With this oath of mickle might on his lips, Mr Checketts jumped suddenly on his feet, like one who has taken a hasty resolution. He hurried to the door to open it; but a hand was on the outside. It opened inwards. Slowly and feebly it opened, and Lord Chesterton stood before him—not the erect, stalwart nobleman of yesterday, but an older man, with stooping shoulders and hesitating gait, his feet hastily thrust into his slippers, his dressing-gown pulled closely over his thin shoulders, his hair unkempt, his cheeks fallen and thin.

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Philip," he murmured, "I have sought you"

"My lord," said Checketts, humbly, "I beg pardon. I have come to see whether my lord's room is all right."

"Well, Checketts, well; and his lordship, Lord Wimpole" -the Earl seemed to hesitate and search for a word-" is he well? Perhaps not so. Where is he?"

"Why, please your lordship, his word was given not to tell He is gone out."

you.

"Gone! Where-when? You hesitate-you gasp, man! Are you afraid? What is it?"

"He's gone out with two-gentlemen," stammered Checketts. "Not the kind of gentlemen he usually knows-with two officers."

"Two officers!" gasped the miserable father. "What officers?" Then, with a sad, silent stupor, he looked straight before him; and the words that his son said about trials that it was impossible to endure, came back to him. The room swam before him, and he caught hold of the arms of the chair to support himself.

"Great heavens!" he thought, "my dream has come true! My unhappy son is arrested, and for the murder of his own brother!"

Mr Checketts opened his eyes with even greater wonder as he saw the grand old nobleman, whom he thought as firm as a rock, or the Bank of England, fall quickly, but very gently, back in a swoon.

By all that's good, I've been and killed the Earl," cried Checketts to himself, as he knelt, in a confused and helpless manner, at his master's feet, after nearly "pulling the bell out by the roots," as he afterwards described his action.

CHAPTER XXII.

VISITORS TO MR HORTON.

IT followed, from this escapade of Mr Checketts, that Mrs Preen and Mr Roskell soon attended to Lord Chesterton; and that his lordship, under the feeling that his servants were gazing upon him in his grief, regained something of his composure, and, after the space of half an hour or so, walked out from Chesterton House almost as composed, at any rate to outward appearance, as when he entered on the previous evening with his son.

Notwithstanding the urgent request of Mr Roskell, the brave old gentleman would not have one of his carriages brought for him; but hiring a hackney coach, he was driven up to the police court, where he found Mr Horton, who had not long parted with his prisoner, and still sat debating with himself the question of Philip's guilt.

Lord Chesterton had left his house with a wavering idea of endeavouring to get his son restored to him; and with a confused but terrible certainty upon his mind that, in the horror of the discovery, Philip had either dyed his hands, or endeavoured to dye them, in the blood of his rival. For although the denizens of the servants' hall were very well up in the criminal proceedings of the day, and were as anxious as most persons to penetrate the Kensal-Green mystery, it had not occurred to them that Philip was, or could be, connected with so vulgar a crime. A terrific duel, a death in a gamblinghouse, the murder of a rival in the affections of some beautiful and enchanting young woman, such, rather, were their notions of a crime perpetrated by their young master; and, indeed, before knowing who the victim was, the partisans of Lord Wimpole were very willing to believe that the murderer, if he were a murderer, was in some manner justified. It is astonishing how lenient we are when we know the criminal. Why does the murdered party get in his way? we naturally inquire. And, indeed, this feeling spreads not only amongst the friends

L

of the murderer, but amongst the public; and, after a certain time, the victim is forgotten, and the crime condoned.

Whilst the servants at Chesterton House were still in ignorance of the cause of the arrest, and were allowing their imaginations to run riot upon various surmises, the Earl was shown into the private room of the magistrate, and received by that gentleman with the tenderest and most respectful regard.

Mr Horton had known Lord Chesterton as most middle-class gentlemen know noblemen-at a distance only. We are not allowed to approach to a near familiarity with those above us. We move in circles, we Englishmen; and forty years ago, these circles were more sharply defined than they are even now. Mr Horton, therefore, was more than respectful in his greeting, when he saw this old nobleman, or rather his shadow, move into his room, with his grief upon him like a burden, with his voice hesitating, and his proud, direct look lowered and abashed.

He rose at once, and motioned him to a chair.

"You can guess, Mr Horton," said his lordship, "why I call. An officer has arrested my".

