the existing circumstances drew him nearer to them, and unconsciously they were attracted and dominated by his strength.  The strong man carries his power with him, and, when Mount Dunstan entered a cottage and talked to its inmates, the anxious wife or surlily depressed husband was conscious of feeling a certain sense of security.  It had been a queer enough thing, this he had done—­bundling the infected hoppers out of their leaking huts and carrying them up to the Mount itself for shelter and care.  At the most, gentlefolk generally gave soup or blankets or hospital tickets, and left the rest to luck, but, “gentry-way” or not, a man who did a thing like that would be likely to do other things, if they were needed, and gave folk a feeling of being safer than ordinary soup and blankets and hospital tickets could make them.

But “where did the money come from?” was asked during the first days.  Beds and doctors, nurses and medicine, fine brandy and unlimited fowls for broth did not come up from London without being paid for.  Pounds and pounds a day must be paid out to get the things that were delivered “regular” in hampers and boxes.  The women talked to one another over their garden palings, the men argued together over their beer at the public house.  Was he running into more debt?  But even the village knew that Mount Dunstan credit had been exhausted long ago, and there had been no money at the Mount within the memory of man, so to speak.

One morning the matron with the sharp temper found out the truth, though the outburst of gratitude to Mount Dunstan which resulted in her enlightenment, was entirely spontaneous and without intention.  Her doubt of his Mount Dunstan blood had grown into a sturdy liking even for his short speech and his often drawn-down brows.

“We’ve got more to thank your lordship for than common help,” she said.  “God Almighty knows where we’d all ha’ been but for what you’ve done.  Those poor souls you’ve nursed and fed——­”

“I’ve not done it,” he broke in promptly.  “You’re mistaken; I could not have done it.  How could I?”

“Well,” exclaimed the matron frankly, “we was wondering where things came from.”

“You might well wonder.  Have any of you seen Lady Anstruthers’ sister, Miss Vanderpoel, ride through the village?  She used sometimes to ride this way.  If you saw her you will remember it.’

“The ’Merican young lady!” in ejaculatory delight.  “My word, yes!  A fine young woman with black hair?  That rich, they say, as millions won’t cover it.”

“They won’t,” grimly.  “Lord Dunholm and Lady Alanby of Dole kindly sent cheques to help us, but the American young lady was first on the field.  She sent both doctors and nurses, and has supplied us with food and medicine every day.  As you say, Mrs. Brown, God Almighty knows what would have become of us, but for what she has done.”

Mrs. Brown had listened with rather open mouth.  She caught her breath heartily, as a sort of approving exclamation.