The League of the Leopard. Bindloss Harold

spluttered Dane; and the iron-master splashed furiously.

      A strip of shingle grew nearer, but they would hardly have reached it had not a man floundered in almost shoulder-deep and clutched them as they passed. All three went down together, Chatterton undermost; but when Dane's head broke the surface, a hand was twined in his hair, and a half-choked voice said:

      "You are in wading distance, man. Get up and walk!"

      Dane felt sliding shingle beneath him, and tightening his grip on Chatterton he struggled for a foothold; and finally they reeled, breathless, dazed, and dripping, out among the boulders. Then somebody turned back the slide of a darkened lantern, and the half-drowned Chatterton gasped, for it was evident that his rescuer was Carsluith Maxwell, the son of his enemy. Maxwell stared at Chatterton, and the iron-master gaped at him; but while blank astonishment was stamped on both their faces, it was Maxwell who recovered his senses first.

      "Robertson, hail Jim to run over to The Larches, and say that Mr. Chatterton, who fell into the river trying to capture a poacher, is coming home with me to change his clothes," he ordered, and then turned toward the dripping pair. "It was very plucky of you, sir, and you were only a few seconds too late. I thought you would secure the depredator. It is two miles round by the footbridge, and you hardly look fit for the walk, so you are coming to Culmeny with me. There is really no use protesting."

      Thomas Chatterton did not look capable of much exertion, but he hesitated.

      "It is very kind of you, but your father and I, unfortunately – "

      Maxwell laughed.

      "I believe you had some trifling difference; but this is a Christian country, and the reason given quite insufficient for letting you freeze to death. Mr. Dane, I presume? You will help me to persuade your host."

      Chatterton, although exhausted, yielded dubiously, and it was not long before the pair shed their dripping garments beside a blazing fire in Culmeny, and struggled into the dry ones provided, both sets being of average size. Dane, however, was tall and long of limb; Chatterton was short and broad, and when his toilet was finished, he stood up half-choked, with every button straining about him.

      "This is worse than a strait waistcoat, Hilton," he fumed; "and I'd rather forfeit five pounds than go down and meet them as I am. By the way, I believe I never thanked you; but I will not forget our swim. But tell me how you came to turn up so opportunely."

      Chatterton betrayed some anxiety in the last words, but Dane managed to frame an answer which reassured him as he surveyed himself in a glass and hoped the Misses Maxwell would not put in an appearance. The wet hair plastered down his forehead showed a washed-out straw color against the darkened skin. His brown wrists and ankles projected ridiculously from the borrowed garments, and somebody's slippers would not cover more than a portion of his feet.

      "We are neither of us particularly prepossessing at first sight, but I suppose we must make the best of it; Maxwell asked us to come down when we were ready," he said.

      They went down, Chatterton fuming, Dane struggling with a desire to laugh; and two men rose to meet them when they entered a long, low-ceilinged room. That meeting was fraught with far-reaching consequences, and Dane could afterward recall it vividly. The old place of Culmeny was an ancient and somewhat decrepit edifice, owned for many generations by the Maxwells, and the wainscot of the room was dark with age. Quaintly embroidered curtains were drawn across one end of it; there were few pictures, and these old; while the whole place wore a somber air, almost intensified by the light of the wax candles on the great uncovered table, which supported a steaming bowl. This, Dane noticed, was of oak hooped with tarnished silver. It was, however, the two men who fixed his attention. The elder, a spare gray-haired man with a white moustache, came forward holding out his hand.

      "I must congratulate you upon your escape, Mr. Chatterton," he said. "I am glad that Carsluith had sense enough to bring you home with him; and I can recommend a ladleful of this mixture as a preventative against a chill, while regretting that, because the fires were low, we could not send you a dose earlier. The customs of Culmeny are not altogether what they used to be."

      The pair formed a striking contrast when Chatterton turned toward his host, glass in hand. The one was softly spoken, spare to gauntness, and characterized by a subtle air of distinction; the other, short, florid, abrupt in speech, and more often aggressive than dignified in manner. Then, because Chatterton was also a man of impulse, who cared for neither place nor tradition when anything stirred him, as his host's welcome evidently did, he bowed to Brandram Maxwell with more grace than Dane deemed him capable of.

      "Here's to our better acquaintance, sir; and my best thanks," he said. "I'm a plain, self-taught man, and may have blundered in enforcing what I thought my rights. If so, I regret it."

      What Brandram Maxwell answered Dane did not remember, but he expressed it very neatly; and while the feud was patched up, his son smiled curiously at the younger man. He was like his father, but taller in stature, dark in color of eyes and hair, and slightly olive-tinted in complexion, while his movements suggested a wiry suppleness. Dane surmised that he was of reserved, if not slightly sardonic, disposition.

      The bowl of punch was emptied with every sign of amity; and when it was finished Thomas Chatterton, who had absorbed the major portion and declared that he had never tasted anything better, said: "I hope we shall see much more of each other in future, and, as an earnest of the wish, I will expect you shortly at The Larches, where Mrs. Chatterton will thank you for your kindness better than I can."

      While Brandram Maxwell started some topic of conversation with his elder guest, his son, to whom Dane had mentioned the affair of the Englishman in South America, drew him aside.

      "Hyslop and I were once good friends, and I consider myself your debtor for what you did for him," he said. "Did he tell you much about his wanderings, or that he and I came near successfully exploiting a Mexican mine?"

      "No," said Dane. "He told me very little. What went wrong with the mine?"

      Maxwell laughed.

      "The unexpected happened. It generally does when one awaits the consummation of an ingenious scheme. I am especially sorry Hyslop has gone."

      Dane longed to ascertain whether his new friend suspected any other explanation than the one he had seized upon for Chatterton's plunge into the river, and endeavored to do so, without success; for even when he afterward learned to know and trust him well, he never found it easy to glean more from Carsluith Maxwell than he wished to tell. An accident, however, favored him, and he thought more of the man for his reticence when, as the master of Culmeny was exhibiting some new artificial minnows in his gun-room, he heard his son, who had slipped away, say to somebody in the darkness beneath the open window:

      "You remember the pheasants' eggs incident, Kevan? You need not repeat your explanations, because I have no intention of raking it up, and merely wish to suggest that you find means of preventing your comrades from talking too much about what happened to-night. When a gentleman of Mr. Chatterton's years allows his excitement to overcome him to such an extent that he follows a poacher into a flooded river, he naturally would not like his adventures made public property."

      "I'm a wee bit puzzled, sir," answered an invisible person; and Maxwell's voice rose faintly through the sound of retreating footsteps:

      "I am not puzzled in the least; and that ought to be sufficient. You are sure you understand my wishes?"

      He came in a few moments later to inform his guests that the dog-cart was waiting.

      As they drove home, Chatterton said sententiously:

      "We all make mistakes at times, Hilton; and that was most excellent punch. For instance, when one comes to know him, Maxwell is what might be termed a very good fellow. Hard up like the rest of them, of course; land and buildings, as everybody knows, burdened to the hilt, but – I suppose it was born in him – he bears the stamp, and his son wears it too. You and I are different, you know, though travel has done a good deal for you. I have handled a good many men in my time, and I like that fellow's looks. He would be a very bad kind to tackle when the devil that smiles through his black eyes wakes up; and I think he'd stand by the man who played him fair through the damnedest kind of luck."

      Dane,