He broke into a mirthless laugh. 

 “Mean it, you mug! Of course I didn’t mean it. Why should I?” 

 “I don’t know. Mug for saving your life, anyhow!” 

 “I’ll remember it, Vivian. I wish I owed you something better worth the paying.” 

 “That’s infernal nonsense, of course. Now, look here; what’s it all about?” 

 “All what?” 

 “You know.” 

 “I’ll tell you by-and-by, Viv—on my honour, I will.” 

 “Will you? Hadn’t you better go back in the meantime and leave your gun with Hanson?” 

 “No; don’t be a fool, or make me seem one. I’ll go more careful after this; I promise you on my sacred word I will. There, get on.” 

 I was not satisfied; but Hanson coming up at the moment to see what the shot had meant, I could have no more to say, and prepared silently to resume my place. 

 “It’s all right, George,” said his master, “only a snap at a rabbit.” 

 Had he meant to kill himself? If he had, what trouble so much more tragic than any I had conceived must lie at the root of the matter! But I would not dare to believe it; it had been merely another manifestation of the reckless mood to which his spoilt temper could only too easily succumb. Nevertheless, I felt agitated and disturbed, and still, in spite of his promise, apprehensive of some ugly business. 

 He shot better after this episode, however, and thereby brought some reassurance to my mind. Hanson, that astute gamekeeper, led us well and profitably, and the morning reached its grateful end in that worthy’s little parlour in the cottage in the copse, with its cases of stuffed birds and vermin, and its table delectably laid with such appetising provender as ham, tongue, and a noble pigeon pie, with bottled beer, syphons, and old whisky to supply the welcome moisture. Audrey presided, and the Baron, who had somehow won her liking, and whom she had brought with her in the governess cart, made a 

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