CHAPTER I.

SIR AYMER EGERTON.

THE stately homes of England! Well may the poet exclaim; and among these stately homes it would be hard to find one statelier than Egerton Highfield. Its grey old walls, close covered by a mantle of ivy, which clings even round the immense chimneys; its fine terrace, with broad steps leading down into a quaint old flower garden, with a huge fountain in the centre, and only separated by a wire fence and a wide ha-ha from an extensive deer park, through which winds one of the approaches to the house; the age and grandeur of the trees, and the extent of the massive buildings, all combine to make this a truly "stately home."

But perhaps the grandest-looking thing about it was its master, who, on the day on which I mean to introduce him to you, was walking up and down the terrace of which I have spoken. This terrace ran along the west side of the house, and was therefore a sheltered place even in March—though March, in Yorkshire, is not exactly a balmy month. Perhaps it was for this reason that Sir Aymer had gone to walk there, when he became too restless to remain indoors, and there he might be seen walking up and down, up and down with slow and measured tread, always turning at the same spot, always going at the same pace; always carrying his handsome old head well up, and keeping his arms folded across his broad chest.

He was a perfect picture to look at; for though his hair was turning grey, it was still thick and curly, and in his dark blue eyes age had not tamed the fire of youth, while his finely cut, haughty features, and pale, clear complexion were scarcely changed by the touch of time. Yes, he was very pleasant to look at; but, alas, that was all! For he was by no means pleasant to live with. An only child, he had become Sir Aymer Egerton while yet in his cradle; a weak, doting mother spoiled him utterly, and as she educated him at home, there was no school influence to undo the mischief. She died while he was still young, and he married soon afterwards.

He had two sons and one daughter, and soon after the birth of the latter, Lady Egerton died, literally worn out, poor lady, by his imperious temper. The elder boy, Aymer, was a fine, open-hearted creature, full of life and joy. He was sent to school early, which was lucky for him. The other son, Guy, was his father's special pride and darling. He was exceedingly like him in appearance, and, unfortunately, so far like him in disposition, that he had a most difficult temper, though not a passionate one. He was wonderfully clever, particularly as a linguist; and as his sister Clarice shared his tastes, he was well content to remain at home.

But Clarice did not live long to brighten his life, and her death was the more sad because it was the result of accident. She was riding with Guy and her father, when the horse took fright at the fall of a tree which some labourers were felling in the hedge at the roadside. Sir Aymer stopped to swear at the careless woodmen, and to dismiss them from his service on the spot; Guy rode after his sister. Her horse kept to the road.

He perceived that by crossing the fields, he could shorten the distance between them, if not get before her, which was his best chance of giving her effectual help. Some trees hid the road from him as he flew across the fields, but when he regained the road, he knew by the sound of the horse's feet that he had gained his object—he was in front of the runaway. A moment more, and the terrified horse came in sight. Alas, he was riderless!

Guy uttered a cry of horror, and rode back along the road, but when he reached his sister's side, she was dead. She had been killed on the spot.

Guy knelt beside her in silent agony, and before he had quite realised the awful truth, Sir Aymer rode up, still swearing and gesticulating, too angry to see the sad group which barred his way until Guy shouted to him hoarsely to stop.

The horror of this event shattered the young man's nerves completely, and, for a time, seemed to threaten his reason. He was of a nervous, delicate temperament, and it really seemed as if he never quite recovered from the effects of this shock. He was seriously ill for some time, and when the illness passed away, he had become possessed by the unfounded notion that if his father had followed poor Clarice, instead of stopping to rage at the workmen, she might have been saved. In very truth, Sir Aymer could in no way have prevented the accident; but Guy during his illness was haunted by the look of his father's face as he rode up, panting and furious, to where he knelt beside his dead sister.

As soon as he was well enough to travel, he left home, in spite of Sir Aymer's wrath, and for ten years he travelled about without once seeing his father. Then he wrote that he was in London, and Sir Aymer ordered him to come to Egerton Highfield without delay: it was for Guy that he was waiting now, as he paced the west terrace on that bright blustering March day.

Presently a door, opening from the great hall on the terrace, which, to all appearance, was merely a window, with the usual heavy wooden frame and the stone wall of the house beneath it, swung open, and young Aymer Egerton came out.

"Sir Aymer, I am going up to the East Lodge to meet Guy. He'll think it strange if I don't meet him there, at least."

"Never mind what he thinks. I wish to see him first, and alone," replied Sir Aymer, curtly. "I desired you not to meet him at the station—why then should you think I want you to meet him at the Lodge? It is quite enough that you should be an obstinate fool yourself, without teaching him to be another."

"I should hardly have time to do that, sir, in the drive up from the gate."

"Don't go! That's all about it," answered Sir Aymer, in a voice which one would hardly use in speaking to a dog, unless that dog were in grievous error.

Aymer shrugged his shoulders and walked back into the hall, and almost as he did so, his father heard him cry out, "What, Guy! Is this you, old fellow? I hardly thought you could be here yet."

Sir Aymer looked in. His sons were shaking hands hurriedly, and he could not distinguish that any more words passed between them.

But, in fact, the elder was whispering rapidly, "Guy, for pity's sake, don't contradict him whatever he says, don't refuse bluntly."

Guy passed on to the terrace, and found himself face to face with his father, who seized his hand, looked earnestly into his face, and then drew him close and held him fast. He really loved Guy; yet his first words were not gracious.

"So you have obeyed me at last, Guy."

Guy made no answer, and his brother made his appearance on the terrace before Sir Aymer could speak again.

"Here, old boy—let's have a look at you," he said, with his cheery, careless smile. "What has ten years of wandering done for you? Not much—you look older than you ought, and yet you are not much changed."

"You don't look a day older than when we parted," answered Guy, "and neither does my father."

"Go in, Aymer; I told you I wished to speak to Guy alone," said Sir Aymer, imperiously.

And his son obeyed, with a furtive but expressive glance of caution at his brother.

"Now, Guy, walk beside me. I have much to say to you. From your last