"As if we couldn't hire a carriage in Gorey," Win retorted, but with a second glance at the driver, his attention was distracted.

"Oh-h!" he said in perplexity, "that's the fellow who was in the Royal Square that morning. Now, where in the wide world have I seen him before?"

Thinking hard, Win stared with puckered brows. Suddenly his face cleared. "Why, he's that young chap Father introduced me to the time he took me to Washington," he said accusingly to Fran. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"How on earth could I know?" demanded Fran, but her brother had turned with a smile to greet the trap just drawing up by the gate.

Mr. Max looked at Win with a puzzled glance which gradually changed to a look of recognition.

"I do know you, don't I?" he said. "Well, I never suspected when I was detailed to entertain Captain Thayne's son for an hour or so, that we'd meet again in Gorey village. Why, that makes us old friends!"

Win grasped the cordially offered hand and having bestowed Edith and Frances in the seat behind, climbed up beside Max, his face beaming. With many thanks to Mrs. Trott and promises to come again, they drove off.

"Hasn't this been the most exciting afternoon?" Frances confided to Edith. "We've learned the collie lady's name and met the boy she told us of, and heard about her Italian prince. Look at Win!

He's crushed on Mr. Max,--I can tell by the way he's looking at him. I should think Miss Connie would much rather marry an American."

"Perhaps he hasn't asked her," said Edith sensibly. "Perhaps, if she really is engaged to the prince, she did it before Mr. Max came back from America and he couldn't help himself because it was too late."

Max's back did not look as though it belonged to a specially unhappy person and the expression of his face as he talked pleasantly with Win was not that of a young man whose enjoyment in life has been seriously darkened, but it pleased the girls to fancy him as a blighted being, so keenly had Mrs. Trott's rather injudicious confidences appealed to their youthful ideas of romance.

CHAPTER VIII

RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER

"Why, I've met Miss Lisle several times," said Mrs. Thayne after hearing Fran's account of the exciting end of the picnic. "She's a charming girl and her father is the finest type of an English gentleman. At the lawn party this afternoon she spoke of meeting two girls on the beach and asked if one wasn't my daughter."

"Oh, I do hope I can know her," said Frances happily. "I think she's the sweetest thing I ever saw. But, Mother, do you suppose what Mrs. Trott said about her and the Italian prince is true?"

"That was a bit of gossip which Mrs. Trott should not have repeated to girls of your age," commented her mother, "but since you have heard it, I suppose it will do no harm to say that Prince Santo-Ponte undoubtedly does visit at the Manor, though I do not believe that any engagement exists between him and Miss Lisle. As for Mr. Max, as you call him, his father is Professor Rodney Hamilton, the noted scientist. Max has been much with the Lisles and to all purposes is the son of the house."

"The day when I really meet Miss Connie will be the happiest of my life," declared Frances solemnly. Later, her amused mother learned that Edith was equally smitten.

In his quiet way, Win was most anxious to see more of Max and it was partly with this wish in mind that he set off one morning shortly after the picnic at Orgueil, to stroll on the road leading past the Manor. On so pleasant a day he might encounter the young people riding or walking.

When Win reached the Manor gates, no one was in sight, and he sauntered past, not caring to intrude on private grounds. One longing glance he cast at the chimneys above the laurels, twelve that he could count from that angle. What a rambling old structure the Manor house must be! Surely in its existence stretching back through the centuries, many interesting things had happened under that roof. What fun it would be to try to find them out!

Absorbed in pleasant thought, Win walked farther than he realized, lured by the blue sea and a most interesting little church almost on the water's edge. The doors proved locked, but Win resolved to come again when he could gain admittance, for from outward appearance the building was extremely old.

On turning, Win was soon aware that he had overtaxed his strength and was in no shape to walk to St. Aubin's. Pleasant as the sky still was, a strong sea breeze had risen, bringing difficulties for a person who required very favorable conditions for any prolonged exercise. Only slow progress was possible and when he again reached the iron gates of the Manor, he was really too tired to go on. Choosing the sunny slope of the hedge, he sat down to rest.

Before long, voices approached on the other side of the laurels, voices speaking in French, and Max came through the arch, accompanied by a gardener carrying tools.

"Why, Win," he said. "You're not stopping at the gate, I hope. The house is just beyond."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A MOST INTERESTING LITTLE CHURCH ALMOST ON THE WATER'S EDGE.]

Win smiled. "I sat down to get my breath," he explained. "I've been for a stroll and the wind knocked me about a trifle."

Max looked at him keenly. "It's a bit cool to stop there," he said. "Come up to the house. We'll slip into the library and you can rest properly."

Win demurred, thinking he would detain Max from his business.

