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Count Bunker

by J. Storer Clouston

January, 1999  [Etext #1613]
[Date last updated: August 1, 2004]


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COUNT BUNKER

BEING
A BALD YET VERACIOUS CHRONICLE CONTAINING
SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF TWO GENTLEMEN
WHOSE PREVIOUS CAREERS WERE TOUCHED UPON
IN A TOME ENTITLED "THE LUNATIC AT LARGE"

BY
J. STORER CLOUSTON




COUNT BUNKER



CHAPTER I

It is only with the politest affectation of interest,
as a rule, that English Society learns the arrival
in its midst of an ordinary Continental nobleman;
but the announcement that the Baron Rudolph
von Blitzenberg had been appointed attache to the German
embassy at the Court of St. James was unquestionably
received with a certain flutter of excitement.  That
his estates were as vast as an average English county,
and his ancestry among the noblest in Europe, would
not alone perhaps have arrested the attention of the
paragraphists, since acres and forefathers of foreign
extraction are rightly regarded as conferring at the most a
claim merely to toleration.  But in addition to these he
possessed a charming English wife, belonging to one of
the most distinguished families in the peerage (the Grillyers
of Monkton-Grillyer), and had further demonstrated
his judgment by purchasing the winner of the
last year's Derby, with a view to improving the horse-
flesh of his native land.

From a footnote attached to the engraving of the
Baron in a Homburg hat holding the head of the steed
in question, which formed the principal attraction in several
print-sellers' windows in Piccadilly, one gathered
that though his faculties had been cultivated and exercised
in every conceivable direction, yet this was his first
serious entrance into the diplomatic world.  There was
clearly, therefore, something unusual about the appointment;
so that it was rumored, and rightly, that an international
importance was to be attached to the incident,
and a delicate compliment to be perceived in the selection
of so popular a link between the Anglo-Saxon and the
Teutonic peoples.  Accordingly "Die Wacht am Rhein"
was played by the Guards' band down the entire length
of Ebury Street, photographs of the Baroness appeared
in all the leading periodicals, and Society, after its own
less demonstrative but equally sincere fashion, prepared
to welcome the distinguished visitors.

They arrived in town upon a delightful day in July,
somewhat late in the London season, to be sure, yet not
too late to be inundated with a snowstorm of cards and
invitations to all the smartest functions that remained. 
For the first few weeks, at least, you would suppose the
Baron to have no time for thought beyond official
receptions and unofficial dinners; yet as he looked from his
drawing-room windows into the gardens of Belgrave
Square upon the second afternoon since they had settled
into this great mansion, it was not upon such functions
that his fancy ran.  Nobody was more fond of gaiety,
nobody more appreciative of purple and fine linen, than
the Baron von Blitzenberg; but as he mused there he began
to recall more and more vividly, and with an ever
rising pleasure, quite different memories of life in
London.  Then by easy stages regret began to cloud this
reminiscent satisfaction, until at last he sighed--

"Ach, my dear London!  How moch should I enjoy
you if I were free!"

For the benefit of those who do not know the Baron
either personally or by repute, he may briefly be
described as an admirably typical Teuton.  When he first
visited England (some five years previously) he stood
for Bavarian manhood in the flower; now, you behold
the fruit.  As magnificently mustached, as ruddy of
skin, his eye as genial, and his impulses as hearty; he
added to-day to these two more stone of Teutonic excellences
incarnate.

In his ingenuous glance, as in the more rounded contour
of his waistcoat, you could see at once that fate
had dealt kindly with him.  Indeed, to hear him sigh was
so unwonted an occurrence that the Baroness looked up
with an air of mild surprise.

"My dear Rudolph," said she, "you should really
open the window.  You are evidently feeling the heat."

"No, not ze heat," replied the Baron.

He did not turn his head towards her, and she looked
at him more anxiously.

"What is it, then?  I have noticed a something strange
about you ever since we landed at Dover.  Tell me,
Rudolph!"

Thus adjured, he cast a troubled glance in her direction. 
He saw a face whose mild blue eyes and undetermined
mouth he still swore by as the standard by which
to try all her inferior sisters, and a figure whose growing
embonpoint yearly approached the outline of his ideal
hausfrau.  But it was either St. Anthony or one of his
fellow-martyrs who observed that an occasional holiday
from the ideal is the condiment in the sauce of sanctity;
and some such reflection perturbed the Baron at this
moment.

"It is nozing moch," he answered.

"Oh, I know what it is.  You have grown so accustomed
to seeing the same people, year after year--the
Von Greifners, and Rosenbaums, and all those.  You
miss them, don't you?  Personally, I think it a very
good thing that you should go abroad and be a diplomatist,
and not stay in Fogelschloss so much; and you'll
soon make loads of friends here.  Mother comes to us
next week, you know."

"Your mozzer is a nice old lady," said the Baron
slowly.  "I respect her, Alicia; bot it vas not mozzers
zat I missed just now."

"What was it?"

"Life!" roared the Baron, with a sudden outburst of
thundering enthusiasm that startled the Baroness completely
out of her composure.  "I did have fun for my
money vunce in London.  Himmel, it is too hot to eat
great dinners and to vear clothes like a monkey-jack."

"Like a what?" gasped the Baroness.

To hear the Baron von Blitzenberg decry the paraphernalia
and splendors of his official liveries was even
more astonishing than his remarkable denunciation of
the pleasures of the table, since to dress as well as play
the part of hereditary grandee had been till this minute
his constant and enthusiastic ambition.

"A meat-jack, I mean--or a--I know not vat you
call it.  Ach, I vant a leetle fun, Alicia."

"A little fun," repeated the Baroness in a breathless
voice.  "What kind of fun?"

"I know not," said he, turning once more to stare
out of the window.

To this dignified representative of a particularly
dignified State even the trees of Belgrave Square seemed at
that moment a trifle too conventionally perpendicular. 
If they would but dance and wave their boughs he would
have greeted their greenness more gladly.  A good-looking
nursemaid wheeled a perambulator beneath their
shade, and though she never looked his way, he took a
wicked pleasure in surreptitiously closing first one eye
and then the other in her direction.  This might not
entirely satisfy the aspirations of his soul, yet it seemed
to serve as some vent for his pent-up spirit.  He turned
to his spouse with a pleasantly meditative air.

"I should like to see old Bonker vunce more," he
observed.

"Bunker?  You mean Mr. Mandell-Essington?" said
she, with an apprehensive note in her voice.

"To me he vill alvays be Bonker."

The Baroness looked at him reproachfully.

"You promised me, Rudolph, you would see as
little as possible of Mr. Essington."

"Oh, ja, as leetle--as possible," answered the Baron,
though not with his most ingenuous air.  "Besides, it is
tree years since I promised.  For tree years I have seen
nozing.  My love Alicia, you vould not have me forget
mine friends altogezzer?"

But the Baroness had too vivid a recollection of their
last (and only) visit to England since their marriage. 
By a curious coincidence that also was three years ago.

"When you last met you remember what happened?"
she asked, with an ominous hint of emotion in her
accents .

"My love, how often have I eggsplained?  Zat night
you mean, I did schleep in mine hat because I had got a
cold in my head.  I vas not dronk, no more zan you.  Vat
you found in my pocket vas a mere joke, and ze cabman
who called next day vas jost vat I told him to his ogly
face--a blackmail."

"You gave him money to go away."

"A Blitzenberg does not bargain mit cabmen," said
the Baron loftily.

His wife's spirits began to revive.  There seemed to
speak the owner of Fogelschloss, the haughty magnate
of Bavaria.

"You have too much self-respect to wish to find yourself
in such a position again," she said.  "I know you
have, Rudolph!"

The Baron was silent.  This appeal met with distinctly
less response than she confidently counted upon.  In a
graver note she inquired--

"You know what mother thinks of Mr. Essington?"

"Your mozzer is a vise old lady, Alicia; but we do
not zink ze same on all opinions."

"She will be exceedingly displeased if you--well, if
you do anything that she THOROUGHLY disapproves of."

The Baron left the window and took his wife's plump
hand affectionately within his own broad palm.

"You can assure her, my love, zat I shall never do
vat she dislikes.  You vill say zat to her if she
inquires?"

"Can I, truthfully?"

"Ach, my own dear!"

From his enfolding arms she whispered tenderly--

"Of course I will, Rudolph!"

With a final hug the embrace abruptly ended, and the
Baron hastily glanced at his watch.

"Ach, nearly had I forgot!  I must go to ze club
for half an hour."

"Must you?"

"To meet a friend."

"What friend?" asked the Baroness quickly.

"A man whose name you vould know vell--oh, vary
vell known he is!  But in diplomacy, mine Alicia, a quiet
meeting in a club is sometimes better not to be advertised
too moch.  Great wars have come from one vord of
indiscretion.  You know ze axiom of Bismarck--
'In diplomacy it is necessary for a diplomatist to be
diplomatic.'  Good-by, my love."

He bowed as profoundly as if she were a reigning
sovereign, blew an affectionate kiss as he went through
the door, and then descended the stairs with a rapidity
that argued either that his appointment was urgent or
that diplomacy shrank from a further test within this
mansion.



CHAPTER II

For the last year or two the name of Rudolph
von Blitzenberg had appeared in the members'
list of that most exclusive of institutions,
the Regent's Club, Pall Mall; and it was
thither he drove on this fine afternoon of July.  At
no resort in London were more famous personages
to be found, diplomatic and otherwise, and nothing
would have been more natural than a meeting between the
Baron and a European celebrity beneath its roof; so that
if you had seen him bounding impetuously up the steps,
and noted the eagerness with which he inquired whether
a gentleman had called for him, you would have had
considerable excuse for supposing his appointment to be
with a dignitary of the highest importance.

"Goot!" he cried on learning that a stranger was
indeed waiting for him.  His face beamed with anticipatory
joy.  Aha! he was not to be disappointed.

"Vill he be jost the same?" he wondered.  "Ah, if he
is changed I shall veep!"

He rushed into the smoking-room, and there, instead
of any bald notability or spectacled statesman, there
advanced to meet him a merely private English gentleman,
tolerably young, undeniably good-looking, and graced
with the most debonair of smiles.

"My dear Bonker!" cried the Baron, crimsoning with
joy.  "Ach, how pleased I am!"

"Baron!" replied his visitor gaily.  "You cannot
deceive me--that waistcoat was made in Germany!  Let
me lead you to a respectable tailor!"

Yet, despite his bantering tone, it was easy to see that
he took an equal pleasure in the meeting.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron, "vot a fonny zing to
say!  Droll as ever, eh?"

"Five years less droll than when we first met," said
the late Bunker and present Essington.  "You meet a
dullish dog, Baron--a sobered reveller."

"Ach, no!  Not surely?  Do not disappoint me, dear
Bonker!"

The Baron's plaintive note seemed to amuse his friend.

"You don't mean to say you actually wish a boon
companion?  You, Baron, the modern Talleyrand, the
repository of three emperors' secrets?  My dear fellow,
I nearly came in deep mourning."

"Mourning!  For vat?"

"For our lamented past:  I supposed you would have
the air of a Nonconformist beadle."

"My friend!" said the Baron eagerly, and yet with
a lowering of his voice, "I vould not like to engage a
beadle mit jost ze same feelings as me.  Come here to
zis corner and let us talk!  Vaiter! whisky--soda--
cigars--all for two.  Come, Bonker!"

Stretched in arm-chairs, in a quiet corner of the room,
the two surveyed one another with affectionate and
humorous interest.  For three years they had not seen
one another at all, and save once they had not met for
five.  In five years a man may change his religion or lose
his hair, inherit a principality or part with a reputation,
grow a beard or turn teetotaler.  Nothing so fundamental
had happened to either of our friends.  The Baron's
fullness of contour we have already noticed; in Mandell-
Essington, EX Bunker, was to be seen even less evidence
of the march of time.  But years, like wheels upon a road,
can hardly pass without leaving in their wake some faint
impress, however fair the weather, and perhaps his hair
lay a fraction of an inch higher up the temple, and in the
corners of his eyes a hint might even be discerned of
those little wrinkles that register the smiles and frowns.
Otherwise he was the same distinguished-looking, immaculately
dressed, supremely self-possessed, and charming
Francis Bunker, whom the Baron's memory stored
among its choicer possessions.

"Tell me," demanded the Baron, "vat you are doing
mit yourself, mine Bonker."

"Doing?" said Essington, lighting his cigar. 
"Well, my dear Baron, I am endeavoring to live as I
imagine a gentleman should."

"And how is zat?"

"Riding a little, shooting a little, and occasionally
telling the truth.  At other times I cock a wise eye at my
modest patrimony, now and then I deliver a lecture with
magic-lantern slides; and when I come up to town I
sometimes watch cricket-matches.  A devilish invigorating
programme, isn't it?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed the Baron again; he had come
prepared to laugh, and carried out his intention
religiously.  "But you do not feel more old and sober,
eh?"

"I don't want to, but no man can avoid his destiny. 
The natives of this island are a serious people, or if they
are frivolous, it is generally a trifle vulgarly done.  The
diversions of the professedly gay-hooting over pointless
badinage and speculating whose turn it is to get
divorced next--become in time even more sobering than
a scientific study with diagrams of how to breed pheasants
or play golf.  If some one would teach us the
simple art of being light-hearted he would deserve to
be placed along with Nelson on his monument."

