The Doings of Raffles Haw | Page 5

pocket, and there I found
it when I looked for the dates of our cruise. Now you know as much of
the matter as I do."
Brother and sister stared at the black and white crinkled note with
astonishment upon their faces.
"Why, your unknown traveller must have been Monte Cristo, or
Rothschild at the least!" said Robert. "I am bound to say, Laura, that I
think you have lost your bet."
"Oh, I am quite content to lose it. I never heard of such a piece of luck.
What a perfectly delightful man this must be to know."
"But I can't take his money," said Hector Spurling, looking somewhat

ruefully at the note. "A little prize-money is all very well in its way, but
a Johnny must draw the line somewhere. Besides it must have been a
mistake. And yet he meant to give me something big, for he could not
mistake a note for a coin. I suppose I must advertise for the fellow."
"It seems a pity too," remarked Robert. "I must say that I don't quite see
it in the same light that you do."
"Indeed I think that you are very Quixotic, Hector," said Laura
McIntyre. "Why should you not accept it in the spirit in which it was
meant? You did this stranger a service--perhaps a greater service than
you know of--and he meant this as a little memento of the occasion. I
do not see that there is any possible reason against your keeping it."
"Oh, come!" said the young sailor, with an embarrassed laugh, "it is not
quite the thing--not the sort of story one would care to tell at mess."
"In any case you are off to-morrow morning," observed Robert. "You
have no time to make inquiries about the mysterious Croesus. You
must really make the best of it."
"Well, look here, Laura, you put it in your work-basket," cried Hector
Spurling. "You shall be my banker, and if the rightful owner turns up
then I can refer him to you. If not, I suppose we must look on it as a
kind of salvage-money, though I am bound to say I don't feel entirely
comfortable about it." He rose to his feet, and threw the note down into
the brown basket of coloured wools which stood beside her. "Now,
Laura, I must up anchor, for I promised the governor to be back by nine.
It won't be long this time, dear, and it shall be the last. Good-bye,
Robert! Good luck!"
"Good-bye, Hector! _Bon voyage!_"
The young artist remained by the table, while his sister followed her
lover to the door. In the dim light of the hall he could see their figures
and overhear their words.
"Next time, little girl?"

"Next time be it, Hector."
"And nothing can part us?"
"Nothing."
"In the whole world?"
"Nothing."
Robert discreetly closed the door. A moment later a thud from without,
and the quick footsteps crunching on the snow told him that their
visitor had departed.

CHAPTER II.
THE TENANT OF THE NEW HALL.
The snow had ceased to fall, but for a week a hard frost had held the
country side in its iron grip. The roads rang under the horses' hoofs, and
every wayside ditch and runlet was a street of ice. Over the long
undulating landscape the red brick houses peeped out warmly against
the spotless background, and the lines of grey smoke streamed straight
up into the windless air. The sky was of the lightest palest blue, and the
morning sun, shining through the distant fog-wreaths of Birmingham,
struck a subdued glow from the broad-spread snow fields which might
have gladdened the eyes of an artist.
It did gladden the heart of one who viewed it that morning from the
summit of the gently-curving Tamfield Hill Robert McIntyre stood
with his elbows upon a gate-rail, his Tam-o'-Shanter hat over his eyes,
and a short briar-root pipe in his mouth, looking slowly about him, with
the absorbed air of one who breathes his fill of Nature. Beneath him to
the north lay the village of Tamfield, red walls, grey roofs, and a
scattered bristle of dark trees, with his own little Elmdene nestling back
from the broad, white winding Birmingham Road. At the other side, as

he slowly faced round, lay a vast stone building, white and clear-cut,
fresh from the builders' hands. A great tower shot up from one corner
of it, and a hundred windows twinkled ruddily in the light of the
morning sun. A little distance from it stood a second small square
low-lying structure, with a tall chimney rising from the midst of it,
rolling out a long plume of smoke into the frosty air. The whole vast
structure stood within its own grounds, enclosed by a