"A very old friend of your father!" said Mr. Falconer, and his keen
eyes looked into Stafford's as he held out his hand. Then he turned to
Sir Stephen, whose face had resumed its usual serenity, and was fixed
in the smile appropriate to the occasion. "Mr. Stafford Orme and I have
met before to-day--"

Sir Stephen shot an enquiring glance from one to the other.

--"At the inn at the other side of the lake. My daughter, Maude, and I
have been resting there for a few hours. Maude," he said to that young
lady, who was standing looking on at the group generally, but more
particularly, under her lids, at Stafford's tall figure; "this is a
very strange meeting between old friends. Sir Stephen Orme and I
haven't met for--how long ago is it, Orme?"

Sir Stephen shook his head, and raised his thick, dark brows.

"Too long for us to go back--especially in the presence of these young
people, whom we are always trying to persuade that we are not old. I am
delighted to see you, my dear young lady, and I am devoured by
curiosity to know how it is that you are here."

"Well, we owe it to your son, Mr. Orme here, I should imagine, Sir
Stephen," she replied. She had fully recovered her self-possession, and
her manner and voice had all the tone of pride and indolence which
Stafford had noticed when he met her at the inn. "If he had not stopped
the horses, I suppose we should have either been killed or on the way
to the nearest hospital. By the way, have you thanked Mr. Orme yet,
father?"