HECTOR GRAEME

BOOK I

Hector Graeme

CHAPTER I

The dull November afternoon was fast drawingto a close. Patches of white mist lay in thehollows of the elm-dotted park; the outlines ofstately tree and russet copse were rapidly merging into thesurrounding grey.

Already a flicker of light was beginning to appear in thewindows of Radford Hall, the home of Sir Thomas Caldwell,Baronet, a house—like its owner—solid, sturdy, andunimaginative-looking. Nearly a mile away, standing wellback from a high ragged hedge of blackthorn, a line ofsportsmen could be seen waiting for the last drive of theday to commence; behind each stood the waiting figureof a loader, ready with the second gun. Listless andinactive as were now these figures, they would shortly becomepossessed of a feverish energy; for in the turnip-fieldbeyond the blackthorn hedge were many partridges, and,struggle later as they might with obstinate cartridges,their movements would be far too slow for their impatientmasters, who with gun discharged would view, in helplesswrath, the easiest of shots pass unscathed overhead.

At one end of the line, comfortably seated on agrouse-stick, a young man was waiting with the rest. He was ayoung man whose face wore a look of great conceit, thisappearance being enhanced by a somewhat pronouncedeccentricity of attire. There was something about thisyouth that struck the observer as unusual; he was in someindescribable manner different from his fellows, though tothe majority of mankind it must be owned the differencewas not of a pleasing kind. This gentleman wasLieutenant Hector Graeme, senior subaltern of Her Majesty's1st Regiment of Lancers, now on foreign service in India.In accordance with his usual habit of evading his duties—orso said his enemies, among whom might be includedthe greater part of his brother officers—Graeme had beensuccessful in dodging the troopship; and, having been leftbehind with the depot at Canterbury, was on leave fromthat place and staying as a guest at Radford Hall, SirThomas being an old friend of his father's.

Standing behind him—for the idea of yielding uphis seat had somehow not occurred to him—was LucyCaldwell, Sir Thomas' only daughter and the mistress ofhis household, he having been a widower for many years.In her hand she was holding Hector's second gun, herobvious intention being to act as loader to the fortunatesubaltern. This, it may be remarked, was a task Lucy wasthoroughly capable of performing, the young lady havingbeen born and bred amongst sportsmen; indeed, therewas little concerning beasts and birds of the field with

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