I.

Tod arrived at Lefford. I met him at the train, just as I had met

Miss Cattledon, who was with us still. As we walked out of the

station together, many a man cast a glance after the tall, fine young

fellow--who looked strong enough to move the world, if, like Archimedes,

the geometrician of Syracuse, he had only possessed the necessary lever.

"Shall you be able to stay a week, Tod?"

"Two weeks if they'd like it, Johnny. How you have picked up, lad!"

"Picked up?"

"In looks. They are all your own again. Glad to see it, old fellow."

Some few days had elapsed since the latest event recorded in this

veritable little history--the call that Major Leckie made on Captain

Collinson, and found his brother there, instead of himself--but no

change worth noting to the reader had occurred in the town politics.

Lady Jenkins was ailing as much as ever, and Madame St. Vincent was

keeping a sharp watch on the maid, Lettice Lane, without, as yet,

detecting her in any evil practices: the soirées were numerous, one

being held at some house or other every night in the work-a-day week:

and the engagement of Captain Collinson to Miss Belmont was now talked

of as an assured fact. Collinson himself had been away from Lefford

during these intervening days. Pink, the hairdresser, thought he had

taken a run up to London, on some little matter of business. As to the

brother, we had heard no more of him.

But, if Captain Collinson had taken a run up to London, he had

unquestionably run down again, though not to Lefford. On the day but one

before the coming of Tod, Janet and Miss Cattledon went over by train

to do some shopping at the county town, which stood fifteen miles from

Lefford, I being with them. Turning into a pastry-cook's in the middle

of the day to get something to eat, we turned in upon Captain Collinson.

He sat at a white marble-topped table in the corner of the shop, eating

an oyster patty.

"We heard you were in London," said Janet, shaking hands with him, as he

rose to offer her his seat.

"Got back this morning. Shall be at Lefford to-morrow: perhaps

to-night," he answered.

He stood gobbling up his patty quickly. I said something to him, just

because the recollection came into my mind, about the visit of his

brother.

"My brother!" he exclaimed in answer, staring at me with all his eyes.

"What brother? How do you know anything about my brother?"

"Major Leckie saw him when he called at your lodgings. Saw him instead

of you. You had gone to Toome. We took it to be your brother, from the

description; he was so like yourself."

The captain smiled. "I forgot that," he said. "We _are_ much alike. Ned

told me of Leckie's call. A pity I could not see him! Things always

happen cross and contrary. Has Leckie left Foxgrove yet?"

"Oh, he left it that same night. I should think he is on his way back to

India by this time."

"His visit to Lefford seems to have been as flying a one as my brother's

was, and _his_ did not last a day. How much?" to the girl behind the

counter. "Sixpence? There it is." And, with a general adieu nodded to

the rest of us, the captain left the shop.

"I don't like that dandy," spoke Cattledon, in her severest tone. "I

have said so before. I'm sure he is a man who cannot be trusted."

I answered nothing: but I had for a little time now thought the same.

There was that about him that gave you the idea he was in some way or

other not _true_. And it may as well be mentioned here that Captain

Collinson got back to Lefford that same evening, in time to make his

appearance at Mrs. Parker's soirée, at which both Miss Belmont and Mina

Knox were present.

So now we come to Tod again, and to the day of his arrival. Talking of

one thing and another, telling him of this and that, of the native

politics, as we all like to do when a stranger comes to set himself

down, however temporarily, amidst us, I mentioned the _familiarity_ that

in two of the people struck upon my memory. Never did I see this same

Captain Collinson, never did I see Madame St. Vincent, or hear them

speak, or listen to their laugh, but the feeling that I had met them

before--had been, so to say, intimate with both one and the other--came

forcibly upon me.

"And yet it would seem, upon the face of things, that I never have

been," I continued to Tod, when telling of this. "Madame St. Vincent

says she never left the South of France until last year; and the captain

has been nearly all his life in India."

"You know you do take fancies, Johnny."

"True. But, are not those fancies generally borne out by the result? Any

way, they puzzle me, both of them: and there's a ring in their voices

that----"

"A ring in their voices!" put in Tod, laughing.

"Say an accent, then; especially in madame's; and it sounds, to my ears,

unmistakably Worcestershire."

"Johnny, you _are_ fanciful!"

I never got anything better from Tod. "You will have the honour of

meeting them both here to-night," I said to him, "for it is Janet's turn

to give the soirée, and I know they are expected."

Evening came. At six o'clock the first instalment of guests knocked at

the door; by half-past six the soirée was in full glory: a regular

crowd. Every one seemed to have come, with the exception of the ladies

from Jenkins House. Sam Jenkins brought in their excuses.

