction, taking, as a matter of fact, the wrong path; it brought him into the park, but at a point whence he looked in vain for the girl’s figure.  This was vexatious.  Should he linger here for her return, or step out at a venture?  He strolled vaguely for some minutes, coming at length into a path which promised pleasant things.  Perhaps May had gone to the basky hollow yonder.  If he missed her, they were sure of meeting after breakfast.

He walked towards the clustered trees.

CHAPTER XXII

Piqued by the uneventfulness of the preceding day, May Tomalin stole forth this morning in a decidedly adventurous frame of mind.  She scorned danger; she desired excitement.  Duplicity on her part was no more than Lord Dymchurch merited after that deliberate neglect of opportunity under the great tree.  Of course nothing irrevocable must come to pass; it was the duty of man to commit himself, the privilege of woman to guard an ambiguous freedom.  But, within certain limits, she counted on dramatic incidents.  A brisk answer to her tap on the door in the park wall made her nerves thrill delightfully.  No sooner had she turned the key than the door was impatiently pushed open from without.

“Quick!” sounded Lashmar’s voice.  “I hear wheels on the road.—­Ha!  Just in time!  It might be someone who would recognise me.”