"Oh, my dear vellow!" cried the Baron.  "Do I hear
zese kind of vords from you?"

"If you starved a city-full of people, wouldn't you
expect to hear the man with the biggest appetite cry
loudest?"

The Baron's face fell further and Essington laughed
aloud.

"Come, Baron, hang it!  You of all people should
be delighted to see me a fellow-member of respectable
society.  I take you to be the type of the conventional
aristocrat.  Why, a fellow who's been travelling in Germany
said to me lately, when I asked about you--'Von
Blitzenberg,' said he, 'he's used as a simile for
traditional dignity.  His very dogs have to sit up on their
hind-legs when he inspects the kennels!' "

The Baron with a solemn face gulped down his
whisky-and-soda.

"Zat is not true about my dogs," he replied, "but
I do confess my life is vary dignified.  So moch is expected
of a Blitzenberg.  Oh, ja, zere is moch state and
ceremony."

"And you seem to thrive on it."

"Vell, it does not destroy ze appetite," the Baron
admitted; "and it is my duty so to live at Fogelschloss,
and I alvays vish to do my duty.  But, ach, sometimes I
do vant to kick ze trace!"

"You mean you would want to if it were not for the
Baroness?"

Bunker smiled whimsically; but his friend continued
as simply serious as ever.

"Alicia is ze most divine woman in ze world--I respect
her, Bonker, I love her, I gonsider her my better
angel; but even in Heaven, I suppose, peoples sometimes
vould enjoy a stroll in Piccadeelly, or in some vay to
exercise ze legs and shout mit excitement.  No doubt
you zink it unaccountable and strange--pairhaps ungrateful
of me, eh?"

"On the contrary, I feel as I should if I feared this
cigar had gone out and then found it alight after all."

"You say so!  Ah, zen I will have more boldness to
confess my heart!  Bonker, ven I did land in England ze
leetle thought zat vould rise vas--'Ze land of freedom
vunce again!  Here shall I not have to be alvays ze
Baron von Blitzenberg, oldest noble in Bavaria, hereditary
carpet-beater to ze Court!  I vill disguise and go
mit old Bonker for a frolic!' "

"You touch my tenderest chord, Baron!"

"Goot, goot, my friend!" cried the Baron, warming
to his work of confession like a penitent whose absolution
is promised in advance; "you speak ze vords I love to
hear!  Of course I vould not be vicked, and I vould not
disgrace myself; but I do need a leetle exercise. Is it
possible?"

Essington sprang up and enthusiastically shook his
hand.

"Dear Baron, you come like a ray of sunshine
through a London fog--like a moulin rouge alighting
in Carlton House Terrace!  I thought my own leaves
were yellowing; I now perceive that was only an autumnal
change.  Spring has returned, and I feel like a
green bay tree!"

"Hoch, hoch!" roared the Baron, to the great
surprise of two Cabinet Ministers and a Bishop who were
taking tea at the other side of the room.  "Vat shall ve
do to show zere is no sick feeling?"

"H'm," reflected Essington, with a comical look. 
"There's a lot of scaffolding at the bottom of St.
James's Street. Should we have it down to-night?  Or
what do you say to a packet of dynamite in the two-
penny tube?"

The Baron sobered down a trifle.

"Ach, not so fast, not qvite so fast, dear Bonker. 
Remember I must not get into troble at ze embassy."

"My dear fellow, that's your pull. Foreign diplomatists
are police-proof!"

"Ah, but my wife!"

"One stormy hour--then tears and forgiveness!"

The Baron lowered his voice.

"Her mozzer vill visit us next veek.  I loff and respect
Lady Grillyer; but I should not like to have to ask her
for forgiveness."

"Yes, she has rather an uncompromising nose, so far
as I remember."

"It is a kind nose to her friends, Bonker," the Baron
explained, "but severe towards----"

"Myself, for instance," laughed Essington.  "Well,
what do you suggest?"

"First, zat you dine mit me to-night.  No, I vill take
no refusal!  Listen!  I am now meeting a distinguished
person on important international business--do you
pairceive?  Ha, ha, ha!  To-night it vill be necessary
ve most dine togezzer.  I have an engagement, but he
can be put off for soch a great person as the man I am
now meeting at ze club!  You vill gom?"

"I should have been delighted--only unluckily I have
a man dining with me.  I tell you what!  You come and
join us!  Will you?"

"If zat is ze only vay--yes, mit pleasure!  Who is
ze man?"

"Young Tulliwuddle.  Do you remember going to a
dance at Lord Tulliwuddle's, some five and a half years
ago?"

"Himmel!  Ha, ha!  Vell do I remember!"

"Well, our host of that evening died the other day,
and this fellow is his heir--a second or third cousin whose
existence was so displeasing to the old peer that he left
him absolutely nothing that wasn't entailed, and never
said 'How-do-you-do?' to him in his life.  In
consequence, he may not entertain you as much as I should
like."

"If he is your friend, I shall moch enjoy his society!"

"I am flattered, but hardly convinced.  Tulliwuddle's
intellect is scarcely of the sparkling kind.  However,
come and try."

The hour, the place, were arranged; a reminiscence or
two exchanged; fresh suggestions thrown out for the
rejuvenation of a Bavarian magnate; another baronial
laugh shook the foundations of the club; and then, as
the afternoon was wearing on, the Baron hailed a cab
and galloped for Belgrave Square, and the late Mr.
Bunker sauntered off along Pall Mall.

"Who can despair of human nature while the Baron
von Blitzenberg adorns the earth?" he reflected.  "The
discovery of champagne and the invention of summer
holidays were minor events compared with his descent
from Olympus!"

He bought a button-hole at the street corner and
cocked his hat, more airily than ever.

"A volcanic eruption may inspire one to succor
humanity, a wedding to condole with it, and a general
election to warn it of its folly; but the Baron inspires one
to amuse!"

Meanwhile that Heaven-sent nobleman, with a manner
enshrouded in mystery, was comforting his wife.

"Ah, do not grieve, mine Alicia!  No doubt ze Duke
vill be disappointed not to see us to-night, but I have
telegraphed.  Ja, I have said I had so important an
affair.  Ach, do not veep!  I did not know you wanted
so moch to dine mit ze old Duke.  I sopposed you vould
like a quiet evening at home.  But anyhow I have now
telegraphed--and my leetle dinner mit my friend--Ach,
it is so important zat I most rosh and get dressed. 
Cheer up, my loff!  Good-by!"

He paused in answer to a tearful question.

"His name?  Alas, I have promised not to say.  You
vould not have a European war by my indiscretion?"



CHAPTER III

With mirrors reflecting a myriad lights,
with the hum of voices, the rustle of
satin and lace, the hurrying steps of
waiters, the bubbling of laughter, of life,
and of wine--all these on each side of them, and a plate,
a foaming glass, and a friend in front, the Baron and
his host smiled radiantly down upon less favored mortals.

"Tulliwuddle is very late," said Essington; "but he's
a devilish casual gentleman in all matters."

"I am selfish enoff to hope he vill not gom at all!"
exclaimed the Baron.

"Unfortunately he has had the doubtful taste to
conceive a curiously high opinion of myself.  I am afraid
he won't desert us.  But I don't propose that we shall
suffer for his slackness.  Bring the fish, waiter."

The Baron was happy; and that is to say that his
laughter re-echoed from the shining mirrors, his tongue
was loosed, his heart expanded, his glass seemed ever
empty.

"Ach, how to make zis joie de vivre to last beyond to-
night!" he cried.  "May ze Teufel fly off mit of offeecial
duties and receptions and--and even mit my vife for a
few days."

"My dear Baron!"

"To Alicia!" cried the Baron hastily, draining his
glass at the toast.  "But some fun first!"

     " 'I could not love thee, dear, so well,
         Loved I not humor more!' "

misquoted his host gaily.  "Ah!" he added, "here
comes Tulliwuddle."

A young man, with his hands in his pockets and an
eyeglass in his eye, strolled up to their table.

"I'm beastly sorry for being so late," said he; "but
I'm hanged if I could make up my mind whether to
risk wearing one of these frilled shirt-fronts.  It's not
bad, I think, with one's tie tied this way.  What do you
say?"

"It suits you like a halo," Essington assured him. 
"But let me introduce you to my friend the Baron
Rudolph von Blitzenberg."

Lord Tulliwuddle bowed politely and took the empty
chair; but it was evident that his attention could not
concentrate itself upon sublunary matters till the shirt-
front had been critically inspected and appreciatively
praised by his host.  Indeed, it was quite clear that
Essington had not exaggerated his regard for himself. 
This admiration was perhaps the most pleasing feature
to be noted on a brief acquaintance with his lordship. 
He was obviously intended neither for a strong man of
action nor a great man of thought.  A tolerable appearance
and considerable amiability he might no doubt
claim; but unfortunately the effort to retain his eye-
glass had apparently the effect of forcing his mouth
chronically open, which somewhat marred his appearance;
while his natural good-humor lapsed too frequently
into the lamentations of an idle man that
Providence neglected him or that his creditors were too
attentive.

It happens, however, that it is rather his
circumstances than his person which concern this history.  And,
briefly, these were something in this sort.  Born a poor
relation and guided by no strong hand, he had gradually
seen himself, as Reverend uncles and Right Honorable
cousins died of, approach nearer and nearer to
the ancient barony of Tulliwuddle (created 1475 in the
peerage of Scotland), until this year he had actually
succeeded to it.  But after his first delight in this piece
of good fortune had subsided he began to realize in
himself two notable deficiencies very clearly, the lack of
money, and more vaguely, the want of any preparation
for filling the shoes of a stately courtier and famous
Highland chieftain.  He would often, and with considerable
feeling, declare that any ordinary peer he
could easily have become, but that being old Tulliwuddle's
heir, by Gad! he didn't half like the job.

At present he was being tolerated or befriended by a
small circle of acquaintances, and rapidly becoming a
familiar figure to three or four tailors and half a dozen
door-keepers at the stage entrances to divers Metropolitan
theatres.  In the circle of acquaintances, the humorous
sagacity of Essington struck him as the most astonishing
thing he had ever known.  He felt, in fact,
much like a village youth watching his first conjuring
performance, and while the whim lasted (a period which
Essington put down as probably six weeks) he would
have gone the length of paying a bill or ordering a
tie on his recommendation alone.

To-night the distinguished appearance and genial
conversation of Essington's friend impressed him more
than ever with the advantages of knowing so remarkable
a personage.  A second bottle succeeded the first, and a
third the second, the cordiality of the dinner growing
all the while, till at last his lordship had laid aside the
last traces of his national suspicion of even the most
charming strangers.

"I say, Essington," he said, "I had meant to tell
you about a devilish delicate dilemma I'm in.  I want
your advice."

"You have it," interrupted his host.  "Give her a
five-pound note, see that she burns your letters, and
introduce her to another fellow."

"But--er--that wasn't the thing----"

"Tell him you'll pay in six months, and order
another pair of trousers," said Essington, briskly as ever.

"But, I say, it wasn't that----"

"My dear Tulliwuddle, I never give racing tips."

"Hang it!"

"What is the matter?"

Tulliwuddle glanced at the Baron.

"I don't know whether the Baron would be interested----"

"Immensely, my goot Tollyvoddle!  Supremely!
hugely!  I could be interested to-night in a museum!"

"The Baron's past life makes him a peculiarly
catholic judge of indiscretions," said Essington.

Thus reassured, Tulliwuddle began--

"You know I've an aunt who takes an interest in me--
wants me to collar an heiress and that sort of thing. 
Well, she has more or less arranged a marriage for me."

"Fill your glasses, gentlemen!" cried Essington.

"Hoch, hoch!" roared the Baron.

"But, I say, wait a minute!  That's only the
beginning.  I don't know the girl--and she doesn't know
me."

He said the last words in a peculiarly significant tone.

"Do you wish me to introduce you?"

"Oh, hang it!  Be serious, Essington.  The point
is--will she marry me if she does know me?"

"Himmel!  Yes, certainly!" cried the Baron.

"Who is she?" asked their host, more seriously.

"Her father is Darius P. Maddison, the American
Silver King."

The other two could not withhold an exclamation.

"He has only two children, a son and a daughter, and
he wants to marry his daughter to an English peer--or
a Scotch, it's all the same.  My aunt knows 'em pretty
well, and she has recommended me."

"An excellent selection," commented his host.

"But the trouble is, they want rather a high-class
peer.  Old Maddison is deuced particular, and I believe
the girl is even worse."

"What are the qualifications desired?"

"Oh, he's got to be ambitious, and a promising young
man--and elevated tastes--and all that kind of nonsense."

"But you can be all zat if you try!" said the Baron
eagerly.  "Go to Germany and get trained.  I did vork
twelve hours a day for ten years to be vat I am."

"I'm different," replied the young peer gloomily. 
"Nobody ever trained me.  Old Tulliwuddle might have
taken me up if he had liked, but he was prejudiced
against me.  I can't become all those things now."

"And yet you do want to marry the lady?"

"My dear Essington, I can't afford to lose such a
chance!  One doesn't get a Miss Maddison every day. 
She's a deuced handsome girl too, they say."

"By Gad, it's worth a trip across the Atlantic to try
your luck," said Essington.  "Get 'em to guarantee
your expenses and you'll at least learn to play poker and
see Niagara for nothing."

