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 The Missioner

 BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

 Author of "Anna, the Adventuress," "A Prince of
 Sinners," "The Master Mummer," etc.

 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

 BY FRED PEGRAM

 A. L. BURT COMPANY

 PUBLISHERS         NEW YORK




 _Copyright, 1907,_
 BY THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY.

 _Copyright, 1907,_
 BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

 _All rights reserved._

 Published January, 1909.

 Fourth Printing




[ Illustration: "DO YOU MIND EXPLAINING YOURSELF?" SHE ASKED.
 [Page 23.] FRONTISPIECE.]




CONTENTS

BOOK I


 CHAPTER                                               PAGE

     I MISTRESS AND AGENT                                1
    II THE HUNTER AND HIS QUARRY                        13
   III FIRST BLOOD                                      22
    IV BEATING HER WINGS                                32
     V EVICTED                                          41
    VI CRICKET AND PHILOSOPHY                           52
   VII AN UNDERNOTE OF MUSIC                            61
  VIII ROSES                                            70
    IX SUMMER LIGHTNING                                 78
     X THE STILL FIGURE IN THE CHAIR                    85
    XI THE BAYING OF THE HOUNDS                         93
   XII RETREAT                                         100
  XIII A CREATURE OF IMPULSE                           105
   XIV SEARCHING THE PAPERS                            114
    XV ON THE SPREE                                    121
   XVI THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON                        129
  XVII THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY                          138
 XVIII LETTY'S DILEMMA                                 147
   XIX A REPORT FROM PARIS                             155
    XX LIKE A TRAPPED ANIMAL                           162


BOOK II

 CHAPTER                                               PAGE

     I RATHER A GHASTLY PART                           172
    II PLAYING WITH FIRE                               180
   III MONSIEUR S'AMUSE                                188
    IV AT THE "DEAD RAT"                               196
     V THE AWAKENING                                   204
    VI THE ECHO OF A CRIME                             210
   VII A COUNTRY WALK                                  218
  VIII THE MISSING LETTY                               227
    IX FOILED!                                         235
     X MYSTERIES IN MAYFAIR                            244
    XI THE WAY OF SALVATION                            253
   XII JEAN LE ROI                                     262
  XIII THE KING OF THE APACHES                         271
   XIV BEHIND THE PALM TREES                           281
    XV THE ONLY WAY                                    289
   XVI MAN TO MAN                                      296
  XVII LORD AND LADY BOUNTIFUL                         304




THE MISSIONER

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

MISTRESS AND AGENT


The lady of Thorpe was bored. These details as to leases and repairs
were wearisome. The phrases and verbiage confused her. She felt obliged
to take them in some measure for granted; to accept without question the
calmly offered advice of the man who stood so respectfully at the right
hand of her chair.

"This agreement with Philip Crooks," he remarked, "is a somewhat
important document. With your permission, madam, I will read it to you."

She signified her assent, and leaned wearily back in her chair. The
agent began to read. His mistress watched him through half closed eyes.
His voice, notwithstanding its strong country dialect, had a sort of
sing-song intonation. He read earnestly and without removing his eyes
from the document. His listener made no attempt to arrive at the sense
of the string of words which flowed so monotonously from his lips. She
was occupied in making a study of the man. Sturdy and weather-beaten,
neatly dressed in country clothes, with a somewhat old-fashioned stock,
with trim grey side-whiskers, and a mouth which reminded her somehow of
a well-bred foxhound's, he represented to her, in his clearly cut
personality, the changeless side of life, the side of life which she
associated with the mighty oaks in her park, and the prehistoric rocks
which had become engrafted with the soil of the hills beyond. As she saw
him now, so had he seemed to her fifteen years ago. Only what a
difference! A volume to her--a paragraph to him! She had gone out into
the world--rich, intellectually inquisitive, possessing most of the
subtler gifts with which her sex is endowed; and wherever the passionate
current of life had flown the swiftest, she had been there, a leader
always, seeking ever to satisfy the unquenchable thirst for new
experiences and new joys. She had passed from girlhood to womanhood with
every nerve of her body strained to catch the emotion of the moment.
Always her fingers had been tearing at the cells of life--and one by one
they had fallen away. This morning, in the bright sunshine which flooded
the great room, she felt somehow tired--tired and withered. Her maid was
a fool! The two hours spent at her toilette had been wasted! She felt
that her eyes were hollow, her cheeks pale! Fifteen years, and the man
had not changed a jot. She doubted whether he had ever passed the
confines of her estate. She doubted whether he had even had the desire.
Wind and sun had tanned his cheeks, his eyes were clear, his slight
stoop was the stoop of the horseman rather than of age. He had the air
of a man satisfied with life and his place in it--an attitude which
puzzled her. No one of her world was like that! Was it some inborn gift,
she wondered, which he possessed, some antidote to the world's
restlessness which he carried with him, or was it merely lack of
intelligence?

