had Admiral Greenwood been a man with whom it was at all possible to quarrel. He recognised the fact that he could not prevent other people from doing as they pleased with their own, but he considered that his wishes had not been sufficiently consulted in the matter; and as he was not only a country squire but an ex-military man, he was naturally disposed to resent such lack of deference.

One fine autumn morning this arbitrary, irascible, but thoroughly upright and honest old gentleman was riding through Kingscliff on his way homewards from the railwaystation, where he had been making a fine fuss about the non-arrival of some parcels which ought to have been there. He had always been against the construction of the local line, and was in the habit of declaring that everybody had been much better off when their goods had reached them by carrier. There had certainly been some irregularity of delivery in those days, but then the carrier had never professed to be regular, so that you knew where you were with him. The railway company, on the other hand, as he had just pointed out to the station-master, guaranteed punctuality, yet were never punctual. The station-master respectfully begged pardon, but thought otherwise. He believed there was no guarantee. Every effort was made to insure prompt delivery, but at that season of the year, when the traffic was so heavy, it was next to impossible for the trains to keep their time. Sir Brian rejoined that that excuse was tantamount to an admission that the railway officials couldn't or wouldn't keep faith with the public. They all deserved penal servitude, and, for his part, he sincerely hoped that, when they had killed and maimed a few more of their fellowcreatures, they would get it.

He himself was in danger of being a little unpunctual at luncheon that day, for after he had ridden some distance it occurred to him that he had spoken somewhat too harshly, and he felt bound to return and mention that his words had not been intended to apply to the station-master personally.

"I didn't mean you, Simpkins; I meant your rascally, catchpenny employers. I don't suppose you are to blame."

Simpkins having expressed himself abundantly satisfied with this explanation, Sir Brian wished him good-day, and headed once more for home. Strangers turned to look at him as he rode slowly down the street, sitting

square and erect upon his cob, a tall, handsome, aristocratic-looking personage, with hook nose, grey moustache twirled upwards, and a pair of blue eyes which looked out condescendingly, but not unkindly, upon men and things. The tradesmen and the lounging fishermen touched their hats to him, for he was popular, in spite of his little peculiarities, and he acknowledged their salutes with a smile and an uplifted forefinger. Just as he was emerging from the town, which terminates somewhat abruptly on its eastern side, a stout, vulgar-looking individual, who wore a frock-coat, thrown open, an enormous gold watch-chain, and a tall white hat, accosted him, waddling out into the middle of the road.

"Good morning to you, Sir Brian. I was looking out for you; you're the very man I want to see."

Sir Brian drew rein, threw one quick glance of intense disgust at the speaker, and then gazed vacantly over his head. "Oh, Mr. Buswell, I believe?" said he in chilling accents (though he knew Buswell's face as well as he knew his work, and hated the one as much as the other). "What can I do for you, Mr. Buswell ?"

The successful contractor was not in the least abashed. He was rich, a great deal richer than Sir Brian Segrave; he was in a certain sense powerful; he had a sincere admiration for himself and a contempt equally sincere for the survivors of a wornout feudal system.

"Well," he replied, with a sort of laugh, "you can do something for me, and something for yourself too at the same time, which is more to the purpose, maybe." He produced a roll of paper from the tail-pocket of his coat and began flattening it upon his knee with his great red hand. "Now just run

your eye over that, Sir Brian," said he; "it's a little plan I've had drawn out of Kingscliff as it ought to be, and as it will be in due course o' time."

"Thank you-no," returned Sir Brian hastily. "I feel no curiosity to inspect these fancy sketches. The subject is one in which I am not interested, and

"Not interested! ain't you though! Wait till you've seen my plan. Now just look at this. 'Ere's the new 'arbour works, promenade pier, aquarium and winter garden. Further back you come to proposed row of 'igh class dwelling-'ouses, with southerly aspect, to be called Segrave Crescent; and up on the right, where the Manor 'Ouse now stands-the finest sitiwation in the 'ole

CHAPTER II.-MAJOR.

