enry?"

I walked to the window to get a better look, but he reached out and drew
me near him.

"Let us be careful of the windows this morning. The light is bad, and we
have very much the same figure. There. Now you can see it--out by the
bar. It carries too much canvas forward and spills half the wind. Have
you seen it before, Henry?"

The sun had been trying to break through the clouds, and a few rays had
crept out, and glanced on the angry gray of the water, so that it shone
here and there like scratches in dull lead. The three ships near our
wharf were tossing fitfully, and on all three, the crews were busy with
the rigging. Out further towards the broad curve of the horizon was the
white smear of a sail, and as I looked, I could see the lines beneath
the canvas. He was right. It was a sloop, running free with the tide
pushing her on.

"Yes," I said, "I know the boat, though I do not see why she is
putting in."

"Ah," said my father, "and do you not? And whose boat may she be, Henry?"

"Two days ago she sailed from Boston for France. She belongs to Jason
Hill," I told him; and, a little puzzled, I looked again at the low dunes
and the marshes by the harbor mouth.

"I think," my father murmured half to himself, "that perhaps after all I
should have killed him. Brutus!"

Brutus, who had watched the scene with the same aloof politeness that he
might have watched guests at the dinner table, moved quickly forward.

"Has no word come yet?"

Brutus grinned and shook his head.

"The devil," said my father. "Aiken was here last evening, and got the
message I left him?"

Brutus nodded, and my father compressed his lips. Apparently deep in
thought, he took a few unhurried steps across the room, and glanced
about him critically.

"A busy day, my son," he said, "a very busy day, and a humorous one as
well. They think they can get the paper. They think--but they are all
mistaken."

"You are sure?" I inquired.

"Perfectly," said my father. "I shall dispose of it in my own way. I am
merely waiting for the time."

"Huh!"

Brutus cupped his great hand behind his ear, and nodded violently. My
father stepped toward the hallway, and listened. Above the hissing of the
fire I heard a voice and footsteps. He straightened the lace about his
wrists, and his features lost their strained attention. As he turned
towards Brutus, he seemed younger and more alertly active than I had ever
known him.

"Ah, what a day," he sa