"They aren't in America.  They've got a salmon
river in Scotland, and they are there now.  It's not far
from my place, Hechnahoul."

"She's practically in your arms, then?"

"Ach.  Ze affair is easy!"

"Pipe up the clan and abduct her!"

"Approach her mit a kilt!"

But even those optimistic exhortations left the peer
still melancholy.

"It sounds all very well," said he, "but my clansmen,
as you call 'em, would expect such a devil of a lot
from me too.  Old Tulliwuddle spoiled them for any ordinary
mortal.  He went about looking like an advertisement
for whisky, and called 'em all by their beastly
Gaelic names.  I have never been in Scotland in my
life, and I can't do that sort of thing.  I'd merely make
a fool of myself.  If I'd had to go to America it
wouldn't have been so bad."

At this weak-kneed confession the Baron could hardly
withhold an exclamation of contempt, but Essington,
with more sympathy, inquired--

"What do you propose to do, then?"

His lordship emptied his glass.

"I wish I had your brains and your way of carrying
things off, Essington!" he said, with a sigh.  "If
you got a chance of showing yourself off to Miss Maddison
she'd jump at you!"

A gleam, inspired and humorous, leaped into Essington's
eyes.  The Baron, whose glance happened at the
moment to fall on him, bounded gleefully from his
seat.

"Hoch!" he cried, "it is mine old Bonker zat I see
before me!  Vat have you in your mind?"

"Sit down, my dear Baron; that lady over there
thinks you are preparing to attack her.  Shall we
smoke?  Try these cigars."

Throwing the Baron a shrewd glance to calm his
somewhat alarming exhilaration, their host turned with
a graver air to his other guest.

"Tulliwuddle," said he, "I should like to help you."

"I wish to the deuce you could!"

Essington bent over the table confidentially.

"I have an idea."



CHAPTER IV

The three heads bent forward towards a common
centre--the Baron agog with suppressed
excitement, Tulliwuddle revived with curiosity
and a gleam of hope, Essington impressive
and cool.

"I take it," he began, "that if Mr. Darius P.
Maddison and his coveted daughter could see a little
of Lord Tulliwuddle--meet him at lunch, talk to
him afterwards, for instance--and carry away a
favorable impression of the nobleman, there would not
be much difficulty in subsequently arranging a marriage?"

"Oh, none," said Tulliwuddle.  "They'd be only too
keen, IF they approved of me; but that's the rub, you
know."

"So far so good.  Now it appears to me that our
modest friend here somewhat underrates his own powers
of fascination"

"Ach, Tollyvoddle, you do indeed," interjected the
Baron.

"But since this idea is so firmly established in his
mind that it may actually prevent him from displaying
himself to the greatest advantage, and since he has
been good enough to declare that he would regard with
complete confidence my own chances of success were I in
his place, I would propose--with all becoming diffidence--
that _I_ should interview the lady and her parent
instead of him."

"A vary vise idea, Bonker," observed the Baron.

"What!" said Tulliwuddle.  "Do you mean that
you would go and crack me up, and that sort of
thing?"

"No; I mean that I should enjoy a temporary loan
of your name and of your residence, and assure them
by a personal inspection that I have a sufficient assortment
of virtues for their requirements."

"Splendid!" shouted the Baron.  "Tollyvoddle,
accept zis generous offer before it is too late!"

"But," gasped the diffident nobleman, "they would
find out the next time they saw me."

"If the business is properly arranged, that would
only be when you came out of church with her.  Look
here--what fault have you to find with this scheme? 
I produce the desired impression, and either propose at
once and am accepted----"

"H'm," muttered Tulliwuddle doubtfully.

"Or I leave things in such good train that you can
propose and get accepted afterwards by letter."

"That's better," said Tulliwuddle.

"Then, by a little exercise of our wits, you find an
excuse for hurrying on the marriage--have it a private
affair for family reasons, and so on.  You will be
prevented by one excuse or another from meeting the lady
till the wedding-day.  We shall choose a darkish church,
you will have a plaster on your face--and the deed is
done!"

"Not a fault can I find," commented the Baron
sagely.  "Essington, I congratulate you."

Between his complete confidence in Essington and the
Baron's unqualified commendation, Lord Tulliwuddle
was carried away by the project.

"I say, Essington, what a good fellow you are!" he
cried.  "You really think it will work?"

"What do you say, Baron?"

"It cannot fail, I do solemnly assure you.  Be
thankful you have soch a friend, Tollyvoddle!"

"You don't think anybody will suspect that you aren't
really me?"

"Does any one up at Hechnahoul know you?"

"No."

"And no one there knows me.  They will never suspect
for an instant."

His lordship assumed a look that would have been
serious, almost impressive, had he first removed his eye-
glass.  Evidently some weighty consideration had occurred
to him.

"You are an awfully clever chap, Essington," he
said, "and deuced superior to most fellows, and--er--all
that kind of thing.  But--well--you don't mind my
saying it?"

"My morals?  My appearance?  Say anything you
like, my dear fellow."

"It's only this, that noblesse oblige, and that kind of
thing, you know."

"I am afraid I don't quite follow."

"Well, I mean that you aren't a nobleman, and do
you think you could carry things off like a--ah--like
a Tulliwuddle?"

Essington remained entirely serious.

"I shall have at my elbow an adviser whose knowledge
of the highest society in Europe is, without exaggeration,
unequalled.  Your perfectly natural doubts
will be laid at rest when I tell you that I hope to
be accompanied by the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg."

The Baron could no longer contain himself.

"Himmel!  Hurray!  My dear friend, I vill go mit
you to hell!"

"That's very good of you," said Essington, "but
you mistake my present destination.  I merely wish your
company as far as the Castle of Hechnahoul."

"I gom mit so moch pleasure zat I cannot eggspress! 
Tollyvoddle, be no longer afraid.  I have helped to
write a book on ze noble families of Germany--zat is to
say, I have contributed my portrait and some anecdote. 
Our dear friend shall make no mistakes!"

By this guarantee Lord Tulliwuddle's last doubts
were completely set at rest.  His spirits rose as he
perceived how happily this easy avenue would lead him
out of all his troubles.  He insisted on calling for
wine and pledging success to the adventure with the
most resolute and confident air, and nothing but a
few details remained now to be settled.  These were
chiefly with regard to the precise limits up to which
the duplicate Lord Tulliwuddle might advance his
conquering arms.

"You won't formally propose, will you?" said the
first edition of that peer.

"Certainly not, if you prefer to negotiate the
surrender yourself," the later impression assured him.

"And you mustn't--well--er----"

"I shall touch nothing."

"A girl might get carried away by you," said the
original peer a trifle doubtfully.

"The Baron is the most scrupulous of men.  He will
be by my side almost continually.  Baron, you will act
as my judge, my censor, and my chaperon?"

"Tollyvoddle, I swear to you zat I shall use an eye
like ze eagle.  He shall be so careful--ach, I shall see to
it!  Myself, I am a Bayard mit ze ladies, and Bonker he
shall not be less so!"

"Thanks, Baron, thanks awfully," said his lordship. 
"Now my mind is quite at rest!"

In the vestibule of the restaurant they bade good-
night to the confiding nobleman, and then turned to one
another with an adventurer's smile.

"You are sure you can leave your diplomatic
duties?" asked Essington.

"Zey vill be my diplomatic duties zat I go to do!  Oh,
I shall prepare a leetle story--do not fear me."

The Baron chuckled, and then burst forth

"Never was zere a man like you.  Oh, cunning Mistair
Bonker!  And you vill give me zomezing to do in ze
adventure, eh?"

"I promise you that, Baron."

As he gave this reassuring pledge, a peculiar smile
stole over Mr. Bunker's face--a smile that seemed to
suggest even happier possibilities than either of his
distinguished friends contemplated.



CHAPTER V

It is at all times pleasant to contemplate thorough
workmanship and sagacious foresight, particularly
when these are allied with disinterested purpose
and genuine enthusiasm.  For the next
few days Mr. Bunker, preparing to carry out to
the best of his ability the delicate commission with
which he had been entrusted, presented this stimulating
spectacle.

Absolutely no pains were left untaken.  By the aid of
some volumes lent him by Tulliwuddle he learned, and
digested in a pocketbook, as much information as he
thought necessary to acquire concerning the history of
the noble family he was temporarily about to enter;
together with notes of their slogan or war-cry (spelled
phonetically to avoid the possibility of a mistake), of
their acreage, gross and net rentals, the names of their
land-agents, and many other matters equally to the
point.  It was further to be observed that he spared no
pains to imprint these particulars in the Baron's Teutonic
memory--whether to support his own in case of need,
or for some more secret purpose, it were impossible to
fathom.  Disguised as unconspicuous and harmless persons,
they would meet in many quiet haunts whose unsuspected
excellences they could guarantee from their
old experience, and there mature their philanthropic
plan.

Not only had its talented originator to impress the
Tulliwuddle annals and statistics into his ally's eager
mind, but he had to exercise the nicest tact and discernment
lest the Baron's excess of zeal should trip their
enterprise at the very outset.

"To-day I have told Alicia zat my visit to Russia vill
probably be vollowed by a visit to ze Emperor of China,"
the Baron would recount with vast pride in his inventive
powers.  "And I have dropped a leetle hint zat for an
envoy to be imprisoned in China is not to be surprised. 
Zat vill prepare her in case I am avay longer zan ve
expect."

"And how did she take that intimation?" asked
Essington, with a less congratulatory air than he had
expected.

"I did leave her in tears."

"My dear Baron, fly to her to tell her you are not
going to China!  She will get so devilish alarmed if
you are gone a week that she'll go straight to the embassy
and make inquiries."

He shook his head, and added in an impressive
voice--

"Never lie for lying's sake, Blitzenberg.  Besides,
how do you propose to forge a Chinese post-mark?"

The Baron had laid the foundations of his Russian
trip on a sound basis by requesting a friend of his in
that country to post to the Baroness the bi-weekly
budgets of Muscovite gossip which he intended to compose
at Hechnahoul.  This, it seemed to him, would be a
simple feat, particularly with his friend Bunker to
assist; but he had to confess that the provision of Chinese
news would certainly be more difficult.

"Ach, vell, I shall contradict China," he agreed.

It will be readily believed that what with getting up
his brief, pruning the legends with which the Baron proposed
to satisfy his wife and his ambassador, and purchasing
an outfit suitable to the roles of peer and chieftain,
this indefatigable gentleman passed three or four
extremely busy days.

"Ve most start before my dear mozzer-in-law does
gom!" the Baron more than once impressed upon him,
so that there was no moment to be wasted.

Two days before their departure Mr. Bunker greeted
his ally with a peculiarly humorous smile.

"The pleasures of our visit to Hechnahoul are to be
considerably augmented," said he.  "Tulliwuddle has
only just made the discovery that his ancestral castle is
let; but his tenant, in the most handsome spirit, invites
us to be his guests so long as we are in Scotland.  A
very hospitable letter, isn't it?"

He handed him a large envelope with a more than
proportionately large crest upon it, and drawing from
this a sheet of note-paper headed by a second crest, the
Baron read this epistle:


"MY LORD,--Learning that you propose visiting
your Scottish estates, and Mr. M'Fadyen, your factor,
informing me no lodge is at present available for your
reception, it will give Mrs. Gallosh and myself great
pleasure, and we will esteem it a distinguished honor,
if you and your friend will be our guests at Hechnahoul
Castle during the duration of your visit.  Should you
do us the honor of accepting, I shall send my steam
launch to meet you at Torrydhulish pier and convey
you across the loch, if you will be kind enough to advise
me which train you are coming by.

"In conclusion, Mrs. Gallosh and myself beg to
assure you that although you find strangers in your
ancestral halls, you will receive both from your tenantry
and ourselves a very hearty welcome to your native
land.  Believe me, your obedient servant,
                         "DUNCAN JNO. GALLOSH."


"Zat is goot news!" cried the Baron.  "Ve shall have
company--perhaps ladies!  Ach, Bonker, I have ze soft
spot in mine heart: I am so constant as ze needle to ze
pole; but I do like sometimes to talk mit voman!"

"With Mrs. Gallosh, for instance?"

"But, Bonker, zere may be a Miss Gallosh."

"If you consulted the Baroness," said Bunker,
smiling, "I suspect she would prefer you to be imprisoned
in China."

The Baron laughed, and curled his martial mustache
with a dangerous air.

"Who is zis Gallosh?" he inquired.

"Scottish, I judge from his name; commercial, from
his literary style; elevated by his own exertions, from
the size of his crest; and wealthy, from the fact that he
rents Hechnahoul Castle.  His mention of Mrs. Gallosh
points to the fact that he is either married or would have
us think so; and I should be inclined to conclude that
he has probably begot a family."

"Aha!" said the Baron.  "Ve vill gom and see,
eh?"



CHAPTER VI

A carefully clothed young man, with an
eyeglass and a wavering gait, walked slowly
out of Euston Station.  He had just seen
the Scottish express depart, and this event
seemed to have filled him with dubious reflections.  In
fact, at the very last moment Lord Tulliwuddle's
confidence in his two friends had been a trifling degree
disturbed.  It occurred to him as he lingered by the door
of their reserved first-class compartment that they had
a little too much the air of gentlemen departing on their
own pleasure rather than on his business.  No sooner did
he drop a fretful hint of this opinion than their affectionate
protestations had quickly revived his spirit; but
now that they were no longer with him to counsel and
encourage, it once more drooped.

