Vixen had been saying to herself all throughout dinner, “What a mean fellow to come like a fox and steal poor Arthur’s property!” But even she was cowed a little by his singing, and felt for the moment in the presence of a superior.

Sir Wilton was delighted. Here was a son to represent him—the son of the woman the county had refused to acknowledge! What was lady Ann’s plebeian litter beside this high-bred, modest, self-possessed fellow? He was worthy of his father, by Jove!

He went early to bed, and Richard was not sorry. He, too, retired early, leaving the rest to talk him over.

How they did it, I do not care to put on record. Theodora said little, for her heart had come awake with a new and lovely sense of gladness and hope.

The next morning Richard came upon Arthur shooting at a target. He joined him, but found himself not up to Arthur’s skill. When his brother began to talk about shooting pheasants, he found in Richard a strong dislike to killing.

“Keep it quiet,” he said with more than a trace of contempt. “You’ll be laughed at if you don’t. And my father won’t like it.”

“I pass no judgment on your sport,” said Richard. “I merely say I don’t choose to kill birds. What men may think of me for it is a matter of indifference to me.”

They strolled into the stable. There stood Miss Brown, looking over the door of her box. She received Richard with glad recognition.

“How does Miss Brown come to be here?” he asked. “Where can her mistress be?”

“The mare’s at home,” answered Arthur. “I bought her.”

“Oh!” said Richard, and went to the box, lifted her foot, and looked at the shoe. Alas, Miss Brown had worn out many shoes since Barbara drove a nail in her hoof! Had there been one of hers there, he would have known it. The mare sniffed about his head in a friendly fashion.

“She smells the smithy!” said Arthur to himself. “Your grandfather’s work!” he remarked. “I should be sorry to see any other man shoe a horse of mine!”

“So should I!” answered Richard. “I wonder why Miss Wylder sold Miss Brown?” he added, after a pause.

“I am not so curious!” rejoined Arthur. “She sold her, and I bought her.”

Neither could have known that the animal stood there as a sacrifice to Barbara’s love to Richard.