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Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. Shortly Ruth and Spurlock took the way home. ‘Tell me, my boy. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. “You will not object,” he said, glancing towards her, “to accepting a deposit. "Nothing more than this," answered Kneebone,—"that after the failure of his projects, and the downfall of his party, he retired to his seat, Ashton Hall, near Manchester, and has remained there ever since, entirely secluded from the world. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. .

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