-that's all, sir."

"That's all is it, Adam!" said Bellew slowly, turning to look up at the
moon again. "It doesn't sound very much, does it? Well, I'll play your
game,--Adam,--yes, you may depend upon me."

"Thankee, Mr. Belloo sir,--thankee sir!--though I do 'ope as you'll
excuse me for taking such liberties, an' making so free wi' your 'eart,
and your affections, sir?"

"Oh certainly, Adam!--the cause excuses--everything."

"Then, good-night, sir!"

"Good-night, Adam!"

So this good, well-meaning Adam strode away, proud on the whole of his
night's work, leaving Bellew to frown up at the moon with teeth clenched
tight upon his pipe-stem.

CHAPTER XVII

_How Bellew began the game_

Now in this life of ours, there be games of many, and divers, sorts, and
all are calculated to try the nerve, courage, or skill of the player, as
the case may be. Bellew had played many kinds of games in his day, and,
among others, had once been famous as a Eight Tackle on the Harvard
Eleven. Upon him he yet bore certain scars received upon a memorable day
when Yale, flushed with success, saw their hitherto invincible line rent
and burst asunder, saw a figure torn, bruised, and bleeding, flash out
and away down the field to turn defeat into victory, and then to be
borne off honourably to hospital, and bed.

If Bellew thought of this, by any chance, as he sat there, staring up at
the moon, it is very sure that, had the choice been given him, he would
joyfully have chosen the game of torn flesh, and broken bones, or any
other game, no matter how desperate, rather than this particular game
that Adam had invented, and thrust upon him.

Presently Bellew knocked the ashes from his pipe, and rising, walked on
slowly toward the house. As he approached, he heard someone playing the
piano, and the music accorded well with his mood, or his mood with the
music, for it was haunting, and very sweet, and with a recurring melody
in a minor key, that seemed to voice all the sorrow of Humanity, past,
present, and to come.

Drawn by the music, he crossed the Rose Garden, and reaching the
terrace, paused there; for the long French windows were open, and, from
where he stood, he could see Anthea seated at the piano. She was dressed
in a white gown of some soft, clinging material, and among the heavy
braids of her hair was a single great, red rose. And, as he watched, he
thought she had never looked more beautiful than now, with the soft glow