what's been going on in the stables, and at the farm, and in the garden, and about the hares and fezzans, sir."
"I can find out for myself," I said, sternly; "and Lord Gurtleigh wants an honest butler, not a contemptible tale-bearing spy."
"Of course, sir; of course. But, Mr. Lester, sir, have mercy on me, sir. Indeed I'll turn over a new leaf."
"Then go and turn it over, man, and don't grovel before me in that way. Let me see that you do repent. But, mind this, if the slightest act of dishonesty comes to my ken, there will be no more mercy."
"God bless you, sir; thank you, sir," he sobbed out. "I—, I—."
He could say no more; but broke down, and stood with his face working.
"Sit down, Brayson, till you are more composed," I said, quietly. "There is cold water in that carafe; take some. Don't let the servants see you in this condition."
"Thank you, sir, thank you," he whispered hoarsely, and the glass tapped against the bottle as he poured out some water and drank it.
"Weak, drinks more than is good for him—excepting the cold water from the well every morning to steady his nerves," I said to myself as soon as Brayson had gone. "Well, I hope he will turn out right, and that I have made a friend."
CHAPTER III.
The months glided on, and after a great deal of anxiety I could honestly feel that I was getting Gurtleigh's little kingdom into a fair state, when one night we had a shock. I was in the little library, poring over some papers sent down by his lordship's solicitor, about which a reply was needed. I had been speaking to Dick about it over our coffee, and he had replied, "Well, you know best. Don't bother me! Go and get it done, and then we'll have a quiet cigar. I'll join you in an hour."
He joined me in half that time, dashing into the library excitedly.
"Charley, old man!" he cried. "Quick, there's something wrong!"
"What!" I cried as excitedly. "Lady Florry—"
"Yes," he panted, "went up to her dressing-room. The door was locked. There must be—"
"Burglars!" I cried. "Quick, call the servants! Go up and guard that door, and send someone round to me!"
"Where are you going?'
"I ran up the ladder."
"Under your windows," I cried, throwing open the one at the end of the room; and, springing out, I ran round to the front of the house, fully expecting to see one of the farm ladders reared up against the broad stone balcony which ran along the first floor. There it was, in the dim light, which was sufficiently strong for me to see that the window was open.
I did not hesitate a moment. "Burglars are always cowards," I reasoned, and I ran up the ladder and dashed to the window, thinking, though, that I should be awkwardly situated if our visitors had revolvers.
But no shot welcomed me as I stepped in, took a little match-box from my pocket,
