The groom laid his finger on his nose, and winked significantly.

"I've managed more difficult businesses than that, guv'nor," he said.

"When do you want the animal?"

"Immediately."

"Could you make it convenient to slip down here to-morrow night, or shall I wait upon you at your house, guv'nor?"

"I will come here to-morrow night, at nine."

"Very good, guv'nor; in which case you shall hear news of 'Wild Buffalo.' But all I hope is, when you do present him to your friend, you'll present the address-card of a respectable undertaker at the same time."

"I am not afraid."

"As you please, sir. You are the individual what comes down with the dibbs; and you are the individual what's entitled to make your choice."

Victor Carrington saw that the brandy had by this time exercised a potent influence over Mr. Spavin's groom; but he had full confidence in the man's power to do what he wanted done. James Hawkins was gifted with that low cunning which peculiarly adapts a small villain for the service of a greater villain.

At nine o'clock on the following evening, the two met again at the "Goat and Compasses." This time their interview was very brief and business-like.

"Have you succeeded?" asked Victor.

"I have, guv'nor, like one o'clock. Mr. Spavin will take five-and-twenty guineas from my friend the jock; but wouldn't sell the 'Buffalo' to a gentleman on no account."

"Here is the money," answered Victor, handing the groom five bank-notes for five pounds each, and twenty-five shillings in gold and silver.

"Have you asked for a holiday?"

"No, guv'nor; because, between you and me, I don't suppose I should get it if I did ask. I shall make so bold as to take it without asking.

Sham ill, and send my wife to say as I'm laid up in bed at home, and can't come to work."

"Hawkins, you are a diplomatist," exclaimed Victor; "and now I'll make short work of my instructions. There's a bit of paper, with the name of the place to which you're to take the animal--Frimley Common, Dorsetshire. You'll start to-morrow at daybreak, and travel as quickly as you can without taking the spirit out of the horse. I want him to be fresh when he reaches my friend."

Mr. Hawkins gave a sinister laugh.

"Don't you be afraid of that, sir. 'Wild Buffalo' will be fresh enough, you may depend," he said.

"I hope he may," replied Carrington, calmly. "When you reach Frimley Common--it's little more than a village--go to the best inn you find there, and wait till you either see me, or hear from me. You understand?"

"Yes, guv'nor."

"Good; and now, good-night."

With this Carrington left the "Goat and Compasses." As he went out of the public-house, an elderly man, in the dress of a mechanic, who had been lounging in the bar, followed him into the street, and kept behind him until he entered Hyde Park, to cross to the Edgware Road; there the man fell back and left him.

"He's going home, I suppose," muttered the man; "and there's nothing more for me to do to-night."

CHAPTER XXI.

DOWN IN DORSETSHIRE.

There were two inns in the High Street of Frimley. The days of mail-coaches were not yet over, and the glory of country inns had not entirely departed. Several coaches passed through Frimley in the course of the day, and many passengers stopped to eat and drink and refresh themselves at the quaint old hostelries; but it was not often that the old-fashioned bed-chambers were occupied, even for one night, by any one but a commercial traveller; and it was a still rarer occurrence for a visitor to linger for any time at Frimley.

There was nothing to see in the place; and any one travelling for pleasure would have chosen rather to stay in the more picturesque village of Hallgrove.

It was therefore a matter of considerable surprise to the landlady of the "Rose and Crown," when a lady and her maid alighted from the "Highflyer" coach and demanded apartments, which they would be likely to occupy for a week or more.

The lady was so plainly attired, in a dress and cloak of dark woollen stuff, and the simplest of black velvet bonnets, that it was only by her distinguished manner, and especially graceful bearing, that Mrs.

Tippets, the landlady, was able to perceive any difference between the mistress and the maid.

"I am travelling in Dorsetshire for my health," said the lady, who was no other than Honoria Eversleigh, "and the quiet of this place suits me. You will be good enough to prepare rooms for myself and my maid."

"You would like your maid's bed-room to be adjoining your own, no doubt, madam?" hazarded the landlady.

"No," answered Honoria; "I do not wish that; I prefer entire privacy in my own apartment."

"As you please, madam--we have plenty of bedrooms."

The landlady of the "Rose and Crown" ushered her visitors into the best sitting-room the house afforded--an old-fashioned apartment, with a wide fire-place, high wooden mantel-piece, and heavily-timbered ceiling--a room which seemed to belong to the past rather than the present.

Lady Eversleigh sat by the table in a thoughtful attitude, while the fire was being lighted and a tray of tea-things arranged for that refreshment which is most welcome of all others to an Englishwoman.

Jane Payland stood by the opposite angle of the mantel-piece, watching her mistress with a countenance almost as thoughtful as that of Honoria herself.

It was in the wintry dusk that these two travellers arrived at Frimley.

Jane Payland walked to one of the narrow, old-fashioned windows, and looked out into the street, where lights were burning dimly here and there.

"What a strange old place, ma'am," she said.

Honoria had forbidden her to say "my lady" since their departure from Raynham.

"Yes," her mistress answered, absently; "it is a world-forgotten old place."

"But the rest and change will, no doubt, be beneficial, ma'am," said Miss Payland, in her most insinuating tone; "and I am sure you must require change and fresh country air after being pent up in a London street."

Lady Eversleigh shook off her abstraction of manner, and turned towards her servant, with a calm, serious gaze.

"I want change of scene, and the fresh breath of country air, Jane,"

she said, gravely; "but it is not for those I came to Frimley, and you know that it is not. Why should we try to deceive each other? The purpose of my life is a very grave one; the secret of my coming and going is a very bitter secret, and if I do not choose to share it with you, I withhold nothing that you need care to know. Let me play my part unwatched and unquestioned. You will find yourself well rewarded by and by for your forbearance and devotion. Be faithful to me, my good girl; but do not try to discover the motive of my actions, and believe, even when they seem most strange to you, that they are justified by one great purpose."

Jane Payland's eyelids drooped before the serious and penetrating gaze of her mistress.

"You may feel sure of my being faithful, ma'am," she answered, promptly; "and as to curiosity, I should be the very last creature upon this earth to try to pry into your secrets."

Honoria made no reply to this protestation. She took her tea in silence, and seemed as if weighed down by grave and anxious thoughts.