ane found his eyes fixed on one of the bright
cut-glass bottles which contained brandy. He would have given anything
to be able to mix a brandy and soda for himself and drink it without
believing, or at any rate fearing, that after all there might be
something in Miss Carol's warning.

As Sir Arthur lit his cigar, he said in a rather forced tone:

"I suppose after what you've said it's no use asking you to have a
nightcap, Vane?"

There was a little pause, during which Vane looked hard at the
spirit-case. Then, with the gesture of one under strong emotion, he got
up from his chair and said in a voice whose tone made his father look
quickly towards him:

"I don't think I've ever knowingly disobeyed you in my life, dad, but if
you were to order me to drink a drop of spirit to-night, I shouldn't do
it."

"Why not, Vane?"

"Just look into my eyes, dad, and tell me if you see anything strange
about them."

"What on earth do you mean, boy--there's nothing the matter with your
eyes, is there?" said Sir Arthur, looking up with a visible start, "what
has put that idea into your head?"

"I'll tell you afterwards, dad, meanwhile, just have a look," replied
Vane, coming and standing under the light.

He felt his father's hands tremble as he laid them on his shoulder, and
as he looked into his eyes a tinge of greyness seemed to steal
underneath the sun-bronze of his skin. In the clear depths of the lad's
hazel eyes he saw a faint, nickering, wavering light, which gave a
yellow tinge to them.

A reflection from the flames of hell itself could not have had a more
awful meaning for him than that faint little yellow glimmer, but Arthur
Maxwell was a strong man, a man who had fought plague and famine, storm
and flood, treachery and revolt in the service of his Queen, and after a
moment or two he was able to say quite quietly:

"Well, what's the matter, Vane? They look, perhaps, a little brighter
than usual; but I don't suppose that's anything more than the excitement
of the evening."

"Don't you see something like a little yellow flame in them?"

"Well, yes, I do," said Sir Arthur, looking away, "a reflection from the
gaslight, probably. But come, Vane, what is all this about? Sit down and
tell me. And, by the way, I want to hear the story of this new
acquaintance of yours. Take a cigar; that won't hurt you."

Vane took a cheroot and lit it and sat down in an easy chair opposite
his father, his eyes still wandering as