trifle cold.

"Move on," I ordered sharply, "and light me to my room."

My speech appeared to amuse him.

"No, no--you first," said Brutus. "I go--perhaps you be angry. See?"

And he became so involved in throes of merriment that I hoped he might
extinguish the candle.

I thought better of an angry command, which I knew he would not obey, and
turned through the arched moulding that marked the entrance to the upper
hall, and at his direction opened a door. As I paused involuntarily on
the threshold, Brutus deftly slipped past, set the candle on a stand, and
bent over my saddle bags. Still chuckling to himself, he dropped my
pistols into his shirt bosom. Then his grin died away. His low forehead
became creased and puckered. He shifted his weight from one foot to the
other irresolutely, and drew a deep breath.

"Mister Henry--" he began.

"Well," I said.

"Something happen. Very bad here. You go home."

His sudden change of manner, and the shadowy, musty silence around me
threatened to shake the coolness I had attempted to assume. Unconsciously
my hand dropped to the hilt of my travelling sword. I looked across at
him through the shadows.

"You go home," said Brutus.

"Something _will_ happen, or something _has_ happened?" I asked.

But Brutus only shook his head stupidly.

"Very bad. You go home," he persisted.

"You go to the devil," I said, "and leave that candle. I won't burn down
the house."

He moved reluctantly towards the door.

"Monsieur very angry," said Brutus.

"Shut the door," I said, "the draft is blowing the candle."

He pulled it to without another word, and I could hear him fumbling
with the lock.

For the last ten years I doubt if anything had been changed in that room,
except for the addition of three blankets which Brutus had evidently laid
some hours before on the mildewed mattress of the carved four post bed.
My mother must have ordered up the curtains that hung over it in yellowed
faded tatters. The charred wood of a fire that had been lighted when the
room was new, still lay over the green clotted andirons. The dampness of
a seaside town had cracked and warped the furniture, and had turned the
mirrors into sad mockeries. The strange musty odor of unused houses hung
heavy in the air.

I sat quiet for a while, on the edge of my bed, alert for some sound
outside, but in the hall it was very still. Then my hand fell again on
the hilt of my travelling sword. That my father had o