ion; on the contrary, the task he had set himself
had never before seemed so hopeless, so insurmountable.

He stood for some time by the railing of the church, which was lighted
up for evening service, listening blankly to the solemn drone of the
organ within, unable to summon up resolution to move from the spot and
present himself to his unsuspecting family.

It was a cold night, with a howling wind, and high in the blue black sky
fleecy clouds were coursing swiftly along; he obliged himself to set out
at last, and walked down the flags towards his house, shivering as much
from nervousness as cold.

There was a dance somewhere in the terrace that evening, a large one; as
far as he could see there were close ranks of carriages with blazing
lamps, and he even fancied he could hear the shouts of the link-boys and
the whistles summoning cabs.

As he came nearer, he had a hideous suspicion, which soon became a
certainty, that the entertainment was at his own house; worse still, it
was of a kind and on a scale calculated to shock and horrify any prudent
householder and father of a family.

The balcony above the portico was positively hung with gaudy Chinese
lanterns, and there were even some strange sticks and shapes up in one
corner that looked suspiciously like fireworks. Fireworks in Westbourne
Terrace! What would the neighbours think or do?

Between the wall which separates the main road from the terrace and the
street front there were no less than four piano-organs, playing, it is
to be feared, by express invitation; and there was the usual crowd of
idlers and loungers standing about by the awning stretched over the
portico, listening to the music and loud laughter which came from the
brilliantly lighted upper rooms.

Paul remembered then, too late, that Barbara in that memorable letter
of hers had mentioned a grand children's party as being in
contemplation. Dick had held his tongue about it that morning; and he
himself had not thought it was to be so soon.

For an instant he felt almost inclined to turn away and give the whole
thing up in sick despair--even to return to Market Rodwell and brave the
Doctor's anger; for how could he hope to explain matters to his family
and servants, or get the Garuda Stone safely into his hands again before
all these guests, in the whirl and tumult of an evening party?

And yet he dared not, after all, go back to Crichton House--that was too
terrible an alternative, and he ob