SIR BRIAN SEGRAVE sent his cob at a hand-gallop up the steep hill which leads out of Kingscliff in the Beckton direction, to the surprise and indignation of that placid animal, who was not accustomed to being so ridden. But when he reached the summit of the ridge whence Beckton on the one side and Kingscliff on the other may be surveyed he pulled up, a little more heated in body and a little less so in spirit.

"What an ass I am!" he muttered, arriving at Mr. Buswell's conclusion from different premisses. "The chances are that that impudent vagabond only wanted to annoy me, and I allowed him to succeed. Let my land on building-leases indeed! He must have known perfectly well that I am just about as likely to do that as to make him a present of it. No, Mr. Buswell, you will have to find a site elsewhere for your aquarium and your winter-garden and your other gimcrack advertisements; Kingscliff, I can assure you, will develop itself no further on this side so long as I live!"

He half turned in his saddle and flung this defiance back at his distant tormentor with a certain air of triumph; but then he sighed and became pensive, remembering that he would not live for ever, and that he was already nearer seventy than sixty years

of age.

"There ought to have been an entail," he murmured; "and yet I don't know; perhaps it is best as it is."

He had his reasons for deeming it possible that there might be some advantage in the absence of an entail-reasons with which many landed proprietors can sympathise. A man may have no wish or intention to cut off his eldest son; yet to possess the power of so doing is not disagreeable and adds a firm bulwark to paternal authority. Sir Brian's authority over his heir-apparent was not quite what he could have desired it to be, and as he recalled some of Mr. Buswell's remarks he felt one of those cold shivers run up his back which are apt to precede a fit of gout.

"Who knows?" he mused. "Brian may part with the land after I am gone. I don't think Gilbert would, but Brian is an uncertain fellow. He's flighty, he's opinionated, and I do believe he's something near a Radical at heart. It would be just like him to say that he had no right to hinder the prosperity of Kingscliff, or some such non

Sir Brian sighed a second time, then suddenly straightened himself up, with a short exclamation of impatience, gave a shake to his reins and cantered on.

Admiral Greenwood used to say that there never lived a man more determined to do his duty than Segrave, but that unfortunately Segrave could never distinguish between his duty and his inclination. This was a little hard upon Sir Brian, who had always done what he believed to be his duty and had by no means always felt inclined to do it; but perhaps what Admiral Greenwood meant was that his notions of duty were thoroughly proof against outside argument or persuasion. Somewhat late in life he had succeeded to Beckton, on the death of his brother, who had been a gambler and a spendthrift, and who left the property heavily encumbered. Sir Brian instantly set to work to put things straight, and found the task neither a light nor an agreeable one. He thought it his duty to keep up a large establishment, he thought it his duty to send his two sons to Eton and Oxford, and he was quite sure that it was his duty to economise. That he managed to make retrenchment compatible with these and other important items of expenditure was not a little to his credit. His method entailed considerable self-sacrifice and continual mortification, for he was by nature a generous man and hated to keep a strict account of half-crowns; yet he had adhered to it resolutely and, by denying himself all personal luxuries, was able now in his old age to see daylight. He had not yet, it is true, paid off all the mortgages, still less had it been in his power to lay by anything out of income; but he hoped that, if he should be spared for another ten years or so, he might bequeath to his heir an estate entirely free of charges. To a man so situated the opportunity afforded by the sudden rise of Kingscliff into notoriety ought, one would think, to have been a godsend, and it would be difficult to assign any cause for Sir Brian's refusal to profit by it, save the uncomplimentary one suggested by Mr. Buswell. His privacy would not have been invaded by the proposed extension of the town, for the quarter in question was invisible from his residence and even from his park-gates. To pull down the fine old Manor House would have been a pity, no doubt; but in the Manor House and the few acres of land which surrounded it Sir Brian, as it happened, had only a life-interest, nor was it in the least on æsthetic grounds that he had

set his face against the whole scheme. Had he been taken in the right way at the outset, he might not improbably have acquiesced in what he now considered so objectionable; but he had not been taken in the right way. His dignity had been ruffled, his opinion had not been asked, his protests had been smiled at; and as he was both touchy and obstinate, it did not take him very long to persuade himself that Kingscliff as a watering-place was an abomination with which no man who had any sense of self-respect could consent to soil his fingers.