"Confound it!" he thought, "I hadn't bargained on
having to keep out of people's way till they came back. 
If Essington had mentioned that sooner, I don't know
that I'd have been so keen about the notion.  Hang it! 
I'll have to chuck the Morrells' dance.  And I can't go
with the Greys to Ranelagh.  I can't even dine with
my own aunt on Sunday.  Oh, the devil!"

The perturbed young peer waved his umbrella and
climbed into a hansom.

"Well, anyhow, I can still go on seeing Connie. 
That's some consolation," he told himself; and without
stopping to consider what would be the thoughts of his
two obliging friends had they known he was seeking
consolation in the society of one lady while they were
arranging his nuptials with another, the baptismal
Tulliwuddle drove back to the civilization of St. James's.

Within the reserved compartment was no foreboding,
no faint-hearted paling of the cheek.  As the train
clattered, hummed, and presently thundered on its way, the
two laughed cheerfully towards one another, delighted
beyond measure with the prosperous beginning of their
enterprise.  The Baron could not sufficiently express his
gratitude and admiration for the promptitude with which
his friend had purveyed so promising an adventure.

"Ve vill have fon, my Bonker.  Ach! ve vill," he
exclaimed for the third or fourth time within a dozen miles
from Euston.

His Bunker assumed an air half affectionate, half
apologetic.

"I only regret that I should have the lion's share of
the adventure, my dear Baron."

"Yes," said the Baron, with a symptom of a sigh,
"I do envy you indeed.  Yet I should not say zat----"
Bunker swiftly interrupted him.

"You would like to play a worthier part than merely
his lordship's friend?"

"Ach!  if I could."

Bunker smiled benignantly.

"Ah, Baron, you cannot suppose that I would really
do Tulliwuddle such injustice as to attempt, in my own
feeble manner, to impersonate him?"

The Baron stared.

"Vat mean you?"

"YOU shall be the lion, _I_ the humble necessary jackal. 
As our friend so aptly quoted, noblesse oblige.  Of
course, there can be no doubt about it.  You, Baron,
must play the part of peer, I of friend."

The Baron gasped.

"Impossible!"

"Quite simple, my dear fellow."

"You--you don't mean so?"

"I do indeed."

"Bot I shall not do it so vell as you."

"A hundred times better."

"Bot vy did you not say so before?"

"Tulliwuddle might not have agreed with me."

"Bot vould he like it now?"

"It is not what he likes that we should consider,
it's what is good for his interests."

"Bot if I should fail?"

"He will be no worse off than before.  Left to
himself, he certainly won't marry the lady.  You give him
his only chance."

"Bot more zan you vould, really and truthfully?"

"My dear Baron, you are admitted by all to be
an ideal German nobleman.  Therefore you will certainly
make an ideal British peer.  You have the true
Grand-Seigneur air.  No one would mistake you for
anything but a great aristocrat, if they merely saw
you in bathing pants; whereas I have something a
little different about my manner.  I'm not so impressive--
not so hall-marked, in fact."

His friend's omniscient air and candidly eloquent
tone impressed the Baron considerably.  His ingrained
conviction of his own importance accorded admirably
with these arguments.  His thirst for "life" craved
this lion's share.  His sanguine spirit leaped at the
appeal.  Yet his well-regulated conscience could not
but state one or two patent objections.

"Bot I have not read so moch of the Tollyvoddles
as you.  I do not know ze strings so vell."

"I have told you nearly everything I know.  You
will find the rest here."

Essington handed him the note-book containing his
succinct digest.  In intelligent anticipation of this
contingency it was written in his clearest handwriting.

"You should have been a German," said the Baron
admiringly.

He glanced with sparkling eyes at the note-book,
and then with a distinctly greater effort the Teutonic
conscience advanced another objection.

"Bot you have bought ze kilt, ze Highland hat, ze
brogue shoes."

"I had them made to your measurements."

The Baron impetuously embraced his thoughtful
friend.  Then again his smile died away.

"Bot, Bonker, my voice!  Zey tell me I haf nozing
zat you vould call qvite an accent; bot a foreigner--
one does regognize him, eh?"

"I shall explain that in a sentence.  The romantic
tincture of--well, not quite accent, is a pleasant little
piece of affectation adopted by the young bloods about
the Court in compliment to the German connections of
the Royal family."

The Baron raised no more objections.

"Bonker, I agree!  Tollyvoddle I shall be, by Jove
and all!"

He beamed his satisfaction, and then in an eager
voice asked--

"You haf not ze kilt in zat hat-box?"

Unfortunately, however, the kilt was in the van.

Now the journey, propitiously begun, became more
exhilarating, more exciting with each mile flung by. 
The Baron, egged on by his friend's high spirits and
his own imagination to anticipate pleasure upon pleasure,
watched with rapture the summer landscape whiz
past the windows.  Through the flat midlands of
England they sped; field after field, hedgerow after
hedgerow, trees by the dozen, by the hundred, by the
thousand, spinning by in one continuous green vista. 
Red brick towns, sluggish rivers, thatched villages and
ancient churches dark with yews, the shining web of
junctions, and a whisking glimpse of wayside stations
leaped towards them, past them, and leagues
away behind.  But swiftly as they sped, it was all
too slowly for the fresh-created Lord Tulliwuddle.

"Are we not nearly to Scotland yet?" he inquired
some fifty times.

" 'My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the
dears!' " hummed the abdicated nobleman, whose
hilarity had actually increased (if that were possible)
since his descent into the herd again.

All the travellers' familiar landmarks were hailed by
the gleeful diplomatist with encouraging comments.

"Ach, look!  Beauteeful view!  How quickly it is
gone!  Hurray!  Ve must be nearly to Scotland."

A panegyric on the rough sky-line of the north
country fells was interrupted by the entrance of the
dining-car attendant.  Learning that they would dine,
he politely inquired in what names he should engage
their seats.  Then, for an instant, a horrible confusion
nearly overcame the Baron.  He--a von Blitzenberg--
to give a false name!  His color rose, he stammered,
and only in the nick of time caught his companion's
eye.

"Ze Lord Tollyvoddle," he announced, with an
effort as heroic as any of his ancestors' most warlike
enterprises.

Too impressed to inquire how this remarkable title
should be spelled, the man turned to the other
distinguished-looking passenger.

"Bunker," said that gentleman, with smiling assurance.

The man went out.

"Now are ve named!" cried the Baron, his courage
rising the higher for the shock it had sustained. 
"And you vunce more vill be Bonker?  Goot!"

"That satisfies you?"

The Baron hesitated.

"My dear friend, I have a splendid idea!  Do you
know I did disgover zere used to be a nobleman in
Austria really called Count Bonker?  He vas a famous
man; you need not be ashamed to take his name.  Vy
should not you be Count Bonker?"

"You prefer to travel in titled company?  Well,
be hanged--why not!  When one comes to think of
it, it seems a pity that my sins should always be
attributed to the middle classes."

Accordingly this history has now the honorable task
of chronicling the exploits of no fewer than two
noblemen.



CHAPTER VII

Late that evening they reached a city which
the home-coming chieftain in an outburst of
Celtic fervor dubbed "mine own bonny
Edinburg!" and there they repaired for the
night to a hotel.  Once more the Baron (we may still
style him so since the peerage of Tulliwuddle was
of that standing also) showed a certain diffidence
when it came to answering to his new title in public;
but in the seclusion of their private sitting-room he
was careful to assure his friend that this did not arise
from any lack of nerve or qualms zof conscience, but
merely through a species of headache--the result of
railway travelling.

"Do not fear for me," he declared as he stirred
the sugar in his glass, "I have ze heart of a lion."

The liquid he was sipping being nothing less potent
than a brew of whisky punch, which he had ordered
(or rather requested Bunker to order) as the most
romantically national compound he could think of,
produced, indeed, a fervor of foolhardiness.  He insisted
upon opening the door wide, and getting Bunker
to address him as "Tollyvoddle," in a strident
voice, "so zat zey all may hear," and then answering
in a firm "Yes, Count Bonker, vat vould you say to
me?"

It is true that he instantly closed the door again,
and even bolted it, but his display seemed to make a
vast impression upon himself.

"Many men vould not dare so to go mit anozzer
name," he announced; "bot I have my nerves onder
a good gontrol."

"You astonish me," said the Count.

"I do even surprise myself," admitted the Baron.

In truth the ordeal of carelessly carrying off an
alias is said by those who have undergone it (and the
report is confirmed by an experienced class of public
officials) to require a species of hardihood which,
fortunately for society, is somewhat rare.  The most
daring Smith will sometimes stammer when it comes
to merely answering "Yes" to a cry of "Brown!"
and Count Bunker, whose knowledge of human nature
was profound and remarkably accurate, was careful to
fortify his friend by example and praise, till by the
time they went to bed the Baron could scarcely be
withheld from seeking out the manager and airing
his assurance upon him.  Or, at least, he declared he
would have done this had he been sure that the manager
was not already in bed himself.

Unfortunately at this juncture the Count committed
one of those indiscretions to which a gay spirit is
always prone, but which, to do him justice, seldom
sullied his own record as a successful adventurer.  At
an hour considerably past midnight, hearing an
excited summons from the Baron's bedroom, he laid down
his toothbrush and hastened across the passage, to
find the new peer in a crimson dressing-gown of quilted
silk gazing enthusiastically at a lithograph that hung
upon the wall.

"See!" he cried gleefully, "here is my own
ancestor.  Bonker, I feel I am Tollyvoddle indeed."

The print which had inspired this enthusiasm
depicted a historical but treasonable Lord Tulliwuddle
preparing to have his head removed.

Giving it a droll look, the Count observed--

"Well, if it inspires you, my dear Baron, that's all
right.  The omen would have struck me differently."

"Ze omen!" murmured the Baron with a start.

It required all Bunker's tact to revive his ally's
damped enthusiasm, and even at breakfast next morning
he referred in a gloomy voice to various premonitions
recorded in the history of his family, and the
horrible consequences of disregarding them.

But by the time they had started upon their journey
north, his spirits rose a trifle; and when at length
all lowland landscapes were left far behind them, and
they had come into a province of peat streams and
granite pinnacles, with the gloom of pines and the
freshness of the birch blended like a May and December
marriage, all appearance, at least, of disquietude
had passed away.

Yet the Count kept an anxious eye upon him.  He
was becoming decidedly restless.  At one moment he
would rave about the glorious scenery; the next,
plunge into a brown study of the Tulliwuddle rent-
roll; and then in an instant start humming an air and
smoking so fast that both their cases were empty while
they were yet half an hour from Torrydhulish Station. 
Now the Baron took to biting his nails, looking at his
watch, and answering questions at random--a very different
spectacle from the enthusiastic traveller of
yesterday.

"Only ten minutes more," observed Bunker in his
most cheering manner.

The Baron made no reply.

They were now running along the brink of a
glimmering loch, the piled mountains on the farther shore
perfectly mirrored; a tern or two lazily fishing; a
delicate summer sky smiling above.  All at once Count
Bunker started--

"That must be Hechnahoul!" said he.

The Baron looked and beheld, upon an eminence
across the loch, the towers and turrets of an imposing
mansion overtopping a green grove.

"And here is the station," added the Count.

The Baron's face assumed a piteous expression.

"Bonker," he stammered, "I--I am afraid!  You
be ze Tollyvoddle--I cannot do him!"

"My dear Baron!"

"Oh, I cannot!"

"Be brave--for the honor of the fatherland.  Play
the bold Blitzenberg!"

"Ach, ja; but not bold Tollyvoddle.  Zat picture--
you vere right--it vas omen!"

Never did the genius of Bunker rise more audaciously
to an occasion.

"My dear Baron," said he, assuming on the instant
a confidence-inspiring smile, "that print was a hoax; it
wasn't old Tulliwuddle at all.  I faked it myself."

"So?" gasped the Baron.  "You assure me
truly?"

Muttering (the historian sincerely hopes) a petition
for forgiveness, Bunker firmly answered--

"I do assure you!"

The train had stopped, and as they were the only
first-class passengers on board, a peculiarly magnificent
footman already had his hand upon the door. 
Before turning the handle, he touched his hat.

"Lord Tulliwuddle?" he respectfully inquired.

"Ja--zat is, yes, I am," replied the Baron.



CHAPTER VIII

From the platform down to the pier was only
some fifty yards, and before them the travellers
perceived an exceedingly smart steam-
launch, and a stout middle-aged gentleman,
in a blue serge suit and yachting cap, advancing from
it to greet them.  They had only time to observe that
he had a sanguine complexion, iron-gray whiskers, and
a wide-open eye, before he raised the cap and, in a
decidedly North British accent, thus addressed them--

"My lord--ahem!--your lordship, I should say--
I presume I've the pleasure of seeing Lord Tulliwuddle?"

The Count gently pushed his more distinguished
friend in front.  With an embarrassment equal to their
host's, his lordship bowed and gave his hand.

"I am ze Tollyvoddle--vary pleased--Mistair Gosh,
I soppose?"

"Gallosh, my lord.  Very honored to welcome you."

