se
to mine, closer than I had ever seen it, placid still, but somehow
changed, somehow so subtly different that I wrenched myself free, and
stepped a pace away. Brutus dropped the coat he was folding, and shuffled
forward hastily.

"How careless of me to have left it there," said my father gently. "Hand
me the locket, if you please, my son, and many thanks for picking it up."

The jewelled clasp was under my thumb I pressed it, and the gold locket I
was holding flew open, but before I could look further, he had struck a
sharp blow at my wrist, and the locket fell from my hand.

"Pick it up, Brutus," he said, his eyes never leaving mine, and we
watched each other for a second in silence.

"Come," he said, "let us go down stairs. You may find it instructive to
see how I treat my enemies."

"I am afraid," I said slowly, "that you will do better without me."

Slowly the thin line of his lips relaxed, and he raised his hands to
adjust his neckcloth.

"Your episode with Mr. Lawton makes me quite sure of it," he answered, in
a tone he might have used to an ambitious school boy. "But you forget.
You are still pursuing part of your education. Never, never neglect an
opportunity to learn, my son. Something tells me even now you will be
repaid for your trouble. Come, we are late already."

So I followed him down the, creaking stairs to the morning room. I could
not suppress a start as I passed over the threshold. In front of our
heavy mahogany table, attentively examining some maps and charts that had
been scattered there, was my Uncle Jason.

VIII

Of all the people I had expected to see that morning he was the last.
Almost unconsciously I recalled the little kindnesses he had rendered me.
Busy as he had been with commercial ventures, there was never a time when
he had not stood ready with his help. And even my father's name--he had
never recalled it, except with regretful affection in his sad little
reminiscences of older, pleasanter days.

I thought I detected a trace of that affection, a trace of appeal,
almost, in the look he gave us as we entered. They made a strange
contrast, my uncle, and my father, in his gay coat and laces, his
slender, upright figure, and his face, almost youthful beneath his
powdered hair. For my uncle was an older man, and years and care had
slightly bowed him. The wrinkles were deep about his mouth and eyes. His
brown hair, simply dressed, was gray already at the temples. His pla