The worst of it was that he was afraid his eldest son didn't agree with him. The lad had never said this in so many words, but he had hinted at it, and Sir Brian hated hints. He did not hate his elder son; on the contrary, he had an affection for him which was deep and steady, as all his feelings were. But then, as he often said to himself impatiently, he didn't understand him. Now Gilbert he did understand, or thought he did. Gilbert was a sensible, practical fellow, a sound Conservative, a great favourite in society, a lover of sport, without being so given up to it as to waste his time over what ought to be only a relaxation, and an excellent judge of live stock, besides being thoroughly well up in all branches of agriculture. Without undue disparagement of Brian, there could be no question but that Gilbert would have filled the position of Squire of Beckton more satisfactorily than his elder brother was likely to do. But Gilbert, poor fellow, had made his entry into the world a year and a half too late, so he was reading for the Bar, and might perhaps eventually make a fortune at that trade, since his talents were so great. Other fortune, however, he would have none; nor, although he never made any complaint, was it to be supposed that the occupation of a lawyer was congenial to his tastes.

Brian was an individual of a totally different stamp. He took no interest in farming, and indeed knew next to nothing about it; he did not trouble himself much to be civil to the neighbours; his great passion was his love of music. Sometimes his father was afraid that he had got no good out of Oxford. Oxford was a terrible place for picking up fads, if a man had a leaning that way-political fads, religious fads, educational fads, and what not. There were signs that Brian had assimilated some of these; certainly he did not appear to have assimilated anything else worth speaking of. To be sure, he was a Bachelor of Music,

whatever that might imply. Music, his father thought, was all very well in its way, but there was something slightly incongruous and absurd in the idea of a musical squire. Moreover, there was one respect, and rather an important one, in which Brian differed. from Gilbert: he had not the faintest notion of the value of money. He could not exactly be called extravagant, but he had a habit of giving and lending whenever he was asked, also of buying whatever chanced to take his fancy and paying for it or letting payment stand over according as he happened to have money in his pocket or not at the time. Then, when bills were sent in to his father, he would say that he was very sorry, but really he had forgotten all about them. He was always exceeding his allowance, without having anything to show for his expenditure, whereas Gilbert, who had never been in debt in his life, was both better dressed and better provided with all the small necessaries and luxuries of existence than he.

These things often made Sir Brian thoughtful, and it was in a thoughtful mood that he now reached home and sat down to his solitary luncheon. The young gentlemen had gone out shooting, the butler told him, and had said they should not be back before dusk.

Sir Brian did not linger long in the spacious and rather gloomy dining-room, which had been the scene of many revels in years gone by, and where, in these latter times, the neighbours were entertained at a solemn dinner-party about once a month. The Turkey carpet was very old and faded, as were also the curtains; the massive mahogany chairs, purchased probably in the beginning of the century, looked as if their framework might hold out for another hundred years, but were woefully in want of re-stuffing; the tablecloth had evidently done duty for several days. Perhaps one of the most painful deprivations imposed by poverty upon the frugal is that of a daily supply of clean tablelinen. Sir Brian, who was refined and fastidious by nature, had felt it to be so once, but he had grown accustomed to such things now and hardly noticed them. When he had disposed of the not very abundant fare set before him, he betook himself to his study where he wrote letters for an hour, after which, the afternoon being so fine, he thought he would stroll out and try to find his sons.