In the round eyes of Mr. Gallosh, Count Bunker
perceived an unmistakable stare of astonishment at the
sound of his lordship's accented voice.  The Baron,
on his part, was evidently still suffering from his
attack of stage fright; but again the Count's gifts
smoothed the creases from the situation.

"You have not introduced me to our host,
Tulliwuddle," he said, with a gay, infectious confidence.

"Ah, so!  Zis is my friend Count Bunker--gom all
ze vay from Austria," responded the Baron, with no
glimmer of his customary aplomb.

Making a mental resolution to warn his ally never
to say one word more about his fictitious past than
was wrung by cross-examination, the distinguished-
looking Austrian shook his host's hand warmly.

"From Austria via London," he explained in his
pleasantest manner.  "I object altogether to be
considered a foreigner, Mr. Gallosh; and, in fact, I often
tell Tulliwuddle that people will think me more English
than himself.  The German fashions so much in vogue
at Court are transforming the very speech of your
nobility.  Don't you sometimes notice it?"

Thus directly appealed to, Mr. Gallosh became
manifestly perplexed.

"Yes--yes, you're right in a way," he pronounced
cautiously.  "I suppose they do that.  But will ye
not take a seat?  This is my launch.  Hi!  Robert,
give his lordship a hand on board!"

Two mariners and a second tall footman assisted the
guests to embark, and presently they were cutting the
waters of the loch at a merry pace.

In the prow, like youth, the Baron insisted upon
sitting with folded arms and a gloomy aspect; and
as his nerve was so patently disturbed, the Count
decidedly approved of an arrangement which left his
host and himself alone together in the stern.  In his
present state of mind the Baron was capable of any
indiscretion were he compelled to talk; while, silent and
brooding in isolated majesty, he looked to perfection
the part of returning exile.  So, evidently, thought
Mr. Gallosh.

"His lordship is looking verra well," he confided to
the Count in a respectfully lowered voice.

"The improvement has been remarkable ever since
his foot touched his native heath."

"You don't say so," said Mr. Gallosh, with even
greater interest.  "Was he delicate before?"

"A London life, Mr. Gallosh."

"True--true, he'll have been busy seeing his
friends; it'll have been verra wearing."

"The anxiety, the business of being invested,
and so on, has upset him a trifle.  You must put
down any little--well, peculiarity to that, Mr. Gallosh."

"I understand--aye, umh'm, quite so.  He'll like
to be left to himself, perhaps?"

"That depends on his condition," said the Count
diplomatically.

"It's a great responsibility for a young man; yon's
a big property to look after," observed Mr. Gallosh
in a moment.

"You have touched the spot!" said the Count
warmly.  "That is, in fact, the chief cause of Tulliwuddle's
curious moodiness ever since he succeeded to
the title.  He feels his responsibilities a little too
acutely."

Again Mr. Gallosh ruminated, while his guest from
the corner of his eye surveyed him shrewdly.

"My forecast was wonderfully accurate," he said
to himself.

The silence was first broken by Mr. Gallosh.  As
if thinking aloud, he remarked--

"I was awful surprised to hear him speak!  It's
the Court fashion, you say?"

"Partly that; partly a prolonged residence on the
Continent in his youth.  He acquired his accent then;
he has retained it for fashion's sake," explained the
Count, who thought it as well to bolster up the weakest
part of his case a little more securely.

With this prudent purpose, he added, with a flattering
air of taking his host into his aristocratic confidence--

"You will perhaps be good enough to explain this
to the friends and dependants Lord Tulliwuddle is
about to meet?  A breath of unsympathetic criticism
would grieve him greatly if it came to his ears."

"Quite, quite," said Mr. Gallosh eagerly.  "I'll
make it all right.  I understand the sentiment pairfectly. 
It's verra natural--verra natural indeed."

At that moment the Baron started from his reverie
with an affrighted air.

"Vat is zat strange sound!" he exclaimed.

The others listened.

"That's just the pipes, my lord," said Mr. Gallosh. 
"They're tuning up to welcome you."

His lordship stared at the shore ahead of them.

"Zere are many peoples on ze coast!" he cried. 
"Vat makes it for?"

"They've come to receive you," his host explained. 
"It's just a little spontaneous demonstration, my
lord."

His lordship's composure in no way increased.

"It was Mrs. Gallosh organized a wee bit entertainment
on his lordship's landing," their host explained
confidentially to the Count.  "It's just informal, ye
understand.  She's been instructing some of the tenants--
and ma own girls will be there--but, oh, it's
nothing to speak of.  If he says a few words in
reply, that'll be all they'll be expecting."

The strains of "Tulliwuddle wha hae" grew ever
louder and, to an untrained ear, more terrific.  In
a moment they were mingled with a clapping of hands
and a Highland cheer, the launch glided alongside the
pier, and, supported on his faithful friend's arm, the
panic-stricken Tulliwuddle staggered ashore.  Before
his dazed eyes there seemed to be arrayed the vastest
and most barbaric concourse his worst nightmare had
ever imagined.  Six pipers played within ten paces
of him, each of them arrayed in the full panoply of
the clan; at least a dozen dogs yelped their exultation;
and from the surrounding throng two ancient
men in tartan and four visions in snowy white stepped
forth to greet the distinguished visitors.

The first hitch in the proceedings occurred at this
point.  According to the unofficial but carefully
considered programme, the pipers ought to have ceased
their melody; but, whether inspired by ecstatic loyalty
or because the Tulliwuddle pibroch took longer to perform
than had been anticipated, they continued to skirl
with such vigor that expostulations passed entirely
unheard.  Under the circumstances there was nothing
for it but shouting, and in a stentorian yell Mr.
Gallosh introduced his wife and three fair daughters.

Thereupon Mrs. Gallosh, a broad-beamed matron
whose complexion contrasted pleasantly with her costume,
delivered the following oration--

"Lord Tulliwuddle, in the name of the women of
Hechnahoul--I may say in the name of the women of
all the Highlands--oor ain Heelands, my lord" (this
with the most insinuating smile)--"I bid you welcome
to your ancestral estates.  Remembering the conquests
your ancestors used to make both in war and in a
gentler sphere" (Mrs. Gallosh looked archness itself),
"we ladies, I suppose, should regard your home-
coming with some misgivings; but, my lord, every
bonny Prince Charlie has his bonny Flora Macdonald,
and in this land of mountain, mist, and flood, where
'Dark Ben More frowns o'er the wave,' and where
'Ilka lassie has her laddie,' you will find a thousand
romantic maidens ready to welcome you as Ellen welcomed
Fitz-James!  For centuries your heroic race has
adorned the halls and trod the heather of Hechnahoul,
and for centuries more we hope to see the offspring
of your lordship and some winsome Celtic maid rule
these cataracts and glens!"

At this point the exertion of shouting down six
bagpipes in active eruption caused a temporary cessation
of the lady's eloquence, and the pause was filled
by the cheers of the crowd led by the "Hip-hip-hip!"
of Count Bunker, and by the broken and fortunately
inaudible protests of the embarrassed father of future
Tulliwuddles.  In a moment Mrs. Gallosh had resumed--

"Lord Tulliwuddle, though I myself am only a
stranger to your clan, your Highland heart will feel
reassured when I mention that I belong through my
grandmother to the kindred clan of the Mackays!" 
("Hear, hear!" from two or three ladies and gentlemen,
evidently guests of the Gallosh.)  "We are but
visitors at Hechnahoul, yet we assure you that no more
devoted hearts beat in all Caledonia!  Lord Tulliwuddle,
we welcome you!"

"Put your hand on your heart and bow," whispered
Bunker.  "Keep on bowing and say nothing!"

Mechanically the bewildered Baron obeyed, and for
a few moments presented a spectacle not unlike royalty
in procession.

But as some reply from him had evidently been
expected at this point, and the pipers had even ceased
playing lest any word of their chief's should be lost,
a pause ensued which might have grown embarrassing
had not the Count promptly stepped forward.

"I think," he said, indicating two other snow-white
figures who held gigantic bouquets, "that a pleasant
part of the ceremony still remains before us."

With a grateful glance at this discerning guest,
Mrs. Gallosh thereupon led forward her two youngest
daughters (aged fifteen and thirteen), who, with an
air so delightfully coy that it fell like a ray of
sunshine on the poor Baron's heart, presented him with
their flowery symbols of Hechnahoul's obeisance to its
lord.

His consternation returned with the advance of the
two ancient clansmen who, after a guttural panegyric
in Gaelic, offered him further symbols--a claymore and
target, very formidable to behold.  All these gifts
having been adroitly transferred to the arms of the
footmen by the ubiquitous Count, the Baron's emotions
swiftly passed through another phase when the
eldest Miss Gallosh, aged twenty, with burning eyes
and the most distracting tresses, dropped him a sweeping
courtesy and offered a final contribution--a fiery
cross, carved and painted by her own fair hands.

A fresh round of applause followed this, and then
a sudden silence fell upon the assembly.  All eyes were
turned upon the chieftain: not even a dog barked:
it was the moment of a lifetime.

"Can you manage a speech, old man?" whispered
Bunker.

"Ach, no, no, no!  Let me escape.  Oh, let me fly!"

"Bury your face in your hands and lean on my
shoulder," prompted the Count.

This stage direction being obeyed, the most effective
tableau conceivable was presented, and the climax was
reached when the Count, after a brief dumb-show
intended to indicate how vain were Lord Tulliwuddle's
efforts to master his emotion, spoke these words in the
most thrilling accents he could muster

"Fair ladies and brave men of Hechnahoul!  Your
chief, your friend, your father requests me to express
to you the sentiments which his over-wrought emotions
prevent him from uttering himself.  On his behalf
I tender to his kind and courteous friends, Mr.,
Mrs., and the fair maids Gallosh, the thanks of a long-
absent exile returned to his native land for the welcome
they have given him!  To his devoted clan he not
only gives his thanks, but his promise that all rents shall
be reduced by one half--so long as he dwells among
them!"  (Tumultuous applause, disturbed only by a
violent ejaculation from a large man in knickerbockers
whom Bunker justly judged to be the factor.)

"With his last breath he shall perpetually thunder:
Ahasheen--comara--mohr!"

The Tulliwuddle slogan, pronounced with the most
conscientious accuracy of which a Sassenach was capable,
proved as effective a curtain as he had anticipated;
and amid a perfect babel of cheering and bagpiping
the chieftain was led to his host's carriage.



CHAPTER IX

"Well, the worst of it is over," said Bunker
cheerfully.

The Baron groaned.  "Ze vorst is
only jost beginning to gommence."

They were sitting over a crackling fire of logs in
the sitting-room of the suite which their host had
reserved for his honored visitors.  How many heirlooms
and dusky portraits the romantic thoughtfulness
of the ladies had managed to crowd into this apartment
for the occasion were hard to compute; enough,
certainly, one would think, to inspire the most sluggish-
blooded Tulliwuddle with a martial exultation. 
Instead, the chieftain groaned again.

"Tell zem I am ill.  I cannot gom to dinner.  To-
morrow I shall take ze train back to London.  Himmel! 
Vy vas I fool enof to act soch dishonorable lies!  I
deceive all these kind peoples!"

"It isn't that which worries me," said Bunker
imperturbably.  "I am only afraid that if you display
this spirit you won't deceive them."

"I do not vish to," said the Baron sulkily.

It required half an hour of the Count's most artful
blandishments to persuade him that duty, honor, and
prudence all summoned him to the feast.  This being
accomplished, he next endeavored to convince him that
he would feel more comfortable in the airy freedom
of the Tulliwuddle tartan.  But here the Baron was
obdurate.  Now that the kilt lay ready to his hand
he could not be persuaded even to look at it.  In
gloomy silence he donned his conventional evening
dress and announced, last thing before they left their
room--

"Bonker, say no more!  To-morrow morning I depart!"

Their hostess had explained that a merely informal
dinner awaited them, since his lordship (she observed)
would no doubt prefer a quiet evening after his long
journey.  But Mrs. Gallosh was one of those good
ladies who are fond of asking their friends to take
"pot luck," and then providing them with fourteen
courses; or suggesting a "quiet little evening together,"
when they have previously removed the drawing-
room carpet.  It is an affectation of modesty apt
to disconcert the retiring guest who takes them at
their word.  In the drawing-room of Mrs. Gallosh the
startled Baron found assembled--firstly, the Gallosh
family, consisting of all those whose acquaintance we
have already made, and in addition two stalwart school-
boy sons; secondly, their house-party, who comprised
a Mr. and Mrs. Rentoul, from the same metropolis of
commerce as Mr. Gallosh, and a hatchet-faced young
man with glasses, answering to the name of Mr. Cromarty-
Gow; and, finally, one or two neighbors.  These
last included Mr. M'Fadyen, the large factor; the
Established Church, U.F., Wee Free, Episcopalian,
and Original Secession ministers, all of whom, together
with their kirks, flourished within a four-mile radius
of the Castle; the wives to three of the above; three
young men and their tutor, being some portion of a
reading-party in the village; and Mrs. Cameron-
Campbell and her five daughters, from a neighboring
dower-house upon the loch.

It was fortunate that all these people were prepared
to be impressed with Lord Tulliwuddle, whatever he
should say or do; and further, that the unique position
of such a famous hereditary magnate even led them to
anticipate some marked deviation from the ordinary
canons of conduct.  Otherwise, the gloomy brows; the
stare, apparently haughty, in reality alarmed; the
strange accent and the brief responses of the chief
guest, might have caused an unfavorable opinion of
his character.