Sam had run up to Jenkins House with some physic for the butler, who

said he had a surfeit (from drinking too much old ale, Tamlyn thought),

and Sam had made use of the opportunity to see his aunt. Madame St.

Vincent objected. It would try the dear old lady too much, madame said.

She was lying in a sweet sleep on the sofa in her own room; had been

quite blithe and lively all day, but was drowsy now; and she had better

not be disturbed until bedtime. Perhaps Mr. Sam would kindly make their

excuses to Mrs. Arnold Knox.

"Can't you come yourself, madame?" asked Sam, politely. "If Aunt Jenkins

is asleep, and means to keep asleep till bed-time, she can't want you."

"I could not think of leaving her," objected madame. "She looks for me

the moment she wakes."

So Sam, I say, brought back the message. Putting himself into his

evening-coat, he came into the room while tea was going on, and

delivered madame's excuses to Janet as distinctly as the rattle of cups

and saucers allowed. You should have seen Cattledon that evening:--in a

grey silk gown that stood on end, a gold necklace, and dancing shoes.

"This is the second soirée this week that Lady Jenkins has failed to

appear at," spoke Mrs. Knox--not Janet--in a resentful tone. "My firm

opinion is that Madame St. Vincent keeps her away."

"Keeps her away," cried Arnold. "Why should she do that?"

"Well, yes; gives way to her fads and fancies about being ill, instead

of rousing her out of them. As to _why_ she does it," continued Mrs.

Knox, "I suppose she is beginning to grow nervous about her. As if an

innocent, quiet soirée could hurt Lady Jenkins!"

"Johnny," whispered Sam, subsiding into the background after delivering

his message, "may I never stir again if I didn't see Collinson hiding in

aunt's garden!"

"_Hiding_ in your aunt's garden!" I exclaimed. "What was he doing that

for?"

"Goodness knows. Did you ever notice a big bay-tree that you pass on the

left, between the door and the gate? Well, he was standing behind it. I

came out of the house at a double quick pace, knowing I should be late

for the soirée, cleared the steps at a leap, and the path to the gate at

another. Too quick, I suppose, for Collinson. He was bending forward to

look at the parlour windows, and drew back as I passed."

"Did you speak, Sam?"

"No, I came flying on, taking no notice. I dare say he thinks I did not

see him. One does not like, you know, to speak to a man who evidently

wants to avoid you. But now--I wonder what he was doing there?"

continued Sam, reflectively. "Watching Madame St. Vincent, I should say,

through the lace curtains."

"But for what purpose?"

"I can't even imagine. There he was."

To my mind this sounded curious. But that Mina Knox was before my

eyes--just at the moment listening to the whispers of Dan Jenkins--I

should have thought the captain was looking after her. Or, rather, _not_

listening to Dan. Mina had a pained, restless look on her face, not in

the least natural to it, and kept her head turned away. And the more Dan

whispered, the more she turned it from him.

"Here he is, Sam."

Sam looked round at my words, and saw Captain Collinson, then coming in.

He was got up to perfection as usual, and wore a white rose in his

button-hole. His purple-black hair, beard, whiskers and moustache were

grand; his voice had its ordinary fashionable drawl. I saw Tod--at the

opposite side of the room--cease talking with old Tamlyn, to fix his

keen eyes on the captain.

"Very sorry to be so late," apologized the captain, bowing over Janet's

hand. "Been detained at home writing letters for India. Overland mail

goes out to-morrow night."

Sam gave me a knock with his elbow. "What a confounded story!" he

whispered. "Wonder what the gallant captain means, Johnny! Wonder what

game he is up to?"

It was, I dare say, nearly an hour after this that I came across Tod. He

was standing against the wall, laughing slightly to himself, evidently

in some glee. Captain Collinson was at the piano opposite, his back to

us, turning over the leaves for Caroline Parker, who was singing.

"What are you amused at, Tod?"

"At you, lad. Thinking what a muff you are."

"I always am a muff, I know. But why am I one just now in particular?"

"For not knowing that man," nodding towards Collinson. "I thought I

recognized him as he came in; felt sure of him when I heard him speak.

Men may disguise their faces almost at will; but not their voices,

Johnny."

"Why, who is he?" I asked in surprise.

"I'll tell you when we are alone. I should have known him had we met

amid the Hottentots. I thought he was over in Australia; knew he went

there."

"But--is he not Captain Collinson?"

Tod laughed. "Just as much as I am, Johnny. Of course he may have

assumed the name of Collinson in place of his own: if so, nobody has a

right, I take it, to say him nay. But, as to his being a captain in the

Bengal Cavalry--well, I don't think he is."

"And you say I know him!"

"I say you ought to--but for being a muff. I suppose it is the hair he

is adorned with that has thrown you off the scent."

