his
left hand to listen to a step coming up the polished stairway and along
the passage leading to his room. His ear was almost as quick and
accurate as was Adam Gaudylock's, and he rightly thought he knew the
step. A somewhat strange smile was on his lips when Ludwell Cary knocked
lightly at the blue room door. "Come in!" called Rand, and Cary,
entering, closed the door behind him and came up to the bed with an
outstretched hand and a pleasant light upon his handsome face.

"Ah, Mr. Rand," he said, smiling, "I see my revenge. I shall sit each
day by your bedside, and read you the Federalist! How is the arm? Your
right! That's bad!"

"It will heal," answered Rand. "Will you not take a chair?"

Cary pushed the easy chair nearer the bed, and sat down. "The ladies
charge me," he said pleasantly, "with more messages of sympathy and
hopes for your recovery than I can remember. Miss Dandridge vows that
you have supplanted in her affections the hero of her favourite romance.
'Twas she and my brother, you know, who found you upon the road.
Colonel Churchill and the county must mend that turn where you came to
grief. It is a dangerous place."

"I was not attentive," said Rand, "and my horse is a masterful brute.
Pray assure Miss Dandridge and your brother of my gratitude. I am under
deep obligation to all at Fontenoy."

"It is a kindly place," said Cary simply. He looked about him. "The blue
room! When I was a boy and came a-visiting, they always put me here.
That screen would set me dreaming--and the blue roses and the moon
clock. I used to lie in that bed and send myself to sleep with more
tales than are in the Arabian Nights. There's a rift in the poplars
through which you can see a very bright star--Sirius, I believe. May you
have pleasant dreams, Mr. Rand, in my old bed!" He glanced from Rand's
flushed face to the papers strewn upon the counterpane. "You have been
writing? Would Dr. Gilmer approve?"

Rand looked somewhat ruefully at the scrawled sheets and the ink upon
his fingers. "It is a necessary paper of instructions," he said. "I was
retained by the State for the North Garden murder case. It is to be
tried next week--and here am I, laid by the heels! My associate must
handle it." He made a movement of impatience. "He's skilful enough, but
he's not the sort to convince a jury--especially in Albemarle, where
they don't like to hang people. If he's left to himself, Fitch may go
free."

"The murderer?"

"Yes,