As it was, his aloofness, however natural, would
probably have proved depressing had it not been for
the gay charm and agreeable condescension of the
other nobleman.  Seldom had more rested upon that
adventurer's shoulders, and never had he acquitted
himself with greater credit.  It was with considerable
secret concern that he found himself placed at the
opposite end of the table from his friend, but his
tongue rattled as gaily and his smiles came as readily
as ever.  With Mrs. Cameron-Campbell on one side,
and a minister's lady upon the other, his host two
places distant, and a considerable audience of silent
eaters within earshot, he successfully managed to
divert the attention of quite half the table from the
chieftain's moody humor.

"I always feel at home with a Scotsman," he
discoursed genially.  "His imagination is so quick, his
intellect so clear, his honesty so remarkable, and"
(with an irresistible glance at the minister's lady) "his
wife so charming."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Gallosh, who was mellowing
rapidly under the influence of his own champagne. 
"I'm verra glad to see you know good folks when
you meet them.  What do you think now of the
English?"

Having previously assured himself that his audience
was neat Scotch, the polished Austrian unblushingly
replied--

"The Englishman, I have observed, has a slightly
slower imagination, a denser intelligence, and is less
conspicuous for perfect honesty.  His womankind also
have less of that nameless grace and ethereal beauty
which distinguish their Scottish sisters."

It is needless to say that a more popular visitor
never was seen than this discriminating foreigner, and
if his ambitions had not risen above a merely personal
triumph, he would have been in the highest state of
satisfaction.  But with a disinterested eye he every
now and then sought the farther end of the table,
where, between his hostess and her charming eldest
daughter, and facing his factor, the Baron had to
endure his ordeal unsupported.

"I wonder how the devil he's getting on!" he more
than once said to himself.

For better or for worse, as the dinner advanced,
he began to hear the Court accent more frequently,
till his curiosity became extreme.

"His lordship seems in better spirits," remarked
Mr. Gallosh.

"I hope to Heaven he may be!" was the fervent
thought of Count Bunker.

At that moment the point was settled.  With his
old roar of exuberant gusto the Baron announced, in
a voice that drowned even the five ministers--

"Ach, yes, I vill toss ze caber to-morrow!  I vill
toss him--so high!" (his napkin flapped upwards). 
"How long shall he be?  So tall as my castle:  Mees
Gallosh, you shall help me?  Ach, yes!  Mit hands so
fair ze caber vill spring like zis!"

His pudding-spoon, in vivid illustration, skipped
across the table and struck his factor smartly on the
shirt-front.

"Sare, I beg your pardon," he beamed with a
graciousness that charmed Mrs. Gallosh even more
than his spirited conversation--"Ach, do not return it,
please!  It is from my castle silver--keep it in memory
of zis happy night!"

The royal generosity of this act almost reconciled
Mrs. Gallosh to the loss of one of her own silver spoons.

"Saved!" sighed Bunker, draining his glass with
a relish he had not felt in any item of the feast
hitherto.

Now that the Baron's courage had returned, no
heraldic lion ever pranced more bravely.  His laughter,
his jests, his compliments were showered upon the
delighted diners.  Mr. Gallosh and he drank healths
down the whole length of the table "mit no tap-heels!"
at least four times.  He peeled an orange for Miss
Gallosh, and cut the skin into the most diverting
figures, pressing her hand tenderly as he presented her
with these works of art.  He inquired of Mrs. Gallosh
the names of the clergymen, and, shouting something
distantly resembling these, toasted them each and
all with what he conceived to be appropriate comments. 
Finally he rose to his feet, and, to the surprise
and delight of all, delivered the speech they had
been disappointed of earlier in the day.

"Goot Mr. Gallosh, fair Mrs. Gallosh, divine Mees
Gallosh, and all ze ladies and gentlemans, how sorry
I vas I could not make my speech before, I cannot
eggspress.  I had a headache, and vas not vell vithin. 
Ach, soch zings vill happen in a new climate.  Bot now
I am inspired to tell you I loff you all!  I zank you
eggstremely!  How can I return zis hospitality?  I
vill tell you!  You must all go to Bavaria and stay
mit----"

"Tulliwuddle!  Tulliwuddle!" shouted Bunker
frantically, to the great amazement of the company.  "Allow
me to invite the company myself to stay with me
in Bavaria!"

The Baron turned crimson, as he realized the abyss
of error into which he had so nearly plunged.  Adroitly
the Count covered his confusion with a fit of laughter
so ingeniously hearty that in a moment he had joined
in it too.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he shouted.  "Zat was a leetle joke
at my friend's eggspense.  It is here, in my castle, you
shall visit me; some day very soon I shall live in him. 
Meanvile, dear Mrs. Gallosh, gonsider it your home! 
For me you make it heaven, and I cannot ask more
zan zat!  Now let us gom and have some fon!"

A salvo of applause greeted this conclusion.  At the
Baron's impetuous request the cigars were brought
into the hall, and ladies and gentlemen all trooped out
together.

"I cannot vait till I have seen Miss Gallosh dance
ze Highland reel," he explained to her gratified mother;
"she has promised me."

"But you must dance too, Lord Tulliwuddle," said
ravishing Miss Gallosh.  "You know you said you
would."

"A promise to a lady is a law," replied the Baron
gallantly, adding in a lower tone, "especially to so
fair a lady!"

"It's a pity his lordship hadn't on his kilt," put
in Mr. Gallosh genially.

"By ze Gad, I vill put him on!  Hoch!  Ve vill
have some fon!"

The Baron rushed from the hall, followed in a
moment by his noble friend.  Bunker found him
already wrapping many yards of tartan about his
waist.

"But, my dear fellow, you must take off your
trousers," he expostulated.

Despite his glee, the Baron answered with something
of the Blitzenberg dignity--

"Ze bare leg I cannot show to-night--not to dance
mit ze young ladies.  Ven I have practised, perhaps;
but not now, Bonker."

Accordingly the portraits of four centuries of
Tulliwuddles beheld their representative appear in the very
castle of Hechnahoul with his trouser-legs capering beneath
an ill-hung petticoat of tartan.  And, to make
matters worse in their canvas eyes, his own shameless
laugh rang loudest in the mirth that greeted his entrance.

"Ze garb of Gaul!" he announced, shaking with
hilarity.  "Gom, Bonker, dance mit me ze Highland
fling!"

The first night of Lord Tulliwuddle's visit to his
ancestral halls is still remembered among his native
hills.  The Count also, his mind now rapturously at
ease, performed prodigies.  They danced together
what they were pleased to call the latest thing in London,
sang a duet, waltzed with the younger ladies, till
hardly a head was left unturned, and, in short, sent
away the ministers and their ladies, the five Miss
Cameron-Campbells, the reading-party, and particularly
the factor, with a new conception of a Highland
chief.  As for the house-party, they felt that they
were fortunate beyond the lot of most ordinary
mortals.



CHAPTER X

The Baron sat among his heirlooms, laboriously
disengaging himself from his kilt.  Fitfully
throughout this process he would warble
snatches of an air which Miss Gallosh
had sung.

"Whae vould not dee for Sharlie?" he trolled, "Ze
yong chevalier!"

"Then you don't think of leaving to-morrow
morning?" asked Count Bunker, who was watching him
with a complacent air.

"Mein Gott, no fears!"

"We had better wait, perhaps, till the afternoon?"

"I go not for tree veeks!  Gaben sie--das ist,
gim'me zat tombler.  Vun more of mountain juice to
ze health of all Galloshes!  Partic'ly of vun!  Eh, old
Bonker?"

The Count took care to see that the mountain juice
was well diluted.  His friend had already found Scottish
hospitality difficult to enjoy in moderation.

"Baron, you gave us a marvellously lifelike
representation of a Jacobite chieftain!"

The Baron laughed a trifle vacantly.

"Ach, it is easy for me.  Himmel, a Blitzenberg
should know how!  Vollytoddle--Toddyvolly--whatsh
my name, Bonker?"

The Count informed him.

"Tollivoddlesh is nozing to vat I am at home! 
Abs'lutely nozing!  I have a house twice as big as zis,
and servants--Ach, so many I know not!  Bot, mein
Bonker, it is not soch fon as zis!  Mein Gott, I most
get to bed.  I toss ze caber to-morrow."

And upon the arm of his faithful ally he moved
cautiously towards his bedroom.

But if he had enjoyed his evening well, his pleasure
was nothing to the gratification of his hosts.  They
could not bring themselves to break up their party
for the night: there were so many delightful reminiscences
to discuss.

"Of all the evenings ever I spent," declared Mr.
Gallosh, "this fair takes the cake.  Just to think of
that aristocratic young fellow being as companionable-
like!  When first I put eyes on him, I said to myself--
'You're not for the likes of us.  All lords and ladies
is your kind.  Never a word did he say in the boat
till he heard the pipes play, and then I really thought
he was frightened!  It must just have been a kind of
home-sickness or something."

"It'll have been the tuning up that set his teeth on
edge," Mrs. Gallosh suggested practically.

"Or perhaps his heart was stirred with thoughts of
the past!" said Miss Gallosh, her eyes brightening.

In any case, all were agreed that the development of
his hereditary instincts had been extraordinarily rapid.

"I never really properly talked with a lord before,"
sighed Mrs. Rentoul; "I hope they're all like this one."

Mrs. Gallosh, on the other hand, who boasted of
having had one tete-a-tete and joined in several general
conversations with the peerage, appraised Lord Tulliwuddle
with greater discrimination.

"Ah, he's got a soupcon!" she declared.  "That's
what I admire!"

"Do you mean his German accent?" asked Mr.
Cromarty-Gow, who was renowned for a cynical wit,
and had been seeking an occasion to air it ever since
Lord Tulliwuddle had made Miss Gallosh promise to
dance a reel with him.

But the feeling of the party was so strongly against
a breath of irreverent criticism, and their protest so
emphatic, that he presently strolled off to the smoking-
room, wishing that Miss Gallosh, at least, would exercise
more critical discrimination.

"Do you think would they like breakfast in their
own room, Duncan?" asked Mrs. Gallosh.

"Offer it them--offer it them; they can but refuse,
and it's a kind of compliment to give them the opportunity."

"His lordship will not be wanting to rise early,"
said Mr. Rentoul.  "Did you notice what an amount
he could drink, Duncan?  Man, and he carried it fine! 
But he'll be the better of a sleep-in in the morning,
him coming from a journey too."

Mr. Rentoul was a recognized authority on such
questions, having, before the days of his affluence,
travelled for a notable firm of distillers.  His praise of
Lord Tulliwuddle's capacity was loudly echoed by Mr.
Gallosh, and even the ladies could not but indulgently
agree that he had exhibited a strength of head worthy
of his race.

"And yet he was a wee thing touched too," said Mr.
Rentoul sagely.  "Maybe you were too far gone yourself,
Duncan, to notice it, and the ladies would just
think it was gallantry; but I saw it in his voice and his
legs--oh, just a wee thingie, nothing to speak of."

"Surely you are mistaken!" cried Miss Gallosh. 
"Wasn't it only excitement at finding himself at
Hechnahoul?"

"There's two kinds of excitement," answered the
oracle.  "And this was the kind I'm best acquaint
with.  Oh, but it was just a wee bittie."

"And who thinks the worse of him for it?" cried
Mr. Gallosh.

This question was answered by general acclamation
in a manner and with a spirit that proved how deeply
his lordship's gracious behavior had laid hold of all
hearts.



CHAPTER XI

Breakfast in the private parlor was laid for
two; but it was only Count Bunker, arrayed
in a becoming suit of knickerbockers, and
looking as fresh as if he had feasted last
night on aerated water, who sat down to consume it.

"Who would be his ordinary everyday self when
there are fifty more amusing parts to play," he
reflected gaily, as he sipped his coffee.  "Blitzenberg
and Essington were two conventional members of society,
ageing ingloriously, tamely approaching five-
and-thirty in bath-chairs.  Tulliwuddle and Bunker
are paladins of romance!  We thought we had grown
up--thank Heaven, we were deceived!"

Having breakfasted and lit a cigarette, he essayed
for the second time to arouse the Baron; but getting
nothing but the most somnolent responses, he set out
for a stroll, visiting the gardens, stables, kennels, and
keeper's house, and even inspecting a likely pool or two
upon the river, and making in the course of it several
useful acquaintances among the Tulliwuddle retainers.

When he returned he found the Baron stirring a
cup of strong tea and staring at an ancestral portrait
with a thoughtful frown.

"They are preparing the caber, Baron," he
remarked genially.

"Stoff and nonsense; I vill not fling her!" was the
wholly unexpected reply.  "I do not love to play ze
fool alvays!"

"My dear Baron!"

"Zat picture," said the Baron, nodding his head
solemnly towards the portrait.  "It is like ze Lord
Tollyvoddle in ze print at ze hotel.  I do believe he is ze
same."

"But I explained that he wasn't Tulliwuddle."

"He is so like," repeated the Baron moodily.  "He
most be ze same."

Bunker looked at it and shook his head.

"A different man, I assure you."

"Oh, ze devil!" replied the Baron.

"What's the matter?"

"I haff a head zat tvists and turns like my head
never did since many years."

The Count had already surmised as much.