"But, where have I seen him, Tod? Who----"

"Hush, lad. We may be overheard."

As a general rule, all the guests at these soirées left together. They

did so to-night. The last to file out at the door were the Hampshires,

with Mrs. Knox, her daughter, and Miss Mack--for Janet had made a point

of inviting poor hard-worked, put-upon Macky. Both families lived in the

London Road, and would go home in company. Dan had meant to escort Mina,

but she pointedly told him he was not wanted, and took the offered arm

of Captain Collinson. Upon which, Dan turned back in a huff. Sam laughed

at that, and ran after them himself.

How long a time had elapsed afterwards, I hardly know. Perhaps

half-an-hour; perhaps not so much. We had not parted for the night: in

fact, Mr. Tamlyn and Tod were still over the game at chess they had

begun since supper; which game seemed in no mood to be finished. I

watched it: Dr. Knox and Miss Cattledon stood talking over the fire;

while Janet, ever an active housekeeper, was in the supper-room, helping

the maids to clear the table. In the midst of this, Charlotte Knox came

back, rushing into the room in a state of intense excitement, with the

news that Mina and Captain Collinson were eloping together.

The account she gave was this--though just at first nothing clear could

be made out of her. Upon starting, the Hampshires, Mrs. Knox, and Miss

Mack went on in front; Captain Collinson and Mina walked next, and

Charlotte fell behind with Sam. Fell very much behind, as it appeared;

for when people are talking of what interests them, their steps are apt

to linger; and Sam was telling her of having seen Captain Collinson

behind the bay-tree. It was a beautiful night, warm and pleasant.

Charlotte and Sam let the captain and Mina get pretty nearly the length

of a street before them; and _they_, in their turn, were as much behind

the party in advance. Suddenly Sam exclaimed that the captain was taking

the wrong way. His good eyes had discerned that, instead of keeping

straight on, which was the proper (and only) route to the London Road,

he and Mina had turned down the lane leading to the railway-station.

"Halloa!" he exclaimed to Charlotte, "what's that for?" "They must be

dreaming," was Charlotte's laughing reply: "or, perhaps the captain

wants to take an excursion by a night-train!" Whether anything in the

last remark, spoken in jest, struck particularly on the mind of Sam,

Charlotte did not know: away he started as if he had been shot,

Charlotte running after him in curiosity. Arrived at the lane, Sam saw

the other two flying along, just as if they wanted to catch a train and

had not a minute to do it in. Onward went Sam's long legs in pursuit;

but the captain's legs were long also, and he was pulling Mina with him:

altogether Sam did not gain much upon them. The half-past eleven o'clock

train was then gliding into the station, where it was timed to halt two

minutes. The captain and Mina dashed on to the platform, and, when

Sam got up, he was putting her into the nearest carriage. Such was

Charlotte's statement: and her eyes looked wild, and her breath was

laboured as she made it.

"Have they _gone_?--gone on by the train?" questioned Dr. Knox, who

seemed unnaturally calm.

"Goodness, no!" panted the excited Charlotte. "Sam managed to get his

arm round Mina's waist, and the captain could not pull her away from

him. It was a regular struggle on the platform, Arnold. I appealed to

the station-master, who stood by. I told him it was my sister, and that

she was being kidnapped against her will; Sam also appealed to him. So

he gave the signal when the time was up, and let the train go on."

"Not against her will, I fear," spoke Arnold Knox from between his

condemning lips. "Where are they now, Lotty?"

"On the platform, quarrelling; and still struggling which shall keep

possession of Mina. I came running here to fetch you, Arnold, and I

believe I shall never get my breath again."

With one accord we all, Cattledon excepted, set off to the station; even

old Tamlyn proved he had some go in his legs yet. Tod reached it first:

few young men could come up to him at running.

Sam Jenkins had exchanged his hold of Mina for a hold on Captain

Collinson. The two were struggling together; but Sam's grasp was firm,

and he held him as in a vice. "No, no," he was saying, "you don't escape

me, captain, until some one comes here to take charge of Mina." As

to Mina, little simpleton, she cowered in the shade of the corner,

shivering and crying. The station-master and the two night-porters stood

about, gaping and staring.

Tod put his hand on the captain's shoulder; his other hand momentarily

holding back Dr. Knox. "Since when have you been Captain Collinson," he

quietly asked.

The captain turned his angry eyes upon him. "What is that to you?" he

retorted. "I am Captain Collinson; that is enough for you."

"Enough for me, and welcome. Not enough, as I judge, for this gentleman

here," indicating the doctor. "When I knew you your name was not

Collinson."

"How dare you insult me?" hissed the captain. "My name not Collinson!"

"Not at all!" was Tod's equable answer. "It used to be FABIAN PELL."