"Uncle only asked me to direct Pierre about some planting around the cottages," Max replied. He added some words in French to his companion, who nodded and struck off toward the sh.o.r.e. "I'll not stop for you," Max went on, taking Win's arm. "There isn't a person at home, and you will have the library to yourself."

Win yielded at once. Aside from the pleasure of seeing Max again, the suggestion of books acted as a magnet.

They crossed the beautiful Manor lawn,--green as in June,--not toward the main entrance but in the direction of some big French windows opening on the terrace. The cas.e.m.e.nt yielded to Max's touch and the two entered a room that would have made Win gasp with pleasure had he been less exhausted. He received only the impression of s.p.a.cious beauty and countless books, as he was established on a big old settle beside a fireplace where cheery flames were flashing. Before he knew precisely what was happening, Win found himself tucked among comfortable cushions.

"There, go to sleep now," said Max, flinging over him a soft blue Italian blanket. "I've an idea this thing belongs in Connie's room, but since she left it here we will make use of it. There's no one at home and the only person likely to come is Yvonne, one of the maids. If she appears to look after the fire, just tell her you are my friend."

Max departed and Win soon fell into a reverie. He did not sleep immediately but as his physical discomfort lessened under the influence of rest and quiet, he began to look about him.

The three rooms composing the library were very high and opened into one another by arches. From floor to ceiling the books climbed, rank on rank, on the upper shelves in double tiers, in some places overflowing window seats. Narrow stained-gla.s.s cas.e.m.e.nts threw pleasant patches of color on the polished floor.

Age had blackened the oak ceiling and the handsome wall paneling where books did not conceal it. Here and there hung portraits, evidently of the family, judging from certain recurring resemblances. Their quaint costumes dated from the days of the Stuart kings.

The utter quiet of the place, the time-faded bindings, the old pictures, the spots of crimson and blue light, the faint odor of leather, mingled with the scent of fresh flowers from some invisible source, all had their effect upon Win, who sank into a state of mind where he was neither awake nor quite asleep. His last wholly conscious thought was for the curious coat of arms above the fireplace, a shield that bore the date 1523.

An hour later, Win came to full consciousness and at the same time to a sense of familiarity with his surroundings. "Of all queer things!" he thought as he sat up and looked around him. "The first day I was in Jersey I dreamed of this room or of some room like it. That man up there in the picture is mighty like the old Johnny that was around. I've been dreaming about him now, only I can't remember what."

Try as he might, Win could not recall that dream, a fantastic jumble of persons and an impression, almost painful, of a fruitless search.

"This is a house where anything might have happened," his thoughts ran. "How I wish I could have a chance at these books!"

Shelves framed even the ancient fireplace, their contents within easy reach of Win's settle. His eye ran idly along the t.i.tles, a History of the World, an edition of Defoe, some old hour-books.

Tucked in with these were two volumes of very modern philosophy, their bright cloth bindings looking curiously out of place. With their exception, nothing in sight looked less than a century old and examination proved most to be even older. Many bore marks of ownership by Lisles dead and gone.

His enthusiasm thoroughly aroused, Win examined volume after volume, lingering over the quaint bookplates. Finally he took down a book unlettered on the back, but with a rubbed leather binding that showed marks of use. It proved a very old copy of the Psalms, a book that some one had once read often, for its pages were worn not only by time but by constant turning.

Opening to the front, Win searched for a bookplate. There was none, but in fine handwriting appeared: "Richard Lisle His Valued Book." As Win replaced the volume a paper slipped from its pages.

Picking it up, he glanced idly at the single sheet which seemed a page perhaps lost from some letter written long before, possibly a leaf from a diary. The penmanship was like the autograph in the Psalter, the ink, though faded, perfectly legible on the yellowed paper.

The extract began in the middle of a sentence. Win, who started to decipher it from mere curiosity, ended by reading it five or six times. It ran as follows:

"having fed my Prince and Eased him after his hard Flight we took Counsel anent his Refuge.

"That he should lye at ye Manor looked not wise. Ye Castel seemed ye better Place.

"Lest he be curiously viewed of Many we did furnishe Other garb and a Strong Bigge Cloake. And those who knew did safely lead him through ye Towne.

"Ye honoured Relicks my Sonne and I did place in ye Spanish Chest and convey by Lantern light to that safe Place beyond ye Walls. So shall they Reste till happier Times shall Dawne.

"Strange that this Day should bring such Honour to Mine House."

Win's eyes grew interested and excited as he studied this message from the past. For whom was it meant and why had it lain all these years in the old Psalter? Did the Manor family know of its existence? The prince, the castle, the town, mentioned by a Lisle of Laurel Manor, must refer to events of island history.