roitness clearing away the bottles and the dishes--and a sudden burst
of flame from the back log in the fireplace that made his shadow jump
unevenly over the opposite wall--and my father resting languidly in his
chair again, quite as though nothing had happened--I remember looking
about me and almost doubting that anything out of the ordinary had passed
in the last five minutes. I glanced narrowly at him, but there was
nothing in his manner to betray that he had not been sitting there for
the past hour in peaceful meditation. Was he thinking of the other nights
when the room was bright with silver and candles?

"My son," he remarked presently, "I was saying to you before our callers
interrupted that there are just two things I never do. Do you still care
to know them? I think that one may be enough for tonight. It is that
circumstances oblige me to keep my word."

"You do not care to tell me any more?" I asked him.

"Only that you had better stay, my son. If you do, I can guarantee you
will see me at my worst, which is better, perhaps, than hearing of me
second hand. And possibly it may even be interesting, the little drama
which is starting."

Thoughtfully he balanced the pistol he was still holding on the palm of
his hand, and half unconsciously examined the priming, while I watched
him, half with misgiving, half with a reluctant sort of admiration. When
he turned towards me again, his eyes had brightened as though he were
dwelling on a pleasing reminiscence.

"Indeed," he mused, "it might be more than interesting, hilarious, in
fact, if it were not for the lady in the case."

"The lady!" I echoed involuntarily.

"And why not indeed?" he said with a shrug. "Let us do our best to be
consistent. What drama is complete without a lady in it? It would have
been simpler, I admit, if I had stolen the paper, per se, and not the
lady with it. The lady, I fear, is becoming an encumbrance."

"Am I to understand you brought a woman with you across the ocean?"

He placed the pistol on the table before him, looked at it critically,
and changed its position.

"A lady, my son, not a woman. You will find that the two are quite
different species. I fear she had but little choice. That is a pretty
lock on Mr. Lawton's weapon."

"You mean she is here now?" I persisted. He must surely have been in
jest.

"To be sure!" he acquiesced. "She is, I trust, asleep in the east guest
room, and heaven help you if you wake her. But why