“Because I had every reason to believe, Sir Charles, that that would be most unwelcome to Lord Avon.  How could I tell all this without revealing the family scandal which he was so anxious to conceal?  I confess that at the beginning I did not tell him what I had seen, and my excuse must be that he disappeared before I had time to determine what I should do.  For many a year, however—­ever since I have been in your service, Sir Charles—­my conscience tormented me, and I swore that if ever I should find my old master, I should reveal everything to him.  The chance of my overhearing a story told by young Mr. Stone here, which showed me that some one was using the secret chambers of Cliffe Royal, convinced me that Lord Avon was in hiding there, and I lost no time in seeking him out and offering to do him all the justice in my power.”

“What he says is true,” said his master; “but it would have been strange indeed if I had hesitated to sacrifice a frail life and failing health in a cause for which I freely surrendered all that youth had to offer.  But new considerations have at last compelled me to alter my resolution.  My son, through ignorance of his true position, was drifting into a course of life which accorded with his strength and spirit, but not with the traditions of his house.  Again, I reflected that many of those who knew my brother had passed away, that all the facts need not come out, and that my death whilst under the suspicion of such a crime would cast a deeper stain upon our name than the sin which he had so terribly expiated.  For these reasons—­”

The tramp of several heavy footsteps reverberating through the old house broke in suddenly upon Lord Avon’s words.  His wan face turned even a shade greyer as he heard it, and he looked piteously to his wife and son.

“They will arrest me!” he cried.  “I must submit to the degradation of an arrest.”

“This way, Sir James; this way,” said the harsh tones of Sir Lothian Hume from without.

“I do not need to be shown the way in a house where I have drunk many a bottle of good claret,” cried a deep voice in reply; and there in the doorway stood the broad figure of Squire Ovington in his buckskins and top-boots, a riding-crop in his hand.  Sir Lothian Hume was at his elbow, and I saw the faces of two country constables peeping over his shoulders.

“Lord Avon,” said the squire, “as a magistrate of the county of Sussex, it is my duty to tell you that a warrant is held against you for the wilful murder of your brother, Captain Barrington, in the year 1786.”

“I am ready to answer the charge.”

“This I tell you as a magistrate.  But as a man, and the Squire of Rougham Grange, I’m right glad to see you, Ned, and here’s my hand on it, and never will I believe that a good Tory like yourself, and a man who could show his horse’s tail to any field in the whole Down county, would ever be capable of so vile an act.”