Cashel Byron's Profession

"Not that I am aware of, madam."

Lydia dipped her pen in the ink and thought no more of the subject.

Bashville returned to the castle, attired himself like a country

gentleman of sporting tastes, and went out to enjoy his holiday.

The forenoon passed away peacefully. There was no sound in the

Warren Lodge except the scratching of Lydia's pen, the ticking of

her favorite skeleton clock, an occasional clatter of crockery from

the kitchen, and the voices of the birds and maids without. The hour

for lunch approached, and Lydia became a little restless. She

interrupted her work to look at the clock, and brushed a speck of

dust from its dial with the feather of her quill. Then she looked

absently through the window along the elm vista, where she had once

seen, as she had thought, a sylvan god. This time she saw a less

romantic object--a policeman. She looked again, incredulously, there

he was still, a black-bearded, helmeted man, making a dark blot in

the green perspective, and surveying the landscape cautiously. Lydia

rang the bell, and bade Phoebe ask the man what he wanted.

The girl soon returned out of breath, with the news that there were

a dozen more constables hiding in the road, and that the one she had

spoken to had given no account of himself, but had asked her how

many gates there were to the park; whether they were always locked,

and whether she had seen many people about. She felt sure that a

murder had been committed somewhere. Lydia shrugged her shoulders,

and ordered luncheon, during which Phoebe gazed eagerly through the

window, and left her mistress to wait on herself.

"Phoebe," said Lydia, when the dishes were removed; "you may go to

the gate lodge, and ask them there what the policemen want. But do

not go any further. Stay. Has Ellen gone to the castle with the

things?"

Phoebe reluctantly admitted that Ellen had.

"Well, you need not wait for her to return; but come back as quickly

as you can, in case I should want anybody."

"Directly, miss," said Phoebe, vanishing.

Lydia, left alone, resumed her work leisurely, occasionally pausing

to gaze at the distant woodland, and note with transient curiosity a

flock of sheep on the slope, or a flight of birds above the

tree-tops. Something more startling occurred presently. A man,

apparently half-naked, and carrying a black object under his arm,

darted through a remote glade with the swiftness of a stag, and

disappeared. Lydia concluded that he had been disturbed while

bathing in the canal, and had taken flight with his wardrobe under

his arm. She laughed at the idea, turned to her manuscript again,

and wrote on. Suddenly there was a rustle and a swift footstep

without. Then the latch was violently jerked up, and Cashel Byron

rushed in as far as the threshold, where he stood, stupefied at the

presence of Lydia, and the change in the appearance of the room.