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and the landed proprietor
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said in a hushed, awed, yet gratified tone: "Have you killed him, Mr. Carrington?"

"No, my child. I am not a pork-butcher," said Mr. Carrington amiably.

"He looked as if he was dead," said Erebus; and there was a faint ring of disappointment in her tone.

"In a short time the young man will come to himself; and let us hope that it will be a better and wiser self," said Mr. Carrington. "But what was it all about? What did that truculent young ruffian want with Rupert?"

Erebus paused, looking earnestly round to the horizon for inspiration; then she dashed at the awkward subject with commendable glibness: "It was a pheasant in Great Deeping wood," she said. "The Terror found it, I suppose. I had gone on, and I didn't see that part. But it was Wiggins the keeper caught. Of course—"

"I beg your pardon; but I should like that point a little clearer," broke in Mr. Carrington. "Had you ridden on too, Rupert? Or did you see what happened?"

"Oh, yes; I was there," said Wiggins readily. "And the Terror found the pheasant in the wood

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