"It is my brother, sir," he
announced, as he passed Colonel Churchill. "I hear him at the gate."

Ten minutes later Ludwell Cary entered. He was in riding-dress, his
handsome face a little worn and pale, but smiling, his bearing as usual,
quiet, manly, and agreeable. "It is a sultry night, sir," he said to
Colonel Churchill. "There is a storm brewing.--Miss Dandridge, your very
humble servant!--Mr. Rand--" He held out his hand. "I am rejoiced to see
you recovered!"

Rand stood up, and touched the extended hand. "Thank you," he said, with
a smile. "I were a Turk if I did not recover here amidst all this
goodness."

"Yes, yes, there's goodness," answered Cary, and moved on to the window
where Jacqueline sat in the shadow of the curtains. Rand, looking after
him, saw him speak to her, and saw her answer with a smile.

A pang ran through him, acrid and fiery. It was not like the vapour of
distaste and dislike, of which he had been conscious on the day of the
election. That had been cold and clinging; this was a burning and a
poisoned arrow. It killed the softening, the consciousness of charm, the
spell of Cary's kindness while he lay there helpless in the blue room.
Not since the old days when his heart was hot against his father, had he
felt such venom, such rancour. That had been a boy's wild revolt against
injustice; this passion was the fury of the adolescent who sees his
rival. He looked at Cary through a red mist. This cleared, but a seed
that was in Rand's nature, buried far, far down in the ancestral earth,
swelled a little where it lay in its dim chasm. The rift closed, the
glow as of heated iron faded, and Rand bitterly told himself, "He will
win; more than that, he deserves to win! As for you, you are here to
behave like a gentleman." He turned more fully to Unity, and talked of
books and of such matters as he thought might be pleasing to a lady.

Fairfax Cary entered, brushing the drops from his coat-sleeve. "The rain
is coming down," he said, and with deliberation seated himself beside
Miss Dandridge.

"That's good!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Now things will
grow!--Jacqueline, child, aren't you going to sing to us?"

Jacqueline rose, left the window, and went to her harp, Cary following
her. She drew the harp toward her, then raised her clear face. "What
shall I sing?" she asked.

Cary, struck by a note in her voice, glanced at her quickly where she
now sat, full in the light of the candles. She had no c