his horse jogged toward Hull, although these did not take such a definite
shape as to make him feel a premonitory pull of his coat-tails. The
ruined mill beside the rushing stream was a picturesque spot, and the
figure of the Honourable Hilary Vane, seated on the old millstone, in the
green and gold shadows of a beech, gave an interesting touch of life to
the landscape. The Honourable Adam drew up and eyed his friend and
associate of many years before addressing him.

"How are you, Hilary?"

"Hitch your horse," said Mr. Vane.

The Honourable Adam was some time in picking out a convenient tree. Then
he lighted a cigar, and approached Mr. Vane, and at length let himself
down, cautiously, on the millstone. Sitting on his porch had not improved
Mr. Hunt's figure.

"This is kind of mysterious, ain't it, Hilary?" he remarked, with a tug
at his goatee.

"I don't know but what it is," admitted Mr. Vane, who did not look as
though the coming episode were to give him unqualified joy.

"Fine weather," remarked the Honourable Adam, with a brave attempt at
geniality.

"The paper predicts rain to-morrow," said the Honourable Hilary.

"You don't smoke, do you?" asked the Honourable Adam.