muffled, so that we moved to the wharf in silence.

"Land the men, and tell them to wait," said my father. "You shall come
with us, Mr. Aiken, and you, my son, and you, Brutus."

We walked silently up the path, with Brutus and my father in the lead.
Once he paused and listened, and then proceeded forward.

"I believe," said my father, "he is quite alone. Ha!"

He had stopped dead, and Brutus had leapt forward, crashing into a dense
thicket of overgrown bushes.

"Put up your pistol, Ned," said my father. "Brutus has him."

There was a moment's silence, followed by a faint cry.

"Bring him here, Brutus," said my father. The bushes cracked again, and
Brutus was back.

"Now who the devil may you be?" inquired my father, striding towards the
figure that Brutus was holding, and then he paused, and in the dark I
fancied he was reaching for his coat lapel.

"Lunacy, thy name is woman," said my father softly. "Will they never
stay where they are placed?"

It was Mademoiselle whom Brutus had thrust before him.

"I came in the boat," she stammered brokenly. "I--"

"You wanted to see the end, my lady?" my father inquired. "Surely you
should have known better, but it is too late now. You are going to be
present at a harrowing scene, which I hoped to save you. Mr. Aiken, help
the lady over the path."

And we proceeded to the house together. A minute later we made our way
over the rough, unkempt grass which once marked our brick terrace.
Brutus opened the door and we were in the dark hall, lighted by a square
of candle light from the morning room. He paused again and listened, and
then strode across the threshold. A blaze was burning high in the
morning fireplace, and six candles were lighted on the center table, and
seated before it, examining my father's papers, were my Uncle Jason and
Mr. Lawton.

"Ha!" cried Mr. Lawton, springing to his feet and eyeing my father
intently. "So you are here, Shelton, and every card in the deck."

He paused to nod and rub his hands.

"Yes, b'gad! There's the girl and there's the boy and there's the nigger.
It was Sims' idea your getting on the boat. He's bright as a trap, Jason.
I told you he was."

My father sighed a little sadly.

"He was indeed," he admitted.

My uncle surveyed him with his broadest smile, and his eyes twinkled with
a malign amusement, that was not wholly pleasant.

"So here you are, George," he cried in a voice that seemed to shake
with excitement. "God