and his body
too was less erect and resolute. Something had been broken. For a moment,
his mask and his mantle had dropped where he could not find them. And
then, as he stood looking ahead of him at the shadows, he ended his
speech in a way that had no logic and no relation to the rest.

"If she had only said she did not believe them--Why did she not say it?"

And then he squared his shoulders and tried again to smile.

"But what difference does it make now? The road has turned too long ago
for us to face about."

"She never spoke to me, never looked at me again!" repeated Mr. Lawton.

My father's fist crashed down on the table, but when he spoke his words
were precise and devoid of all emotion.

"And why the devil should she," he answered. "We are not questioning her
taste. And you, Jason," he added. "No one will doubt your word, or
believe this little romance. Do you wonder why? They will never have the
opportunity. Brutus, take them down to the boat."

Brutus stepped forward and laid a hand on my uncle's shoulder. He
shrank back.

"George," he cried, "you shall have the money. I swear it, George. I have
wronged you, but--"

"Yes," said my father, "I shall have the money, and you too, Jason. I
shall have everything. Take them along, Brutus," and they left the room
in silence, while my father watched them thoughtfully, and arranged the
lapel on his coat.

"Ned," said my father, "the rum decanter is over on the bookshelves. Good
God, where is he going?" for Mr. Aiken had darted into the hall, and was
running up the staircase.

"Is the man mad? Is--"

My father stopped, and was looking at the table. I followed his glance,
and started involuntarily. There had been three pistols lying side by
side on the polished mahogany, and now there were only two.

"My son," said my father, "the rum decanter is on the bookshelves. The
glasses--"

A shout from the hall interrupted him.

"B'gad, captain!" Mr. Aiken was roaring. "Damme! Here's another of
'em! You would bite me, would you! Hell's fire if I don't cut your
gullet open."

"What an evening we are having, to be sure," said my father, turning to
the doorway.

Mr. Aiken was pushing a man before him into the room, and holding a dirk
at his throat.

"Ives!" shrieked Mademoiselle.

"She is right," said my father. "It is Ives de Blanzy. I had forgotten
you had sent him to the house."

The man Mr. Aiken was holding wrenched himself free, and sprang forward,