position there ran a harsh and sombre
thread, now felt in denunciation and now in ironic praise. There was
more than unveiling of the weakness of any human policy or party; the
letter was in part a commination of individual conduct. No name was
used, no direct reference given or example quoted; but one with acumen
might guess there was a man in mind when the writer sat in judgment. The
writer himself was perhaps not aware of the fulness of this betrayal,
but Lewis Rand was aware. The paper had angered him, and he had not
lacked intention of discovering at whose door it was to be laid. He had
enemies enough--but this one was a close observer. The subtlety of the
rebuke shook him. How had the writer who signed "Aurelius" known or
divined? He thought of Major Edward Churchill, but certain reasons made
him sure the letter was not his. And now it seemed that it was Ludwell
Cary's.

Rand's lips set closely. Ludwell Cary might not know where all his
shafts were striking, but Rand felt the sting. Fair fight in the
courtroom,--that was one thing,--but this paper was wrought of sterner
stuff. There was in it even a solemnity of warning. Rand's soul, that
was in the grasp of Giant Two-Ways, writhed for a moment, then lay still
again. With his characteristic short laugh, he shook off the feeling
that he mistook for weakness, dismissed the momentary abashment, and
pursued his way through the snowy streets. The question now in his mind
was whether or no he should make his resentment plain to Ludwell Cary.
At long intervals, three or four times in the winter, perhaps, it was
the latter's custom to lift the knocker of Rand's door, and to sit for
an hour in Jacqueline's drawing-room. Sometimes Rand was there,
sometimes not; Cary's coming had grown to be a habit of the house,
quiet, ordered, and urbane as all its habits were. Its master now
determined, after a moment's sharp debate, to say nothing that he might
not have said before he knew the identity of that writer to the Gazette.
He was conscious of no desire for immediate retaliation; these things
settled themselves in the long run. He did not intend speaking of the
matter to Jacqueline. Pride forbade his giving Cary reason to surmise
that he had hit the truth. Rand was willing to believe that many of the
shafts were chance-sent. The reflection hardly lessened his anger, but
it enabled him to thrust the matter behind him to the limbo of old
scores.

He was crossing Broad Street whe