Methinks nothing short of his Satanic Majesty could bestride that fierce brute. Mayhap it is a second edition of Androcles and his lion!" exclaimed Lawrence, in his unbounded amazement.

Man and beast had rushed upon the scene at but a few yards' distance, and before the Colonel had recovered from his astonishment the bull and his rider had disappeared around a curve in the avenue in advance of the watcher, and were lost to sight, heading in the direction of the mansion.

The Colonel could not repress a second prolonged whistle.

"Whew-w-w-w! that equestrian would take first prize in a genuine bull fight, such as we witnessed back there in Spain, I ween. Mayhap I have the key to the mystery of the supernatural monster which these red men prate of the gigantic apparition astride a strange monster breathing flame from its red nostrils, a precursor of ill to the unfortunate beholder; I have witnessed some odd things since setting foot in the colonies, but of all uncanny modes of locomotion this is the climax!"

Thus musing, Colonel Lawrence pursued his walk, presently emerging from the shaded avenue into the broad park, that had been literally hewn from the dense forest.

As the visitor hastened up the path leading straight across the slope to the vine-wreathed porch overhanging the main entrance, a pleasing scene opened to his sight.

The spike-studded door lay open wide, through which a full view of the interior was permitted, the great entrance hall with its gulf of a chimney and elaborately carved mantel, the oaken staircase sweeping up to the second story, with thick twisted rail and immense baluster posts set in the flooring of red

and white stone flags, the wainscotted walls bristling with huge antlers of the red deer, from which depended articles of value and curios; a rusty suit of armour, worn lang-syne by the Crusader, Robert Laurens, at the battles of Acre and Antioch, and near at hand a broad, curved scimitar taken by the warrior from a turbaned Moslem.

Upon other and smaller antlers were disposed pistols and cumbersome muskets, cutlasses, rapiers, broadswords, and stilettos, all of ancient pattern.

Set in the oaken panels were family portraits, Lords Monteagle and Girard, but so dimmed by time that the features appeared half hidden by the veil which the years had woven, and there were portraits of stately ladies in ruff and stomacher, equally obscured by the flight of time.

A group of paintings were fresh-portraits of the master of Lawrence Hall, and of his two brothers, John and Thomas, all broad-shouldered, handsome and eagle-eyed, as it was in the nature of the bold Lawrences to be.

On the right of the three last named two portraits stood out strongly in the light of the great log fire blazing upon the hearth, a lady, beautiful, youthful and blonde, and a gentleman in the court costume of the days of Henry VII.

The features, in the red light, looked singularly life-like, the dark, flashing eyes of the courtier seeming to bid an unspoken welcome to the man standing upon the threshold, the living, breathing counterpart of that face in the oaken frame.

This portrait had been renovated at great expense, and the colouring was perfect.

Henry Lawrence started as if he had unexpectedly looked in a mirror, for, if he had been habited in the antique costume of his dead and gone ancestor,

the Colonel might well have been mistaken for the original of the portrait of John, the knight who had died in exile two hundred years agone.

He had taken this hasty survey of the hall and its furnishing while yet the echoes of the brass knocker resounded through the mansion, and ere he had recovered from his momentary astonishment at the reflection of his own image, the old butler stalked down the hall with measured, solid tread-Aleck McGregor, a solemn-faced Scot who had served the family years before they set foot upon American soil.

"Is your master at home?" asked the Colonel. "Laird be gude till us!" ejaculated the old servitor, involuntarily glancing toward the portrait, and then staring hard at the visitor; "I maun beg yer lairdship's pardon, but ye gie a mon an unco turn. Aweel, the maister's hame, an' wull ye cam in frae the nicht?" concluded McGregor, with a prolonged stare at the figure looming up stately and handsome in the shadow of the entrance porch.

Three oaken doors opened on right and left, and the old butler led the way to the third upon the right, which was partially open, disclosing a scene of comfort, even luxury, hardly to be expected in the colonies. A glowing fire in the wide fireplace shone on polished brass andirons, cushioned chairs with elaborately carved backs, a massive table with great bear's claws terminating each twisted leg, an inlaid sideboard, heavy damask curtains, a square of rug in the centre of the polished oak floor, and the spinnet, where a tall, graceful figure presided, a woman in the very heyday of her beauty, her blonde hair arranged high upon her head, after the fashion of the period, and confined by an immense comb of tortoise shell and gold.

Two gentlemen were seated, occupying the

In

chimney corners opposite each other, one of whom was easily recognised by the visitor, as his relative, by the eagle eyes, the lofty poise of head and the stalwart figure characterising the Lawrence race. the opposite corner sat the muscular rider of the bovine monster Henry Lawrence had encountered in the park.

CHAPTER XXIX

"BULL SMITH"

"Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men."

"I have a room whereinto no one enters
Save I myself alone;

I

There sits a blessed memory on a throne,
There my life centres."

AIRD JAHRN, maister!"

Old McGregor made the announcement as he flung wide the partially open door, and noiselessly retreated, leaving the guest to introduce himself more definitely to the relatives whom he had never seen, while Aleck hurried away, muttering as he went:

"Hoot, Aleck mon! ye maun be feckless an' daft, but the lad be braw an' brent, as like t' Laird Jahrn as his ain wraith, his lith an' limb."

William Lawrence rose to receive his visitor, stopped short in the centre of the room, and staring almost as fixedly as had the old servitor.

Beg pardon, but I did not understand the name, sir," he apologised, offering his hand.

Henry Lawrence, of Lancashire, England,your kinsman," returned the Colonel, as he took the offered palm in a cordial grasp.

"And right glad are we to welcome ye to our hearthstone, cousin!" exclaimed the host, heartily. Elizabeth, allow me to to present our kinsman,

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