So he put on his hat and, knowing well which direction to take, mounted the grassy hill behind the house until he reached an expanse of heathery moor, beyond which

many undulating fields of stubble and roots stretched away to meet the sky. Far beneath him, on his left hand, lay Kingscliff, the smoke from the town rising straight into the still air. The calm sea, with broad bands of silver where the sun fell upon it from between the clouds, was lost in mists towards the horizon. The red cliffs, the yellow woods, the soft melancholy of the western autumn, all these had a certain influence upon Sir Brian as he paused to take breath and survey the prospect. A verse from the Psalms came into his mind: "The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground: yea, I have a goodly heritage." "Ah, well!" he murmured, resuming his walk, "I suppose so; I suppose one must say so. All things considered, I ought to give thanks-only I wish I had rather more ready money!"

After he had proceeded some little way he was brought to a standstill by the sound of a couple of shots in the distance.

"Ah," he said, "I thought they would try this beat. I shall find them in John Shapley's mangolds most likely-at least I shall find Gilbert; as for Brian, he is pretty sure to have had enough of it an hour or two ago and gone off to play the organ or something." However, Sir Brian was less accurate in this forecast than he had been as to locality, for when he had scrambled rather stiffly down a bank, had made his way up a deep lane, and had dropped his elbows on a fivebarred gate, the figure that he saw slowly tramping through the field of mangolds on the other side of it was that of his elder, not of his younger son. At the same moment the old red setter by whom the sportsman was accompanied became suddenly rigid, and immediately afterwards a large covey of partridges rose. The young man fired both barrels and brought down three birds; after which he left the keeper, who was carrying the game-bag, to pick up the slain and came striding towards his father with a pleasant smile upon his face.

His face was pleasant as well as his smile. It was not handsome, because both the nose and the mouth were too large for beauty and the cheekbones were somewhat too high, but the eyes, which were of a soft iron-grey tinge and which were surmounted by wellmarked black eyebrows, might almost be called beautiful. Indeed, Brian was generally accounted a good-looking fellow, for he stood six-foot-two in his stockings, his figure was well-proportioned and he had the appearance of great physical strength. He wore his dark hair very short, and his upper lip

Pretty fair; nine brace and a half between us."

"Does that mean that Gilbert killed eight brace?"

"No," answered the young man laughing, "it isn't Gilbert's day. He was missing everything before lunch, so he said it was no use going on, and I believe he has strolled over to Morden."

"Gilbert is a better shot than you are," remarked Sir Brian a little aggressively.

"I know he is; but sometimes I manage to hit them. You must admit that that last wasn't such a bad shot."

"I don't call it good to bring down a brace with one cartridge. You must have fired into the brown of them."

"The second bird crossed."

'Humph! that's the usual excuse. What did Gilbert go to Morden for?"

"He wanted to see the Greenwoods, I suppose."

"Well, I suppose so; one doesn't generally go to a house unless one wants to see the inhabitants. At least, most people don't. You do, I dare say."

The young man laid his gun down on the bank, seated himself on the gate, over which his father was still leaning, and looked down into the old gentleman's face.

"What has been putting you out?" he asked good-humouredly.

"I'm not put out at all," answered Sir Brian. "Don't talk nonsense."

'You are, though," persisted the other; "you wouldn't have snapped at me like that if you hadn't been annoyed about something. Come, what is it?"

"I didn't snap at you; what do you mean?" returned Sir Brian, trying to look angry, but in reality he was pleased, because he liked to talk over his griefs and grievances, and since his wife's death nobody but Brian had ever taken the trouble to notice his moods. Gilbert was less observant; it was the one defect in an otherwise admirable character.

"It's enough to put anybody out," he resumed after a short pause, "to be accosted and insulted by Mr. Buswell."

"Oh, Buswell. Yes; he is rather a cad, certainly. Not a bad sort of a fellow, though, in his own way."

"It would be interesting," observed Sir Brian, with studied calmness, "to hear what, in your opinion, constitutes a bad sort of