The Fortunate Youth

d in her calm, deliberate way down the long carriage drive of Drane's Court. She was stout and florid, and had no scruples as to the avowal of her age, which was fo

k. The little township of Morebury-half a mile from the great gates of Drane's Court-felt Miss Winwood's control in diverse ways. Another town, a little further off, with five or six millions of inhabitants, was also, through its newspapers, aware of Miss Winwood. Many leagues, societies, associations, claimed her as President, Vice-President, or Member of Council. She had sat on Royal Commissions. Her name under an a

terbury bells and campanulas and delphiniums, all blues and purples and whites, with here and there the pink of dog-roses and gorgeous yellow splashes of celandine. On entering the stately coolness, Miss Winwood closed her sunshade and looked at her watch, a solid timepiece harboured in her belt. A knitted brow betrayed mathematical calculation. It would take her five minutes to re

. Her brother's health having broken down, he had paired for the rest of the session and gone to Contrexeville for a cure. She had therefore shut up her London house in Portland Place, Colonel Winwood's home while Parliament sat, and had come to her brother's house, Drane's Court, her home when her presence was not needed in

ry younger son of the Family-the Family being that of which the Earl of Harpenden is Head (these things can only be written of in capital letters)-had acquired wealth in the dark political days of Queen Anne, and had bought the land and built the house, and the property had never passed into alien hands. As for the name, he had used that

py and illusory days of Romance now dead and gone! It is not conceivable that, generations hence, the head of a family will exhib

oxglove bells near by. She loved bumble-bees. They reminded her of a summer long ago when she sat, not on this seat-as a matter of fact it was in the old walled garden a quarter of a mile away-with a gallant young fellow's arms about her and her head on his shoulder. A bumble-bee had droned round her while they kissed. She could never hear a bumble-bee without thinking of it. But the gallant young fellow had been killed in the So

good-bye. She remained for a moment tense, passively awaiting co-ordination of her faculties. Then clear awake, and sending scudding the dear ghosts of the past, she sat up, and catching the indignant spaniel by the collar, looked with a queer, sudden interest at the newcomer. He was young, extraordinarily beautiful; but he staggered and reeled like a drunken man. The spaniel barked his respectable disapproval. In his long life of eighteen months he had seen many people, postmen and butch

an's face was deadly white, his cheeks gaunt. It was evidently a grave matter. For a moment or so she had a qualm of fear lest he might be dead. She bent down, took him in her capable grip and composed his inert body decently, and placed the knapsack he was wearing beneath his head. The faintly beating heart proved him to be alive, but he

swung round the bend of the drive, and then by the Archdeacon, who leaned over the door of the

nd-"I'm so glad to see you. Do help me

lean-shaven face, and clear blue eyes like Miss Winwood's. "If there's a situation, my

conscious youth. "I would suggest," said she, "that we put him int

your suggestion,"

Winwood and the Archdeacon, whose breeches and gaiters were smeared with dust from his heavy boots. A few moments afterwards he was carrie

con, his hands behind his back, paced the noiseless Turkey carp

sekeeper remarked, as her mistress s

nstroke the face is either congested or clammy.

w!" said th

he is," said

y tell us," said

brought it in, had escaped a book, and the servant had laid t

urial. On the flyleaf, 'Paul Savelli.' An und

om his hands-a little cheap r

y dear

ir Thomas Browne, m

has got it bad. Perhaps a touch of the sun as well." The housekeeper smiled discreetly. "Loo

But she looked at Paul and hesitated. Paul's destiny, though none knew it, hun

aid the

r Ursula, I thought you had made the Morebu

ened to him, I should have to reckon with his people. He stays here. You'll kindly arrange for nurses. The red room, Wilkins,-no, the green-the one with the small oak bed.

you may be letting yourself in for a

ble," said M

at Paul and stuffing his stethoscope into his pocket. "And in

, obeyed, like everyone else; but during the process of law-making he had often, bef

hrough her heart that caused her to catch her b

fragrant room, hung with green and furnished in old, black oak. Never once, in all his life, had Paul Kegworthy lain in such a room. And for him a great house was in commotion. Messages went forth for nurses an

ns and alarms the Archdeacon and herself had returned to the library; "but we must try to find out

Italian family of that n

of it," said

wh

ople-are-wel

re you

gnized for what he was by Hottentots or Esquimaux or attendants of wagon-lits trains or millionaires of the Middle West of America or Parisian Apaches. In him the branch of the family tree had burgeoned into the perfect cleric. Yet sometimes, the play of

iled. The old man had a very sunny smile. "I'm sorry to carry

up all my work, turn Catholic, and go into a nunnery-which will distress you exceedingly. And then"-she waved a plump hand-"and then, as I've mentioned be

ack, against whose canvas the stiff outline of a book revealed itself-"he

it," cried

ves

ng her great arm round his frail shoulders. "It proves, my venerable

t advanced one argument either in favour of, or in opposit

r head at hi

ornelian heart, a cigarette case bearing the initials "P.S.," some keys, a very soiled handkerchief, a sovereign, a shilling a

paper with a name and addres

he doctor and I searc

k will tell us more,

gs and a shirt declared by the housekeeper to be wet through. As the Beranger, like the Sir Thomas Browne, was inscribed "Paul Savelli," which corre

can tell us himself," said Mi

wait a long t