"Hang it out of the window," he suggested.

The Baron made no reply for some minutes.  Then
with an earnest air he began--

"Bonker, I have somezing to say to you."

"You have the most sympathetic audience outside
the clan."

The Count's cheerful tone did not seem to please his
friend.

"Your heart, he is too light, Bonker; ja, too light. 
Last night you did engourage me not to be seemly."

"I!"

"I did get almost dronk.  If my head vas not so
hard I should be dronk.  Das ist not right.  If I am
to be ze Tollyvoddle, it most be as I vould be Von
Blitzenberg.  I most not forget zat I am not as ozzer
men.  I am noble, and most be so accordingly."

"What steps do you propose to take?" inquired
Bunker with perfect gravity.

The Baron stared at the picture.

"Last night I had a dream.  It vas zat man--at
least, probably it vas, for I cannot remember eggsactly. 
He did pursue me mit a kilt."

"With what did you defend yourself?"

"I know not: I jost remember zat it should be a
warning.  Ve Blitzenbergs have ze gift to dream."

The Baron rose from the table and lit a cigar. 
After three puffs he threw it from him.

"I cannot smoke," he said dismally.  "It has a
onpleasant taste."

The Count assumed a seriously thoughtful air.

"No doubt you will wish to see Miss Maddison as
soon as possible and get it over," he began.  "I have
just learned that their place is about seven miles away. 
We could borrow a trap this afternoon----"

"Nein, nein!" interrupted the Baron.   "Donnerwetter! 
Ach, no, it most not be so soon.  I most
practise a leetle first.  Not so immediately, Bonker."

Bunker looked at him with a glance of unfathomable
calm.

"I find that it will be necessary for you to observe
one or two ancient ceremonies, associated from time
immemorial with the accession of a Tulliwuddle.  You
are prepared for the ordeal?"

"I most do my duty, Bonker."

"This suggests some more inspiring vision than the
gentleman in the gold frame," thought the Count
acutely.

Aloud he remarked

"You have high ideals, Baron."

"I hope so."

Again the Baron was the unconscious object of a
humorous, perspicacious scrutiny.

"Last night I did hear zat moch was to be expected
from me," he observed at length.

"From Mrs. Gallosh?"

"I do not zink it vas from Mrs. Gallosh."

Count Bunker smiled.

"You inflamed all hearts last night," said he.

The Baron looked grave.

"I did drink too moch last night.  But I did not
say vat I should not, eh?  I vas not rude or gross to--
Mistair Gallosh?"

"Not to Mr. Gallosh."

The Baron looked a trifle perturbed at the gravity
of his tone.

"I vas not too free, too undignified in presence of
zat innocent and charming lady--Miss Gallosh?"

The air of scrutiny passed from Count Bunker's
face, and a droll smile came instead.

"Baron, I understand your ideals and I appreciate
your motives.  As you suggest, you had better rehearse
your part quietly for a few days.  Miss Maddison will
find you the more perfect suitor."

The Baron looked as though he knew not whether to
feel satisfied or not.

"By the way," said the Count in a moment, "have
you written to the Baroness yet?  Pardon me for
reminding you, but you must remember that your letters
will have to go out to Russia and back."

The Baron started.

"Teufel!" he exclaimed.  "I most indeed write."

"The post goes at twelve."

The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved
to the writing-table and toyed with his pen.  A few
minutes passed, and then in a fretful voice he asked--

"Vat shall I say?"

"Tell her about your journey across Europe--how
the crops look in Russia--what you think of St. Petersburg--
that sort of thing."

A silent quarter of an hour went by, and then the
Baron burst out

"Ach, I cannot write to-day!  I cannot invent like
you.  Ze crops--I have got zat--and zat I arrived safe
--and zat Petersburg is nice.  Vat else?"

"Anything you can remember from text-books on
Muscovy or illustrated interviews with the Czar.  Just
a word or two, don't you know, to show you've been
there; with a few comments of your own."

"Vat like comments?"

"Such as--'Somewhat annoyed with bombs this
afternoon,' or 'This caused me to reflect upon the
disadvantages of an alcoholic marine'--any little bit of
philosophy that occurs to you."

The Baron pondered.

"It is a pity zat I have not been in Rossia," he
observed.

"On the other hand, it is a blessing your wife hasn't. 
Look at the bright side of things, my dear fellow."

For a short time, from the way in which the Baron
took hasty notes in pencil and elaborated them in ink
(according to the system of Professor Virchausen), it
appeared that he was following his friend's directions. 
Later, from a sentimental look in his eye, the Count
surmised that he was composing an amorous addendum;
and at last he laid down his pen with a sigh which the
cynical (but only the cynical) might have attributed
to relief.

"Ha, my head he is getting more clear!" he
announced.  "Gom, let us present ourselves to ze ladies,
mine Bonker!"



CHAPTER XII

"It is necessary, Bonker--you are sure?"

"No Tulliwuddle has ever omitted the ceremony. 
If you shirked, I am assured on the very
best authority that it would excite the gravest
suspicions of your authenticity."

Count Bunker spoke with an air of the most resolute
conviction.  Ever since they arrived he had taken
infinite pains to discover precisely what was expected of
the chieftain, and having by great good luck made the
acquaintance of an elderly individual who claimed to
be the piper of the clan, and who proved a perfect
granary of legends, he was able to supply complete
information on every point of importance.  Once the
Baron had endeavored to corroborate these particulars
by interviewing the piper himself, but they had found
so much difficulty in understanding one another's
dialects that he had been content to trust implicitly to his
friend's information.  The Count, indeed, had rather
avoided than sought advice on the subject, and the
piper, after several confidential conversations and the
passage of a sum of silver into his sporran, displayed
an equally Delphic tendency.

The Baron, therefore, argued the present point no
longer.

"It is jost a mere ceremony," he said.  "Ach, vell,
nozing vill happen.  Zis ghost--vat is his name?"

"It is known as the Wraith of the Tulliwuddles. 
The heir must interview it within a week of coming to
the Castle."

"Vere most I see him?"

"In the armory, at midnight.  You bring one
friend, one candle, and wear a bonnet with one eagle's
feather in it.  You enter at eleven and wait for an
hour--and, by the way, neither of you must speak
above a whisper."

"Pooh!  Jost hombog!" said the Baron valiantly. 
"I do not fear soch trash."

"When the Wraith appears----"

"My goot Bonker, he vill not gom!"

"Supposing he does come--and mind you, strange
things happen in these old buildings, particularly in
the Highlands, and after dinner; if he comes, Baron,
you must ask him three questions."

The Baron laughed scornfully.

"If I see a ghost I vill ask him many interesting
questions--if he does feel cold, and sochlike, eh?  Ha,
ha!"

With an imperturbable gravity that was not without
its effect upon the other, however gaily he might talk,
Bunker continued

"The three questions are: first, 'What art thou?'
second, 'Why comest thou here, O spirit?' third,
'What instructions desirest thou to give me?'  Strictly
speaking, they ought to be asked in Gaelic, but exceptions
have been made on former occasions, and Mac-
Dui--who pipes, by the way, in the anteroom--assures
me that English will satisfy the Wraith in your
case."

The Baron sniffed and laughed, and twirled up the
ends of his mustaches till they presented a particularly
desperate appearance.  Yet there was a faint intonation
of anxiety in his voice as he inquired--

"You vill gom as my friend, of course?"

"I?  Quite out of the question, I am sorry to say. 
To bring a foreigner (as I am supposed to be) would
rouse the clan to rebellion.  No, Baron, you have a
chance of paying a graceful compliment to your host
which you must not lose.  Ask Mr. Gallosh to share
your vigil."

"Gallosh--he vould not be moch good sopposing--
Ach, but nozing vill happen!  I vill ask him."

The pride of Mr. Gallosh on being selected as his
lordship's friend on this historic occasion was pleasant
to witness.

"It's just a bit of fiddle-de-dee," he informed his
delighted family.  "Duncan Gallosh to be looking for
bogles is pretty ridiculous--but oh, I can't refuse to
disoblige his lordship."

"I should think not, when he's done you the honor
to invite you out of all his friends!" said Mrs. Gallosh
warmly.  "Eva!  do you hear the compliment
that's been paid your papa?"

Eva, their fair eldest daughter, came into the room
at a run.  She had indeed heard (since the news was
on every tongue), and impetuously she flung her arms
about her father's neck.

"Oh, papa, do him credit!" she cried; "it's like a
story come true!  What a romantic thing to happen!"

"What a spirit!" her mother reflected proudly. 
"She is just the girl for a chieftain's bride!"

That very night was chosen for the ceremony, and
eleven o'clock found them all assembled breathless in
the drawing-room: all, save Lord Tulliwuddle and his
host.

"Will they have to wait for a whole hour?" asked
Mrs. Gallosh in a low voice.

Indeed they all spoke in subdued accents.

"I am told," replied the Count, "that the apparition
never appears till after midnight has struck.  Any time
between twelve and one he may be expected."

"Think of the terrible suspense after twelve has
passed!" whispered Eva.

The Count had thought of this.

"I advised Duncan to take his flask," said Mr.
Rentoul, with a solemn wink.  "So he'll not be so
badly off."

"Papa would never do such a thing to-night!"
cried Eva.

"It's always a kind of precaution," said the sage.

Presently Count Bunker, who had been imparting
the most terrific particulars of former interviews with
the Wraith to the younger Galloshes, remarked that he
must pass the time by overtaking some pressing correspondence.

"You will forgive me, I hope, for shutting myself
up for an hour or so," he said to his hostess.  "I shall
come back in time to learn the results of the meeting."

And with the loss of his encouraging company a
greater uneasiness fell upon the party.

Meanwhile, in a vast cavern of darkness, lit only by
the solitary candle, the Baron and his host endeavored
to maintain the sceptical buoyancy with which they
had set forth upon their adventure.  But the chilliness
of the room (they had no fire, and it was a misty night
with a moaning wind), the inordinate quantity of odd-
looking shadows, and the profound silence, were
immediately destructive to buoyancy and ultimately trying
to scepticism.

"I wish ze piper vould play," whispered the Baron.

"Mebbe he'll begin nearer the time," his companion
suggested.

The Baron shivered.  For the first time he had been
persuaded to wear the full panoply of a Highland
chief, and though he had exhibited himself to the ladies
with much pride, and even in the course of dinner had
promised Eva Gallosh that he would never again don
anything less romantic, he now began to think that a
travelling-rug of the Tulliwuddle tartan would prove
a useful addition to the outfit on the occasion of a
midnight vigil.  Also the stern prohibition against
talking aloud (corroborated by the piper with many
guttural warnings) grew more and more irksome as
the night advanced.

"It's an awesome place," whispered Mr. Gallosh.

"I hardly thought it would have been as lonesome-
like."

There was a tremor in his voice that irritated the
Baron.

"Pooh!" he answered, "it is jost vun old piece of
hombog!  I do not believe in soch things myself."

"Neither do I, my lord; oh, neither do I; but--
would you fancy a dram?"

"Not for me, I zank you," said his lordship stiffly.

Blessing the foresight of Mr. Rentoul, his host
unscrewed his flask and had a generous swig.  As he was
screwing on the top again, the Baron, in a less haughty
voice, whispered

"Perhaps jost vun leetle taste."

They felt now for a few minutes more aggressively
disposed.

"Ve need not have ze curtain shut," said the Baron. 
"Soppose you do draw him?"

Through the gloom Mr. Gallosh took one or two
faltering steps.

"Man, it's awful hard to see one's way," he said
nervously.

The Baron took the candle, and with a martial stride
escorted him to the window.  They pulled aside one
corner of the heavy curtain, and then let it fall again
and hurried back.  So far north there was indeed a
gleam of daylight left, but it was such a pale and
ghostly ray, and the wreaths of mist swept so eerily
and silently across the pane, that candle-light and shadows
seemed vastly preferable.

"How much more time will there be?" whispered
Mr. Gallosh presently.

"It is twenty-five minutes to twelve."

"Your lordship!  Can we leave at twelve?"

The Baron started.

"Oh, Himmel!" he exclaimed.  "Vy did I not realize
before?  If nozing comes--and nozing vill come--ve
most stay till one, I soppose."

Mr. Gallosh emitted something like a groan.

"Oh my, and that candle will not last more than
half an hour at the most!"

"Teufel!" said the Baron.  "It vas Bonker did
give him to me.  He might have made a more proper
calculation."

The prospect was now gloomy indeed.  An hour
of candle-light had been bad, but an hour of pitch
darkness or of mist wreaths would be many times
worse.

"A wee tastie more, my lord?" Mr. Gallosh
suggested, in a voice whose vibrations he made an effort
to conceal.

"Jost a vee," said his lordship, hardly more firmly.

With a dismal disregard for their suspense the minutes
dragged infinitely slowly.  The flask was finished;
the candle guttered and flickered ominously; the very
shadows grew restless.

"There's a lot of secret doors and such like in this
part of the house--let's hope there'll be nothing coming
through one of them," said Mr. Gallosh in a breaking voice.

The Baron muttered an inaudible reply, and then
with a start their shoulders bumped together.

"Damn it, what's yon!" whispered Mr. Gallosh.

"Ze pipes!  Gallosh, how beastly he does play!"

In point of fact the air seemed to consist of only
one wailing note.