He would have said "son," but his voice faltered, and refused to say the word.

"You are unwell, my lord," said the magistrate. "Shall I summon any one-a medical man-to attend to you?"

"No," said his lordship, quietly, yet very decisively. "I have merely an old attack. I am not so young as I was, and these little things touch me."

Little things! There was something of the old patrician pride in this.

"And, besides," said his lordship, "we cannot conceal from each other-we, who are men-that this humiliation is, indeed, dreadful. Where is my son? Can I see him?" "It would not be well at pouring out a glass of water. is only a little mystery which Here Mr Horton spoke as against his own conviction.

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present," returned Mr Horton, 'Everything goes well. There must be cleared up, my lord." cheerfully as he could, very much

"In this murder, my lord, there are certain circumstances which press heavily against your son."

"Unhappy boy!" said Lord Chesterton, looking back, no doubt, for years upon the image which his mind formed of his Philip, when he was but a boy, and when he was once the curled darling of his father's heart. "I am afraid it is too true! Horrible as it is, it is but natural. He has fought with him, and killed him."

He uttered these words aloud; but they were addressed more to himself than to Mr Horton. Then he seemed to recover himself, and said

"But I assure you, sir, that Lord Wimpole had great and immense provocation."

"Provocation, my lord?" ejaculated the magistrate with astonishment. "He could have had none. This unfortunate".

"Pardon me, sir," returned Lord Chesterton. "I know something of this; indeed, I am the more guilty of the two."

This confession, which astonished the magistrate not a little, seemed to take a weight off Lord Chesterton's mind. He lifted up his head, and sat erect upon his chair.

Mr George Horton looked at him. "Well!" he thought to himself, in the short pause that occurred, "here is another mystery. Old Daylight will have to be set to work again; and here, again, I may find him a clue."

"Yes," continued the nobleman, more freely, "I am the more guilty of the two. I prepared the train which has exploded, and will bury my house in the ruins."

George Horton, one of his Majesty's stipendiary magistrates for the county of Middlesex, was utterly amazed, and thought, very properly, that his best way was to keep silence. He imagined that misfortune had turned Lord Chesterton's brain, and that he had better let him talk on until a lucid interval occurred.

"As I am not at present accused of any participation in this crime," said the Earl, "I may tell you, sir, as a gentleman of the law in whom I have the utmost confidence, some of my unhappy history."

Misfortune makes old gentlemen garrulous. How willing they are to talk of their ailments; how glad they are, when lowered in their pride and helpless in their trouble, to tell of their sorrows! So thought Mr Horton.

He sat still in his chair, in a good-natured, pitying way, ready to let the nobleman, whose pride had been so cruelly wounded, tell his tale.

"You must indeed pity me, sir," said Lord Chesterton, in answer to the looks of the magistrate. "I can quite understand the courteous sorrow which you express in your looks. Consider, sir, the heir to the house of Chesterton accused of murder; and, it may be "-here the Earl looked round, and spoke in a low tone, as if no one should hear him-" it may be, tried at the Old Bailey, like any common felon, and condemned. It cannot be allowed to be, sir. You must help me." "My lord, it is impossible," said Mr Horton. "I have really personal reasons why I should rejoice if this young gentleman were innocent; but it is not in my province."

"It is in your province," said the Earl, eagerly, "to feel like a gentleman, and to feel with a gentleman. I only want you to help me with your knowledge of the law. This-what shall we call it ?-this homicide cannot have been a murder: it must have been a duel."

"A duel?" asked Mr Horton, in astonishment. lordship aware that the victim was a woman?"

"Is your

"Thank God!" cried the Earl, with a sigh of relief. "I was afraid-for I will conceal nothing from you-that one of my sons had stained his hands with the blood of the other. Now, however, there is hope. Philip cannot have been guilty of this crime. Who, pray, is the unhappy person?"

"Estelle Martin. Your lordship may have seen the "

But Lord Chesterton did not give Horton time to finish the sentence.

"Estelle Martin!" cried he. "Why, she was a servant of the family-a pensioner of mine, whom I brought from Normandy. Why should Philip murder her? He has visited her with me."

Some hope began to dawn in the father's breast of the innocence of his son; but it was soon to be extinguished. Mr Horton begged him to be composed; and, in a dry, calm way -as calm, indeed, as he well could be-he told him the story. Lord Chesterton read the debates in the House, or now and then he might read the leading articles in the vigorous Morn