He finished reading and folded up the pages, to find her regarding him
still with that air of careful attention with which she had listened to
his monotonous flow of words. He found her interest surprising. It did
not occur to him to invest it with any personal element.

"The agreement upon the whole," he remarked, "is, I believe, a fair one.
You are perhaps thinking that those clauses----"

"If the agreement is satisfactory to you," she interrupted, "I will
confirm it."

He bowed slightly and glanced through the pile of papers upon the table.

"I do not think that there is anything else with which I need trouble
you, madam," he remarked.

She nodded imperiously.

"Sit down for a moment, Mr. Hurd," she said.

If he felt any surprise, he did not show it. He drew one of the
high-backed chairs away from the table, and with that slight air of
deliberation which characterized all his movements, seated himself. He
was in no way disquieted to find her dark, tired eyes still studying
him.

"How old are you, Mr. Hurd?" she asked.

"I am sixty-three, madam," he answered.

Her eyebrows were gently raised. To her it seemed incredible. She
thought of the men of sixty-three or thereabouts whom she knew, and her
lips parted in one of those faint, rare smiles of genuine amusement,
which smoothed out all the lines of her tired face. Visions of the
promenade at Marienbad and Carlsbad, the Kursaal at Homburg, floated
before her. She saw them all, the men whom she knew, with the story of
their lives written so plainly in their faces, babbling of nerves and
tonics and cures, the newest physician, the latest fad. Defaulters all
of them, unwilling to pay the great debt--seeking always a way out!
Here, at least, this man scored!

"You enjoy good health?" she remarked.

"I never have anything the matter with me," he answered simply. "I
suppose," he added, as though by an afterthought, "the life is a healthy
one."

"You find it--satisfying?" she asked.

He seemed puzzled.

"I have never attempted anything else," he answered. "It seems to be
what I am suited for."

She attempted to abandon the _role_ of questioner--to give a more
natural turn to the conversation.

"It is always," she remarked, "such a relief to get down into the
country at the end of the season. I wonder I don't spend more time here.
I daresay one could amuse oneself?" she added carelessly.

Mr. Hurd considered for a few moments.

"There are croquet and archery and tennis in the neighbourhood," he
remarked. "The golf course on the Park hills is supposed to be
excellent. A great many people come over to play."

She affected to be considering the question seriously. An intimate
friend would not have been deceived by her air of attention. Mr. Hurd
knew nothing of this. He, on his part, however, was capable of a little
gentle irony.

"It might amuse you," he remarked, "to make a tour of your estate. There
are some of the outlying portions which I think that I should have the
honour of showing you for the first time."

"I might find that interesting," she admitted. "By the bye, Mr. Hurd,
what sort of a landlord am I? Am I easy, or do I exact my last pound of
flesh? One likes to know these things."

"It depends upon the tenant," the agent answered. "There is not one of
your farms upon which, if a man works, he cannot make a living. On the
other hand, there is not one of them on which a man can make a living
unless he works. It is upon this principle that your rents have been
adjusted. The tenants of the home lands have been most carefully chosen,
and Thorpe itself is spoken of everywhere as a model village."

"It is very charming to look at," its mistress admitted. "The flowers
and thatched roofs are so picturesque. 'Quite a pastoral idyll,' my
guests tell me. The people one sees about seem contented and respectful,
too."

"They should be, madam," Mr. Hurd answered drily. "The villagers have
had a good many privileges from your family for generations."

The lady inclined her head thoughtfully.

"You think, then," she remarked, "that if anything should happen in
England, like the French Revolution, I should not find unexpected
thoughts and discontent smouldering amongst them? You believe that they
are really contented?"

Mr. Hurd knew nothing about revolutions, and he was utterly unable to
follow the trend of her thoughts.

"If they were not, madam," he declared, "they would deserve to be in the
workhouse--and I should