"Bong!"--they heard the first stroke of midnight
on the big clock on the Castle Tower; and so unfortunately
had Count Bunker timed the candle that on the
instant its flame expired.

"Vithdraw ze curtains!" gasped the Baron.

"I canna, my lord!  Oh, I canna!" wailed Mr.
Gallosh, breaking out into his broadest native Scotch.

This time the Baron made no movement, and in the
palpitating silence the two sat through one long dark
minute after another, till some ten of them had passed.

"I shall stand it no more!" muttered the Baron. 
"Ve vill creep for ze door."

"My lord, my lord!  For maircy's sake gie's a hold
of you!" stammered Mr. Gallosh, falling on his hands
and knees and feeling for the skirt of his lordship's
kilt.

But their flight was arrested by a portent so
remarkable that had there been only a single witness one
would suppose it to be a figment of his imagination. 
Fortunately, however, both the Baron and Mr. Gallosh
can corroborate each detail.  About the middle,
apparently, of the wall opposite, an oblong of light
appeared in the thickest of the gloom.

"Mein Gott!" cried the Baron.

"It's filled wi' reek!" gasped Mr. Gallosh.

And indeed the space seemed filled with a slowly
rising cloud of pungent blue smoke.  Then their horrified
eyes beheld the figure of an undoubted Being hazily
outlined behind the cloud, and at the same time the
piper, as if sympathetically aware of the crisis, burst
into his most dreadful discords.  A yell rang through
the gloom, followed by the sounds of a heavy body
alternately scuffling across the floor and falling
prostrate over unseen furniture.  The Baron felt for his
host, and realized that this was the escaping Gallosh.

"Tulliwuddle!  Speak!" a hollow voice muttered
out of the smoke.

The Baron has never ceased to exult over the hardihood
he displayed in this unnerving crisis.  Rising to
his feet and drawing his claymore, he actually managed
to stammer out--

"Who--who are you?"

The Being (he could now perceive dimly that it was
clad in tartan) answered in the same deep, measured
voice--

          "Your senses to confound and fuddle,
            Behold the Wraith of Tulliwuddle!"


This was sufficiently terrifying, one would think, to
excuse the Baron for following the example of his host.
But, though he found afterwards that he must have
perspired freely, he courageously stood his ground.

"Vy have you gomed here?" he demanded in a voice
nearly as hollow as the Wraith'

As solemnly as before the spirit replied--

          "From Pit that's bottomless and dark--
            Methinks I hear it shrieking--Hark!"


(The Baron certainly did hear a tumult that might
well be termed infernal; though whether it emanated
from Mr. Gallosh, fiends, or the piper, he could not at
the moment feel certain.)

          "I came o'er many leagues of heather
            To carry back the answer whether
            The noble chieftain of my clan
            Conducts him like a gentleman."


After this warning, to put the third question
required an effort of the most supreme resolution.  The
Baron was equal to it, however.

"Vat instroction do you give me?" he managed to
utter.

In the gravest accents the Wraith chanted--

          "Hang ever kilt above the knee,
            With Usquebaugh be not too free,
            When toasts and sic'like games be mooted
            See that your dram be well diluted;
            And oh, if you'd escape from Hades,
            Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!"


The spirit vanished as magically as he had appeared,
and with this solemn warning ringing in his ears, the
Baron found himself in inky darkness again.  This
time he did not hesitate to grope madly for the door,
but hardly had he reached it, when, with a fresh sensation
of horror, he stumbled upon a writhing form that
seemed to be pawing the panels.  He was, fortunately;
as quickly reassured by hearing the voice of Mr. Gallosh
exclaim in terrified accents--

"I canna find the haundle!  Oh, Gosh, where's the
haundle?"

Being the less frenzied of the two, the Baron did
succeed in finding the handle, and with a gasp of relief
burst into the lighted anteroom.  The piper had
already departed, and evidently in haste, since he had
left some portion of a bottle of whisky unfinished. 
This fortunate circumstance enabled them to recover
something of their color, though, even when he felt his
blood warming again, Mr. Gallosh could scarcely speak
coherently of his terrible ordeal.

"What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!" he
murmured.  "Oh, my lord, let's get out of this!"

He was making for the door when the Baron seized
his arm.

"Vait!" he cried.  "Ze danger is past!  Ach, vas
I not brave?  Did you not hear me speak to him?  You
can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?"

"I'll not swear I heard just exactly what passed,
my lord.  Man, I'll own I was awful feared!"

"Tuts! tuts!" said the Baron kindly.  "Ve vill say
nozing about zat.  You stood vell by me, I shall say. 
And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze
ghost."

"I will that!" said Mr. Gallosh.

By the time they reached the drawing-room he had
so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a very
creditable witness, and between them they gave such
an account of their adventure as satisfied even the
excited expectations of their friends; though the Baron
thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity
to leave considerable mystery attaching to the precise
revelations of his ancestral spirit.

"Bot vere is Bonker?" he asked, suddenly noticing
the absence of his friend.

A moment later the Count entered and listened with
the greatest interest to a second (and even more
graphic) account of the adventure.  More intimate
particulars still were confided to him when they had
retired to their own room, and he appeared as surprised
and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire.  As
they parted for the night, the Baron started and
sniffed at him.

"Vat a strange smell you have!" he exclaimed.

"Peat smoke, probably.  This fire wouldn't draw."

"Strange!" mused the Baron.  "I did smell a leetle
smell of zat before to-night."

"Yes; one notices it all through the house with an
east wind."

This seemed to the Baron a complete explanation of
the coincidence.



CHAPTER XIII

At the house in Belgrave Square at present
tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von
Blitzenberg, an event of considerable
importance had occurred.  This was nothing
less than the arrival of the Countess of Grillyer upon
a visit both of affection and state.  So important was
she, and so great the attachment of her daughter, that
the preparations for her reception would have served
for a reigning sovereign.  But the Countess had an
eye as quick and an appetite for respect as exacting
as Queen Elizabeth, and she had no sooner embraced
the Baroness and kissed her ceremoniously upon either
cheek, than her glance appeared to seek something that
she deemed should have been there also.

"And where is Rudolph?" she demanded.  "Is he
so very busy that he cannot spare a moment even to
welcome me?"

The Baroness changed color, but with as easy an air
as she could assume she answered that Rudolph had
most unfortunately been summoned from England.

"Indeed?" observed the Countess, and the observation
was made in a tone that suggested the advisability
of a satisfactory explanation.

This paragon among mothers and peeresses was a
lady of majestic port, whose ascendant expression and
commanding voice were commonly held to typify all
that is best in the feudal system; or, in other words,
to indicate that her opinions had never been contradicted
in her life.  When one of these is a firm belief
in the holder's divine rights and semi-divine origin, the
effect is undoubtedly impressive.  And the Countess
impressed.

"My dear Alicia," said she, when they had settled
down to tea and confidential talk, "you have not yet
told me what has taken Rudolph abroad again so
soon."

On nothing had the Baron laid more stress than on
the necessity of maintaining the most profound secrecy
respecting his mission.  "No, not even to your mozzer
most you say.  My love, you vill remember?" had been
almost his very last words before departing for St.
Petersburg.  His devoted wife had promised this not
once, but many times, while his finger was being shaken
at her, and would have scorned herself had she thought
it possible to break her vows.

"That is a secret, mamma," she declared.

Her mother opened her eyes.

"A secret from me, Alicia?"

"Rudolph made me promise."

"Not to tell your friends--but that hardly was
intended to include your mother."

The Baroness looked uncomfortable.

"I--I'm afraid----" she began, and stopped in
hesitation.

"Did he specifically include me?" demanded the
Countess in an altered tone.

"I think, mamma, he did," her daughter faltered.

"Ah!"

And there was a world of meaning in that comment.

"Believe me, mamma, it is something very, very
important, or Rudolph would certainly have let me tell
you all about it."

Lady Grillyer opened her eyes still wider.

"Then I am to understand that he wishes to conceal
from me anything that he considers of importance?"

"Oh, no!  Not that!  I only mean that this thing
is very secret."

"Alicia," pronounced the Countess, "when a man
specifically conceals anything from his mother-in-law,
you may be quite certain that she ought to be informed
of it at once."

"I--I can't, mamma!"

"A trip to Germany--for it is there, I presume, he
has gone--back to the scenes of his bachelorhood,
unprotected by the influence of his wife!  Do you call
that a becoming procedure?"

"But he hasn't gone to Germany."

"He has no business anywhere else!"

"You forget his diplomatic duties."

"Ah!  He professes to have gone on diplomatic
business?"

"Professes, mamma?" exclaimed the poor Baroness. 
"How can you say such a thing!  He certainly has
gone on a diplomatic mission!"

"To Paris, no doubt?" suggested Lady Grillyer,
with an intonation that made it quite impossible not to
contradict her.

"Certainly not!  He has gone to Russia."

The more the Countess learned, the more anxious
she appeared to grow.

"To Russia, on a diplomatic mission?  This is
incredible, Alicia!"

"Why should it be incredible?" demanded Alicia,
flushing.

"Because he is a mere tyro in diplomacy.  Because
there is a German embassy at Petersburg, and they
would not send a man from London on a mission--at
least, it is most unlikely."

"It seems to me quite natural," declared the
Baroness.

She was showing more fight than her mother had
ever encountered from her before, and the opposition
seemed to inflame Lady Grillyer's resentment against
the unfilial couple.

"You know nothing about it!  What is this mission
about?"

"That certainly is a secret," said Alicia, relieved
that there was something left to keep her promise over.

"Has he gone alone?"

"I--I mustn't tell you, mamma."

Alicia's face betrayed this subterfuge.

"You do not know yourself, Alicia," said the
Countess incisively.  "And so you need no longer
pretend to be keeping a secret from me.  It now becomes
our joint business to discover the actual truth.  Do
not attempt to wrangle with me further!  This
investigation is necessary for your peace of mind, dear."

The unfortunate Baroness dropped a silent tear. 
Her peace of mind had been serenely undisturbed till
this moment, and now it was only broken by the
thought of her husband's displeasure should he ever
learn how she had disobeyed his injunctions.  Further
investigation was the very last thing to cure it, she
said to herself bitterly.  She looked piteously at her
parent, but there she only saw an expression of
concentrated purpose.

"Have you any reason, Alicia, to suspect an
attachment--an affair of any kind?"

"Mamma!"

"Do not jump in that excitable manner.  Think
quietly.  He has evidently returned to Germany for
some purpose which he wishes to conceal from us: the
natural supposition is that a woman is at the bottom
of it."

"Rudolph is incapable----"

"No man is incapable who is in the full possession
of his faculties.  I know them perfectly."

"But, mamma, I cannot bear to think of such a
thing!"

"That is a merely middle-class prejudice.  I can't
imagine where you have picked it up."

In point of fact, during Alicia's girlhood Lady
Grillyer had always been at the greatest pains to preserve
her daughter's innocent simplicity, as being preeminently
a more marketable commodity than precocious
worldliness.  But if reminded of this she would probably
have retorted that consistency was middle-class
also.

"I have no reason to suspect anything of the sort,"
the Baroness declared emphatically.

Her mother indulged her with a pitying smile and
inquired--

"What other explanation can you offer?  Among
his men friends is there anyone likely to lead him into
mischief?"

"None--at least----"

"Ah!"

"He promised me he would avoid Mr. Bunker--I
mean Mr. Essington."

The Countess started.  She had vivid and exceedingly
distasteful recollections of Mr. Bunker.

"That man!  Are they still acquainted?"

"Acquainted--oh yes; but I give Rudolph credit
for more sense and more truthfulness than to renew
their friendship."

The Countess pondered with a very grave expression
upon her face, while Alicia gently wiped her eyes and
ardently wished that her honest Rudolph was here to
defend his character and refute these baseless insinuations. 
At length her mother said with a brisker air--

"Ah! I know exactly what we must do.  I shall
make a point of seeing Sir Justin Wallingford tomorrow."

"Sir Justin Wallingford!"

"If anybody can obtain private information for us
he can.  We shall soon learn whether the Baron has
been sent to Russia."

Alicia uttered a cry of protest.  Sir Justin, ex-
diplomatist, author of a heavy volume of Victorian
reminiscences, and confidant of many public personages,
was one of her mother's oldest friends; but to
her he was only one degree less formidable than the
Countess, and quite the last person she would have
chosen for consultation upon this, or indeed upon any
other subject.

"I am not going to intrust my husband's secrets to
him!" she exclaimed.

"I am," replied the Countess.

"But I won't allow it!  Rudolph would be----"

"Rudolph has only himself to blame.  My dear
Alicia, you can trust Sir Justin implicitly.  When my
child's happiness is at stake I would consult no one
who was not discretion itself.  I am very glad I
thought of him."

The Baroness burst into tears.

"My child, my child!" said her mother compassionately. 
"The world is no Garden of Eden, however
much we may all try to make it so."

"You--you don't se--seem to be trying now,
mamma."

"May Heaven forgive you, my darling,"
pronounced the Countess piously.



CHAPTER XIV

"Sir Justin," said the Countess firmly, "please
tell my daughter exactly what you have discovered."

Sir Justin Wallingford sat in the drawing-
room at Belgrave Square with one of these ladies on
either side of him.  He was a tall, gaunt man with a
grizzled black beard, a long nose, and such a formidably
solemn expression that ambitious parents we