the beholder
like figures of mist writhing in a fountain of snow.

More violence was to mar the peace of morning. Unexpectedly attacked
from the rear, the conqueror was seized by the nape of the neck and one
wrist, and jerked to his feet, simultaneously receiving a succession of
kicks from his assailant. Prompted by an entirely natural curiosity, he
essayed to turn his head to see who this might be, but a twist of his
forearm and the pressure of strong fingers under his ear constrained
him to remain as he was; therefore, abandoning resistance, and, oddly
enough, accepting without comment the indication that his captor
desired to remain for the moment incognito, he resorted calmly to
explanations.

"She tore up a picture of mine," he said, receiving the punishment
without apparent emotion. "She seemed to think because she'd drawn it
herself she had a right to."

There was a slight whimsical droop at the corner of his mouth as he
spoke, which might have been thought characteristic of him. He was an
odd-looking boy, not ill-made, though very thin and not tall. His
pallor was clear and even, as though constitutional; the features were
delicate, almost childlike, but they were very slightly distorted,
through nervous habit, to an expression at once wistful and humorous;
one eyebrow was a shade higher than the other, one side of the mouth
slightly drawn down; the eyelids twitched a little, habitually; the
fine, blue eyes themselves were almost comically reproachful--the look
of a puppy who thinks you would not have beaten him if you had known
what was in his heart. All of this was in the quality of his voice,
too, as he said to his invisible captor, with an air of detachment from
any personal feeling:

"What peculiar shoes you wear! I don't think I ever felt any so
pointed before."

The rescuing knight took no thought of offering to help the persecuted
damsel to arise; instead, he tightened his grip upon the prisoner's
neck until, perforce, water--not tears--started from the latter's eyes.

"You miserable little muff," said the conqueror, "what the devil do you
mean, making this scene on our front lawn?"

"Why, it's Eugene!" exclaimed the helpless one. "They didn't expect you
till to-night. When did you get in?"

"Just in time to give you a lesson, my buck," replied Bantry, grimly.
"In GOOD time for that, my playful step-brother."

He began to twist the other's wrist--a treatment of bone and ligament
in the a