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CHAPTER VI.PAUL WARD.The autumn tints were rich and beautiful uponthe Kent woods, and nowhere more rich or morebeautiful than in Sir Thomas Boldero's domain.The soft grass beneath the noble beeches wasstrewn with the russet leaves ahttle earlier thanusual that year, and somewhat more plentifully,for the storm hacl shaken them down, and haclevenrent awaya branch here andthere from someof the less sturdy trees.And then the forestermade his inspection, and the fallen branches wereremoved, and duly cut and housed for winter firewood,and it chanced that the hitherto forgottenlog on wliich George Dallas had sat one springmorning yvas carried away with them.Clare Carruthers missedit fromits accustomedplace as she rode down the glade yvhich she stillloved, though it had apainful association for her